by Lucy Tempest
It had better not be for nothing.
But it would come to nothing, on every front, if I couldn’t find Cyrus.
Where was he? He should be catering this ball!
As if on cue, Ariane dragged me after her, deeper into the ballroom.
We had decorated it as part of our test, and our collective efforts ended up being haphazard. Mismatched furniture and silverware stocked the room, along with bowls of questionable punch, rock-hard bread and dishes that were half-cooked or overcooked. It was like a birthday party set up by a bunch of eight-year-olds.
Ariane and I parted ways at my table. I gazed down at my potato festival, my stomach churning. It was cold and getting leathery, but at least it was edible and cohesive. Ariane, the only one apart from Cora who had practical skills, had made most of the decorations hanging on the wall and adorning the tables. Cora had, once again, gone to the orchards and picked colorful vegetables for an arrangement in a hand-made bowl rather than a basket this time. All that effort and it was still her version of trudging through the assignment.
The guests had started pouring in an hour ago. The governors of each Cahramani city, the mayors of each town, the heads of ministries, the nobles and elite of the merchant class all mingled. Many sampled my offerings as they passed by. Most found the pan-fried and mashed potatoes the most fascinating, and asked me about them. I was too caught up in my own distress to answer them properly.
I stared at them in their multi-layered silk outfits, their extravagant jewelry, and their utter lack of worry as they puttered around and a sudden surge of self-pity and loathing swamped me.
I hated it here. I hated everything about these gilded chickens and their obliviousness and selfishness. I hated the king for banishing Nariman to protect his palace and city, instead of imprisoning her so she couldn’t play havoc with the lives of those beyond them. Like she was doing with the Fairborns. For that alone, he deserved that I break into his quarters and steal the lamp, along with any irreplaceable items I could safely carry.
I looked around for Cyrus again. He was still nowhere to be found.
My frustrated gaze fell on Cherine beside me, who was being judged by a group that included Asena, Loujaïne and Farouk. The guests were sampling her food—stewed chickpeas in spicy soup, and a colorful fruit salad on frothy yoghurt. They questioned her on everything from why she chose that menu, how she prepared it, to again why she was here.
Across from me, Cora was serving samples of the corn she’d boiled and spread with butter with all the enthusiasm of a barmaid during happy hour. But those who tried it seemed to love it.
A bell rang and the groups switched tables, moving on to other girls. Mine moved on to Fairuza. The only thing that could possibly cheer me up right now would be the judges tearing into her offerings.
Eight people grouped around me. Loujaïne, Asena, Farouk and five guests; a noblewoman, a merchant, a mayor, a governor and one of the cooks from the kitchen.
“Present yourself, your dishes and bouquet arrangement,” said Farouk, clearly a bit tipsy and failing to keep himself from looking Loujaïne’s way. I wondered what that was about.
I forced myself into customer-service mode, plastering on a big smile that felt like it might crack my face as I curtsied. “I am Ada of Rose Isle and I have six potato-based dishes: mashed potatoes, potato skins, baked potatoes, julienne fries, creamy potato soup and wedges. For dessert, I have made a carrot cake with walnuts and raisins.”
At my mention of carrot along with cake, every eyebrow shot up. Seemed they’d never heard of the combination.
After I handed out the potato sampler plates, I kept checking for Cyrus through the gaps between them as they chewed and made thoughtful noises.
If only I knew where he and Ayman holed up during the night, I might have been able to go to them myself. Cyrus hadn’t told me much about himself beyond what had slipped out during our conversations. I never found out who his father was and where he worked exactly, or really, anything else about his life.
It didn’t matter. I might not know much about him, but I knew him. He was clever, funny, gentle and considerate. He’d more than helped me for no reason at all, listened to me, thought of solutions for me, and searched with and for me all over the city. He seemed to…care about me. If anything, it was I who should be telling him the truth.
Yes. When he finally showed up tonight, I was telling him everything. Once he learned what was at stake, he’d realize the urgency of it all. There had to be a tunnel to the king’s quarters; some escape route for him and his heir and advisors in case of an attack or siege. If there was one, Cyrus, with his extensive knowledge of the palace and its hidden pathways probably knew of it, or could at least find it. I’d ask him to come with me when we accomplished the mission. Once we found the lamp in that safe, we could take off into the night.
“Why all the potatoes?” Loujaïne asked, poking the mashed potatoes with suspicion.
They’re good to live off if you’re constantly struggling to find your next meal didn’t sound like an answer I could use. Neither did they’re the simplest thing I could safely cook while driven to distraction.
Instead I said, “Potatoes are the most practical food. I used them in a variety of dishes to prove how versatile they are. They’re abundant, they taste good in every form, and they have all you need to survive on should you ever suffer a food shortage. That’s something a desert kingdom needs to take into account, if anything ever were to happen to your imports from farmlands. The problem of having nothing else to eat can be made easier if you know how to enjoy what you have in many ways.”
They all took time to process my answer—which was based on stories I had heard about a period of famine in the South of Ericura—while eating everything on their plates. It was either that good or they were starving because every other presentation was inedible.
Maybe I should open a restaurant once we got back to Ericura. Cyrus and I could sell our loot, buy a place where I could be the head chef and he’d run the place and charm everyone into becoming regular customers, with Bonnie as our bookkeeper and Ayman our guard. It would be a struggle, but it would be a good life. A steady life with a family that would never leave me.
And I was daydreaming again.
“You have put some good thought into this,” Farouk said, seeming much steadier now, setting his empty plate down and dabbing his mustache with a napkin. “It is also well-made. Who taught you to cook?”
I offered him a piece of cake. “My mother.”
He took the plate with a gracious bow of his head. “I should very much like to meet your lady mother. She raised a formidable young woman, very brave and capable.”
How I wished he could do that, too.
I murmured that she’d passed and received the appropriate condolences from everyone. Loujaïne, who’d commiserated with me on my first night here, said nothing this time.
I was explaining my cheap bouquet arrangement–a collection of goldenrod and cattails I’d gathered from the garden our dorm overlooked—when I spotted Cyrus. At the sight of him, my heart fluttered chaotically, circulating a surge of scalding heat to my numb face and extremities.
His hair was styled differently today, combed flat from a side parting, making it look darker. His servant’s uniform of a buttoned, patterned kaftan and belted sash had been traded for an open, mid-thigh, deep-blue satin coat, with its edges embroidered in a metallic teal paisley pattern. Beneath it was a white, silk shirt, silver sash that topped slate-grey pants tucked into below-knee, polished, black leather boots.
He looked as stunning as ever, if far more put-together and formal. But most importantly, he looked perfectly fine. Nothing bad had happened to him like Ayman had made me fear.
The bell rang again and all the judges and guests moved away from the tables, retreating to the center of the ballroom, where an ensemble of musicians now started playing a sedate melody and all the attendees paired up to dance.
So
me judges and guests asked the girls to dance, probably another test to gauge their grace and character. Most girls looked pleased for being chosen and hopped to it as the music sped up to a danceable tempo, with the string, wind and brass sections playing an exotic, quarter-toned tune to the accompaniment of the percussion section’s lively rhythm.
Cyrus moved around the room with the other servants, who were dressed nothing like him, maybe denoting his rank among them. I tried to catch his eye and failed as he moved behind everyone as if avoiding attention.
Master Farouk returned to my side, bowing as he offered me his hand. “Would you care to dance, Lady Ada?”
An impulsive, frustrated ‘No!’ collided with my clenched teeth.
Knowing I could do nothing else, I silently gave him my hand.
He set my hand on his shoulder, held the other and kept his other hand low on my back. I let him lead entirely as I kept trying to catch Cyrus’s attention with subtle if desperate gestures over Farouk’s shoulder.
“Forgive me for saying, but your hands are quite rough,” Farouk said, dragging my attention back to him. “Did you do all the preparation and cooking yourself?”
“How else was I supposed to get everything done?”
He chuckled lightly, pulling back to twirl me. “The cooks were there for a reason, to help.”
“I thought they were supervision, in case someone fell into a boiling pot or cut off their own fingertips along with the carrots.”
His chuckles rose. “They were that as well, but you didn’t have to damage your hands.”
“They were rough already.”
His eyebrows rose. “Do you cook often, then?”
“You could say that.”
“Interesting. You also do your own shopping, and interact with vendors in the market? I believe I saw you bargaining for the raisins.”
“I wasn’t going to get a tiny bag of wrinkled grapes for the same price as a sack of potatoes.”
He raised a hand at my defensive tone. “I know. It was a good call. I’m just curious, where did you learn any of this?”
“Experience?”
“Yes, but how did you gain that?” he pried. “What exactly is a nobleman’s daughter doing going to the market and cooking her own food?” He slowed down to peer into my eyes. “Where did you say Rose Isle was again? I don’t remember sending an invitation further than Eglantine in Arbore.”
My train of thought came to a screeching halt before it was derailed altogether.
He was onto me.
The music shifted to another rhythm as sweat sprouted all over me, sticking my dress to my back. My heart boomed as I searched every corner of my mind for my once-effortless ability to spout convincing lies. But it had slipped out from under me, sending me facedown into the grave I had been digging all month.
“Lady Ada?” His dark eyes searched my face as he nudged me to move to the new tune. “Are you ill today?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I couldn’t even latch onto that excuse. I—
“May I cut in?”
Before I could process what was happening, Farouk had stepped aside with a gallant gesture and Cyrus had taken hold of me and spun us further into the dance floor among the other couples, turning heads and sparking whispers in a line of wildfire.
I snapped out of my cornered daze. “Cyrus! What are you doing?”
“Dancing with you, my lady?” he said cheerily, stepping back and spinning me away, still holding my hand.
“Are you crazy? You can’t be seen dancing with me,” I hissed, trying to pull my hand from his grip.
He only tugged me back into his hold. “Why not?”
“You’ll get in trouble,” I spluttered. “And you’re drawing attention to us. This is the last thing we need right now.”
“Ah, are you that worried to be seen with me?”
“If you mean afraid people will notice us and remember us when we go missing, then yes.”
“Go missing where?”
“I told you I wanted you to come with me once I got eliminated, remember?”
“You are too certain about the negative outcomes in your life. It can’t be healthy.” His eyes gleamed with mischief as he twirled me between two couples who gaped at us open-mouthed.
What was going on? Was he drunk? I hoped not, since I had to tell him about the king’s safe now, not later. I couldn’t wait until I got eliminated. We had to leave while everyone was busy here waiting for the prince to show himself.
I also had to tell him the entire truth, about who I was and what I needed to do.
“Cyrus, I have to tell you something—” I started urgently when he gathered me back in his arms.
“So do I.” He pressed closer, raising our clasped hands to his heart, whispering, “You’re not going home tomorrow.”
I stopped trying to match his pace, my mind and body no longer able to coordinate. “How could you possibly know that? Only the prince can know that now.”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet, my dearest Lady Ada?” He laughed, a free, heart-fluttering sound, his eyes merry and mesmerizing. “I am Prince Cyaxares.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Realization hit me like a lightning bolt.
Stiffening with the enervating blow, I stumbled in his grasp. He steadied me, seemingly unaware of my condition, continuing to swing me around the room, lifting my feet off the floor and whirling my full, layered skirt. Everything revolved right along in a tornado of shock.
The prince.
The prince was Cyrus.
Cyrus was the prince.
Time slowed down as the last month flew past my eyes, unfolding across my stunned mind as it feverishly upturned every word and glance and incident, searching for hidden hints or blatant signs I had missed. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t understand anything. Nothing but that I had more or less blackmailed the Prince of Cahraman into helping me in my quest, had been running around with him for weeks, sneaking through the palace’s secret underbelly, robbing the vault of the royal family—
His family.
I’d been about to ask the Prince of Cahraman to rob his own father and run away with me.
The implications of who he truly was were an avalanche, burying me beneath them.
He was the prince and everything was lost—my dreams of being with him, and every possibility of saving the Fairborns.
He slowed down, his grin shrinking into an uncertain smile. “Ada, are you alright?”
“D-do I look alright?” I choked, trying to draw a full breath and failing. I could feel the air being sucked out from the whole world, leaving me to suffocate. “Why-why didn’t you tell me this before?”
He brought our dance almost to a stop. The music followed suit, as if tied to his every movement. As it probably was. He was the prince, and everything here, in this palace, in this kingdom, happened because of and for him.
Now every person around slowed down to accommodate him, and the music became a distorted, discordant background noise in my thundering head.
His hold on my hand tightened, thumb pressing gently on my knuckles, his gaze intense and his smile coaxing. “This wasn’t all a game to me, as you once suggested. I needed to see you all for myself as you truly are.”
He made no sense. Nothing made any sense anymore. I could only shake my head, staring up at him helplessly in growing horror.
He pressed my closer. “Do you think any of you would have shown me your true selves if you had known I was the prince?”
I’d been about to. But he was right. I would have shown my true self to Cyrus. To Cyaxares, I could no longer do that. And I couldn’t ask him to rob his own father for me. Or to leave with me either. I had pinned all my hopes for the future, for even having a future, on him. Now they were all over.
I had one remaining night to try to fix everything alone. And if I get caught breaking into the King’s safe—make that when—it would be far worse than punching a princess or bein
g caught stealing from the vault. It would be treason. Without Cyrus all I could do with Nariman’s extension was out myself as a spy and have my neck put on the chopping block.
But maybe that wouldn’t be such a terrible fate. It would probably be better than whatever hell Nariman had in store for me if and when I failed. It killed me to remember the glimpse Nariman had shown me of the horrifying threat to the Fairborns. Imagining it had been bad enough, but seeing it for myself—seeing Mr. Fairborn’s vulnerability and Bonnie’s desperation—tore me apart. If they were to die because of my failure…maybe it was better to die, too, with the swift blade of an executioner.
“I hope you’re not too upset with me,” he said, squeezing my limp, trembling hand before pressing it to his chest. “But we’ll have all of next week for me to explain.”
“W-what do you mean?”
He flashed me a dazzling smile, before letting go of me. “Let me show you what I mean.”
Without his support, I almost dropped to the floor as he bowed to me before striding across the dance floor and heading up toward the stage.
Every eye turned to him with rapt attention. Cora and Cherine left their partners and rushed to huddle by my side, asking me what was going on.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you very much for attending today,” Cyrus began, projecting his deep, powerful voice across the vast room. “I also thank those who have helped me with the search for a new princess. Your hard work is close to paying off.”
Laughter from the palace staff among us stirred the expectant silence. My gaze swept around aimlessly, numbly registering Princess Loujaïne shaking her head at him with a resigned half-smile. Aunt. She was his aunt.
Cyrus’s smile seemed to become tinged with apology as he nodded at her, and he continued addressing the crowd. “After a month of observation, and the evaluations of tests both known and unknown, we have now chosen the Final Five in our Bride Search.”
Cherine clutched my arm so hard it hurt. Cora gaped at me then at him, speechless.
“That’s Cyaxares?” Cherine said, for once too shocked to emote.