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...
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THEY'D GIVEN ME A DRESS TO WEAR BEFORE WE LEAVE.
It's a beautiful one, hand stitched with flowers the color of the dying sky, and with fabric so soft it'd fall between my fingers and take me forever to pick it back up.
But it was also long and trailing, sown for somebody with the tall proportions of a perfect Persian, and when I walked, it would pool beneath my shoes and soak in the mud that came with last night's rain.
"Pick your skirt up," Khale said beside my ear, her eyes darting around the square. It was empty now, save for the line of lucky ones from earlier, and their laughter felt louder in the dark of night than it did so early on. "Your hem is getting dirty; you don't want to make a bad impression."
"It's no use, it'll fall back down anyway," I said, but as she looked away, I dragged the dress lower into the soil, hiding the twinge of satisfaction I felt at the stain.
The dress was beautiful, but my skin was still splotched with dirt and my eyes, still overdrawn in kohl. Wearing it, I felt like a cheat.
Had the hem not fallen in sludge, I was certain the feeling would've been worse — especially considering the women straggling around the square.
"Ma, I think I need more kohl," one girl said, her voice so loud I could hear her all the way from across the clearing.
She was the first woman they'd picked, I remember, with hair the color of Persian sand, and on her at-least-one-head-taller-than-I-am frame, the dress fit her perfectly.
She was beautiful, even compared to the all the other women they'd chosen.
"Maria, put anymore on and you'll look like every other girl here," her mother said, equally as loud, "that is, a raccoon."
Ouch, that's a personal jab.
"Aliya, stop watching the others," Khale said, patting my cheek. "Just watch yourself, like you always do. Oh, I knew you'd be chosen one day, I knew it. I'm only happy I get to see you go."
"I'm happy I called you," I said, smiling when I saw her grin widen.
Truth be told, I wasn't.
The minute they'd finished going through the queue, they'd gone around asking people where their family lived and, when they'd gotten to me, I'd said Khale's name without a thought.
I wish I hadn't — it would've been so much easier to just up and vanish.
Khale was the one living person in Babylon I never wanted to say goodbye to. And it was ironically laughable that, at this point, I'd be the one leaving her, and I didn't even have a choice in the matter.
If you were picked, you left. If not, you're dead.
And I'd prefer not to get killed in front of Khale.
