This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(96)

Kamran shook his head, collapsed into a nearby chair. “How much time do we have?”

“Before the ball? Two hours.”

Kamran shot him a look. “You know very well to what I am referring.”

“To whom you are referring, you mean?” Hazan almost smiled. “The Tulanian king is with the ambassador now. He should be arriving at the palace within the hour.”

“Lord, but I hate him,” Kamran said, pushing a hand through his hair. “He has the kind of face that should be kicked in, repeatedly.”

“That seems a bit unfair. It’s not the fault of the Tulanian ambassador that he’s charged with an empire so widely detested. The gentleman himself is nice enough.”

Kamran turned sharply to face his minister. “Obviously I’m speaking of the king.”

Hazan frowned. “The king? Cyrus, you mean? I’d not realized you’d met him before.”

“No. I’ve not yet had the pleasure. I’m merely assuming he has the kind of face that should be kicked in, repeatedly.”

Hazan’s frown cleared at that; he fought back another smile. “You do not underestimate him, I hope?”

“Underestimate him? The child killed his own father. He stole a bloody crown from the rightful king for all the world to bear witness, and now he shows his shameless face here? No, I do not underestimate him. I think him mad. Though I must say I fear our own officials misprize him, and to their detriment. They underestimate him for the same inane reasons they underestimate me.”

“Your lack of experience, you mean?”

Kamran turned away. “My age, you miserable rotter.”

“So easily provoked.” Hazan stifled a laugh. “You are in quite a state, today, Your Highness.”

“You might do us all a favor, Hazan, and begin to manage your expectations of my state. This is where I live, minister. Here, between angry and irritable, lies my charming personality. It does not change. You may be grateful that I am consistent, at least, in being boorish.”

Hazan’s smile grew only wider. “I say, these are strange declarations from Setar’s melancholy prince.”

Kamran stiffened. Very slowly, he turned to face Hazan. “I beg your pardon?”

His minister retrieved from the inside of his jacket a folded copy of Setar’s most popular evening journal, the Quill & Crown. The nightly post was widely known to be trash, a sloppy rehashing of the morning’s news, cut with unsolicited opinions from its self-important editor. Indeed, there was little newsworthy about it; it was a spectacle in printed form, useless drivel. It contained rambling letters from breathless readers, and was stuffed with articles like—

Suggestions for the King, Ten Items Long

—and devoted an entire page to baseless gossip of goings-on in the royal city.

“It says right here,” Hazan said, scanning the paper, “that you are a sentimental idiot, that your bleeding heart has been laid bare twice now, once for a street child and now for a snoda—”

“Give that to me,” Kamran said, jumping to his feet to snatch the paper out of Hazan’s hands, which he promptly tossed in the fire.

“I’ve got another copy, Your Highness.”

“You disloyal wretch. How can you even read such garbage?”

“I may have exaggerated a bit,” Hazan admitted. “The article was actually quite complimentary. Your random acts of kindness toward the lower classes seem to have won the hearts of common folk, who seem only too eager to praise your actions.”

Kamran was only slightly mollified. “Even so.”

“Even so.” Hazan cleared his throat. “You were kind to a snoda, then?”

“It’s not worth discussing.”

“Is it not? When you spent a great part of the morning in the company of your aunt at Baz House, where we both know resides a young woman of interest? A young woman in a snoda?”

“Oh, shove off, Hazan.” Kamran collapsed once again in his chair. “The king is well aware of both my actions and my reasons, which should be more than enough for you. Why are you trailing me, anyway? It’s not as if the Tulanian king will murder me in my own home.”

“He might.”

“What good would it do him? If you’re so concerned, you should be protecting the king. I’m perfectly capable of defending myself.”

“Your Highness,” Hazan said, looking suddenly concerned. “If you harbor any uncertainty about the life hurtling toward you, allow me to assure you now: the inevitable is coming. You must prepare yourself.”

Kamran turned away, exhaling toward the ceiling. “You mean my grandfather will die.”

“I mean you will soon be crowned king of the largest empire in the known world.”

“Yes,” said the prince. “I’m quite aware.”

A tense silence stretched between them.

When Hazan finally spoke, the heat was gone from his voice. “It was a formality,” he said.

Kamran looked up.

“Your question,” said the minister. “You asked why the Tulanian king was invited. It is a long-standing tradition, during peacetime, to invite neighboring royalty to the most elite affairs. It’s meant as a gesture of goodwill. Many similar invitations have been made these last seven years, but never before has the Tulanian king accepted.”