By the time Zafira fetched Lana from Thalj, reunited with Yasmine, and returned to the Sultan’s Palace, the throngs of people that had gathered for the coronation were impenetrable. The hushed whispers and curiosity made it clear Arawiya still feared him, the Prince of Death, but if Nasir could change her heart, she knew he could change countless more.
She dragged Lana through the thick of the crowd. “This is all your fault.”
Zafira had left Sukkar behind for the very reason of trading horses and riding hard, and still they had managed to arrive late.
“It’s not my fault you never taught me how to ride as well as you,” Lana whined. She was smart enough to know that now was not the time to bring up the fact that having to restitch parts of Zafira’s wound had delayed them, too.
“She has a point,” Yasmine said.
Near the black tree, Zafira paused to lift her head to the branches reaching for the skies. There was no white rose on its limbs now, but she felt a whisper as she brushed past, a call she once heeded.
“Qif,” ordered the guards standing before the doors, silver uniforms bright. “No one is allowed inside.”
Zafira froze, and Lana lifted her chin.
Yasmine propped her hands on her hips. “We’re expected.”
One of the guards barked a laugh. “You and every other peasant here. Move aside.”
“I’m the—” Zafira almost said “Hunter,” before the word died on her tongue, for there was no Arz to hunt in anymore.
She wasn’t a hunter, or a huntress.
She was a peasant, as the guard said.
“Okhti,” Lana warned beside her, and Zafira snapped out of it as the guard descended the steps, his face cruel.
She grabbed Yasmine’s hand and the three of them backed into the crowd, shoving their way through the people until they found a spot within view of the balcony where Nasir had already begun addressing the crowds.
“I’m sorry,” Lana said softly.
Zafira and Yasmine hushed her.
And then Nasir found her in the throngs, and he stopped.
He smiled after a thought, a true curve of contentment that reflected in his eyes, a dimple etched into his right cheek. From his mother, then.
Several people turned to look at her, to see what had stolen their sultan’s attention, and she couldn’t stop a full grin of her own. Then he opened his mouth.
And damned himself.
