This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(88)

When, after a long moment, the doors had not opened, Kamran had wrenched them open himself.

He later found out that they’d sent word—of course, they’d sent word—but none had thought to include the eleven-year-old child in the dissemination of the news, to tell him that his father was no longer coming home.

That his father was, in fact, dead.

There, on a lush seat in a carriage as familiar to him as his own name, Kamran saw not his father, but his father’s bloody head, sitting on a silver plate.

It was not an exaggeration to say that the scene had inspired in the young prince so violent and paralyzing a reaction that he’d desired, suddenly, the arrival of his own swift death. Kamran could not imagine living in a world without his father; he could not imagine living in a world that would do such a thing to his father. He had walked calmly to the edge of the bridge, climbed its high wall, and pitched himself into the icy, churning river below.

It was his grandfather who’d found him, who dove into the frozen depths to save him, who’d pulled Kamran’s limp blue body from the loving arms of Death. Even with the Diviners working to restart his heart, it was days before Kamran opened his eyes, and when he did, he saw only his grandfather’s familiar brown gaze; his grandfather’s familiar white hair. His familiar, gentle smile.

Not yet, the king had said, stroking the young boy’s cheek.

Not just yet.

“You think I don’t understand.”

The sound of his grandfather’s voice startled Kamran back to the present, prompting him to take a sharp breath. He glanced at the king.

“Your Majesty?”

“You think I do not understand,” said his grandfather again, turning a degree to face him. “You think I don’t know why you did it, and I wonder how you can think me so indifferent.”

Kamran said nothing.

“I know why the actions of the street child shocked you so,” the king said quietly. “I know why you made a spectacle of the moment, why you felt compelled to save him. It has required of us a great deal to manage the situation, but I was not angered by your actions, for I knew you meant no harm. Indeed, I know you’d not been thinking at all.”

Kamran looked into the distance. Again, he said nothing.

King Zaal sighed. “I have seen the shape of your heart since the moment you first opened your eyes. All your life, I’ve been able to understand your actions—I’ve been able to find meaning even in your mistakes.” He paused. “But never before have I struggled as I do now. I cannot begin to fathom your abiding interest in this girl, and your actions have begun to frighten me more than I care to admit.”

“This girl?” Kamran turned back; his chest felt suddenly tight. “There is nothing to discuss as pertains to her. I thought we’d finished with that conversation. This very morning, in fact.”

“I thought so, too,” the king said, sounding suddenly tired. “And yet, already I have received reports of your unusual behavior at Baz House. Already there is discussion of your—your melancholy—as I have heard it put.”

Kamran’s jaw clenched.

“You defended a young woman in a snoda, did you not? Defended her loudly, disrespecting your aunt and terrifying the housekeeper in the process.”

Quietly, the prince muttered an oath.

“Tell me,” said the king, “was this not the very same girl we meant to extinguish? The very same snoda tethered to my demise? The one who nearly led to the ghastly transplantation of your life to our dungeons?”

Kamran’s eyes flashed in anger. He could no longer dull the anger he still felt at his grandfather’s recent betrayal, nor could he bear any longer these condescending displays of superiority. He was tired of them; tired of these pointless conversations.

What had he done wrong, truly?

Just today he’d gone to Baz House only to fulfill the duty charged him by his king; he’d not planned for the rest of it. It was not as if he meant to run away with the girl, or worse, marry her; make her queen of Ardunia. Kamran was not yet ready to admit to himself the entire truth: that in a fit of folly he might certainly have tried to make her his queen, if only she had let him.

He did not see the point in dwelling upon it.

Kamran would never see Alizeh again—of this he was certain—and he did not think he deserved to be treated thus by his grandfather. He would attend the ball tonight; he would, in the end, marry the young woman deemed best for him, and he would, with great bitterness, stand aside while his grandfather continued to make plans to kill the girl. His mistakes were none of them irreversible; none of them so foul they deserved such unrelenting condemnation.

“She had dropped a bucket of water on the ground,” the prince said irritably. “The housekeeper was going to oust her for it. I interceded only to keep the girl in her position long enough for her to remain belowstairs. Searching her room, as you recall, was my sole mission, and her dismissal would’ve thwarted our plans. Still, my efforts came to nothing. She was promptly pitched out onto the street; her room was empty when I found it.”

The king clasped his hands behind his back, pivoting fully to face his grandson. He stared at Kamran a long time.

“And did not the perfect convenience of her dismissal strike you as unusual? Has it not occurred to you, then, that she likely orchestrated the scene herself? That she’d seen your face, suspected your aim, and designed the hour of her own exit, escaping all scrutiny in the process?”