In the winding streets of the Persian Empire, a poor girl is chosen to become the third prince's concubine.
Aliya Farhad has no interest in the lofty ideas of the palace, the staff, or her lover. Prince Cairo has all the interest in his blue-eyed A...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"I WAS SIX YEARS OLD WHEN I was put through The Trials. 464 B.C., sometime around August. I can't remember what date it was, but it was a few months after my birthday. Perhaps." Cairo's eyebrows drew together. "Maybe a little bit before."
He spoke slowly, voice measured and hoarse, not in the way somebody sounded when they were forced to speak, but in the way that felt like a misty, trance-like haze, where words and thoughts flowed without thinking.
And I, sitting in front of him, without thinking, reached out to grasp his hand. When my fingers reached to rub the back of his palm, much in the way Maman used to rub mine, I discovered that his knuckles had deep callouses, marks that could only be formed by the prolonged hold of something heavy and blunt.
I didn't know what.
"What were The Trials?" I asked.
"It's a... type of ritual. A coming-of-age, you could say, for the princes of Persia. To test if you were truly given by the Gods to be Son of the King, or given by the Angra Mainyu to cause catastrophe and destruction. My brothers underwent it at ten. I did not get the same priviledge."
"Why?"
"My mother was of lowly birth. She was never given the title of Queen. Just a concubine." Cairo's lips hooked up into a slow smile. "I was not born with luck or good faith."
I knew, without him saying anything else, that the priviledge given to his brothers far outweighed that of age. Perhaps they were prepared, trained, given resources and respect. Perhaps my prince was abandoned and alone.
With that thought, I enveloped his hand between both of mine and raised it to my lips.
Cairo's eyes shifted to meet mine for only a brief second, before they once again strayed away, deigning to look at the headboard behind me. For once, I did not take offense to someone not wishing to look me in the eyes. For once, I was not selfish enough to make the reason and story all about me.
"The Trials..." he continued. "They were difficult. Too difficult for a six-year-old boy -- or for any child, for that matter. It took place in the plains, a desert far, far away from here. They take you on horseback, then leave with it. You have five days to make it back to Archaem."
"Did you get a map?" I asked without thinking, and received a laugh in response.
"Perhaps my brothers did. But I wished for water and received spit."
The grip I had on his hand grew stronger, tighter, as if by doing so, I could give strength to the six year-old prince who had struggled through the desert, carrying the weight of uncaring eyes and death wishes.
"They left me there in the early morning," Cairo murmured. "I was woken up at around midnight, and I didn't have the chance to tell my mother that I would be put to trial before they led me away. I remember that I was afraid, very afraid, that my mother would wake up the next day and she would not be able to find me. I was afraid she would be frightened."
