Prince of Cahraman: A Retelling of Aladdin (Fairytales of Folkshore Book 2)

by Lucy Tempest

  As she half dragged me behind her, despair descended on me.

  I’d set a ballroom on fire with hundreds of people inside it for nothing.

  I’d wasted a month of never-ending trials and distress on nothing.

  This had been my only chance to get the lamp and slip out of the palace with the departing contestants. And I’d lost it because of her. As dangerous a gamble as it had been, it had been by far the easier of my two options.

  Now I had nothing left but the other choice. To continue as Lady Ada of Rose Isle, one of the Final Five competing for the hand of Prince Cyaxares of Cahraman.

  But this time I needed to compete to win.

  And it wasn’t because I wanted to win Cyrus. I wasn’t here for him and my desires didn’t matter. I needed to win because only the winner of this competition, the one the prince would choose to become his future queen, would be invited into the king’s quarters to receive some royal heirloom as congratulations. That was my remaining chance to get in there, to get the lamp.

  Even if it seemed impossible, I had to win.

  It was literally a matter of life or death.

  Chapter Two

  “Can you believe it’s down to us?” Cherine Nazaryan, second-cousin to the prince and my most unlikely friend cooed smugly. “Out of fifty girls, from all known corners of the world, and the Fates insisted we remain together.”

  All known corners except mine. This world either never knew Ericura existed, or had forgotten it ever did.

  But it didn’t matter if I was here by fate or force. I, like Cherine, was in Sunstone with only a week left to an uncertain future. But while she’d either go home disappointed or remain a princess, I’d either prevent a tragedy or meet a grisly end.

  In other words, I was between a rock and a hard place. Except the rock felt more like a boulder balanced precariously above my head.

  “No, I really can’t,” I sighed, hoping I sounded wistful rather than overwhelmed. “Guess it’s going to take a little longer to sink in.”

  It had been less than ten hours since I’d ended the ball in fiery havoc. All attendees had since been accounted for, apologized to, and either escorted to rooms in the palace or to their homes. The aftershocks of my arson still reverberated through the palace, but my friends had seemingly shaken off the incident.

  If anything, Cherine seemed more excited, as if the fire had only reignited her thrill in the competition. Now that I considered it, that scare couldn’t compare to the heart-stopping fear she’d experienced when she’d been dangling from a gargoyle, one wrong move away from falling off the mountain.

  Her reaction was a tiny relief. The fire had been a desperate diversion I’d believed wouldn’t harm anyone. But just thinking it could have, froze my blood solid. I would have never put Cherine in danger, but if things had gone out of control, would it have mattered what I’d believed? Would I have been better than Fairuza, who’d pushed her over the palace wall?

  The instant my mind wandered to Fairuza, my defeated, self-loathing mood flared into aggression. Now most of the competitors had been dismissed, I’d have more exposure to her. And to Loujaïne. Both would no doubt find new ways to undermine me.

  On top of that, we were bidding our shared quarters goodbye. Our final week started with putting each finalist in her own quarters. I, at least, hoped it would be somewhere closer to the one thing I was here for, so I could try to steal it again.

  The stifling sadness of my failure and the upcoming separation from my friends turned the hopeful yellow of the new day to a murky, burnt grey. Like the fire I’d started, billowing a mile-high smoke pillar, blocking out the sun.

  It had been a month since I’d last seen Bonnie and her father. Thirty whole days since the witch Nariman had arrived in Ericura and kidnapped us, sending me here to do her bidding with the Fairborns’ lives hanging in the balance. I was in this desert kingdom and they were all the way across the Folkshore with a beast that terrorized the woods of Rosemead. Until yesterday morning, her threats of sacrificing them to a monster had been just that, threats. I’d kept hoping she’d been exaggerating, lying even. But the glimpse she’d shown me, of a hulking shadow cornering a terrified Bonnie and her father…

  But now wasn’t the time to drown in misery. I had one last week to prevent their situation from worsening. Nariman had said she’d hold back the beast until the winner was announced, implying that I should win, as my only remaining way of getting her the lamp.

  “Do you think it’s one last test?” Cherine continued, blissfully unaware of my turmoil. “It was one test every ten days in the first month, but now we only have seven days. Will it be by the week’s end if it’s one?”

  To escape answering, I pretended to check under my bed though I’d already gathered everything the night before. I’d been ready to split the palace the second they announced the Final Five. I’d told my qarin—the servant spirit Nariman had given me—to unbox itself and carry everything to the train leaving the kingdom.

  But my papery helper had remained sleeping at the bottom of my trunk.

  Seemed it had known I wasn’t going anywhere yet. To think I was more in the dark than it literally was.

  There was also no escaping Cherine, who waited for my answer with crossed arms.

  “Who knows what the prince has in store for us this time,” I mumbled.

  “Oh! I forgot to include him while thanking the Fates,” Cherine exclaimed as she started putting pearl-tipped hairpins in her dark-blonde hair.

  “What about the judges?” I asked.

  “Pff,” Cherine huffed dismissively. “I would have thanked only the king, if he’d been involved in the competition. And though he might be in this last round, I’m sure it will be just a formality. This is for Cyaxares to pick his wife, and I’m sure the king only wants his son to be happy. The only one who partly matters beside him is the princess.”

  She was right. Most of the judges in the Bride Search were unremarkable, and I’d paid little attention to the ones I hadn’t personally dealt with. But the ones I had, had paid too much attention to me. Princess Loujaïne’s pale eyes had always seemed to follow me, gaze fluctuating between dislike and suspicion.

  I couldn’t blame her. After all, I was suspicious. I was sent here by the witch her king of a brother had exiled from the kingdom. If she smelled trouble whenever I passed, then she was as sharp as a guard’s hound.

  But it wasn’t her who had my insides tying themselves into elaborate knots right now. It was the other two I believed had chosen me. Master Farouk, who had clearly favored me, and the prince I’d failed to even suspect.

  The prince who’d masqueraded as a servant and thief, helped me countless times, made my time here exciting and made my heart flutter with hope and joy. Now my heart only shivered with worry and conflict, because I knew who he really was.

  Master Farouk on the other hand, had nearly given me a heart attack last night as we’d danced at the ball. He’d casually mentioned that no Bride Search invitations had been sent to the land I claimed to come from. I was almost certain he knew there was no Rose Isle in Arbore. Though I’d been too shocked to whip up an explanation, for some reason he hadn’t exposed me on the spot. That had been all I’d needed since I’d expected to never see him again, and would leave before I ever saw the prince.

  But now I’d see them both again, for a whole week, and anxiety was trickling back into me, like heat melting fissures in a block of ice.

  Would Farouk tell Cyrus? Had he already told him?

  If he had, then I wouldn’t still be here. Right? But if he was keeping this information to himself, how long would he do that, and what would he do with it?

  Cherine slammed her verdigris trunk shut, jolting me out of my daze. “Fates, judges, prince, princess or even king, what matters is that we all made it this far!”

  “Shame it had to be all of us in the last five,” said a cranky voice, bursting Cherine’s flowery mood.

  Cora, who had
haphazardly stuffed her belongings in her bags, was still on her bed, hugging one of the four posters, one foot up and the other dangling idly. Or it would have dangled if she weren’t so tall.

  “I know,” Cherine groaned, rolling her hazel eyes. “After all she’s done, Fairuza still makes it to top consideration with us? This is an insult I will never forgive Cyaxares for once we’re married.”

  I had to admire her confidence. From day one, Cherine had arrived believing, not hoping, that she’d marry the prince. I’d found that funny, back when the prince had been an afterthought, and I’d fantasized that Cyrus and I would run off together with a bag of treasure and the lamp.

  But as the prince himself, Cyrus would not be going anywhere with me, but would most likely be choosing one of the two princesses.

  “I was talking about me still being here.” Cora snorted, lightening up a little. She was the only one, besides me, who never wanted to be here, who couldn’t wait to go home. “But that works too.”

  “Careful, Cherine,” I sighed. “Or she might try to off you again.”

  Cherine wiggled with fury. “She so much as breathes near me and I’ll take out her eye.”

  “With what?” Cora grinned, malicious intrigue brightening her green eyes.

  “With an ear of corn from your bag.”

  Cora threw back her head and laughed, unfurling her golden hair from its messy bun. “For a second I thought you’d said a unicorn horn.”

  Cherine pretended to consider it, tapping her lips thoughtfully. “If you have one of those, it will do too.”

  We exchanged one silent look then we all cracked up.

  The intensity of our laughter fizzled out fast but soft huffs lingered as we finished up our room.

  I was going to miss them. I really was.

  I wished I could confide in them, tell them about my situation in full, not only the bits I’d told Cyrus and Ayman. I’d wanted to tell Cyrus who I was yesterday, before he’d told me first. That path was sealed off the second a crown materialized above his name.

  Telling him anything now would be equivalent to confessing to treason.

  But in my fantasies, it was still possible to do so. I could even dream that I wasn’t here on a mission, and that my only worry for the future was to be Cyrus’s choice, his everything—

  Then reality reared its ugly head and reminded me that, just like there wasn’t an Ada of Rose Isle, there wasn’t a Cyrus. With just a small tweak to our names, a distance was placed between us, one as vast as Sunstone’s mountain, and more insurmountable.

  Shaking those thoughts off, I checked my bag and trunk. The qarin had seamlessly tucked my loot under the dresses, what I’d planned to start a business on Ericura with, and have a whole new life with Cyrus and my friends.

  Sudden, sharp knocks on the door almost had me flying out of my slippers.

  “Set your luggage at the foot of your beds and head out,” Loujaïne’s muffled voice ordered from the other side.

  With a groan, Cora got up and stretched her back. Cherine smoothed her hair and dress, looking between us excitedly. “Ready for the next stage, girls?”

  I took in a deep, steadying breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

  Outside, we found the dreaded Princess Loujaïne with the other elites, Mistress Asena, Master Farouk and Master Zuhaïr. Princess Ariane of Tritonia was behind Zuhaïr in a peach gingham gown that clashed with her auburn hair. She waved at me good-naturedly, offered Cora an uncertain smile then merely blinked at Cherine. I waved back tentatively.

  Ariane, like Cherine, had offered to ship me off to her land to marry one of her brothers. She’d reasoned that I’d come here for a prince, and when I didn’t get Cahraman’s, I could have my pick of her brothers, save for the crown prince. An offer I would have taken if I were in her or Cherine’s shoes, where any royal or nobleman would be all I needed in life.

  Ariane knew her only real competition was Fairuza, as both were already princesses. Cherine was still the highest possibility after them, with the advantage of being a native to this land. She knew the people, the culture, the expectations and the royal family. Fairuza might be the prince’s first cousin but she’d never visited Cahraman before this competition, making her just as foreign as the rest of us. But while Cora wasn’t noble, she would still make an advantageous match since her mother was the head of the Folkshore’s biggest farming region.

  Whereas I, as Lady Ada of Rose Isle, had nothing to offer—absolutely nothing. No title, no land, no allies or experience to put me in true consideration.

  But I was still here. I had to have been chosen for a reason, one that wasn’t as obvious as Ariane and Fairuza’s titles, Cora’s connections or Cherine’s nobility.

  Maybe I was his personal choice?

  Cherine sped past me to fall into step beside Loujaïne. “Where’s our fifth? Tell me she was picked only as a courtesy. I know Cyaxares is kind enough to spare her public embarrassment. Did he send her home in private, away from prying eyes?”

  Loujaïne glared at Cherine. “Fairuza requested that the prince himself escort her to her new chambers.”

  My foolish thoughts of being the special one among them were siphoned into a drain of despondency. Fairuza was the one who got him to escort her to her new quarters. That was a fact worth a thousand words I never wanted to hear.

  So why was I still here? After all the incriminating things I’d confessed to him? For his entertainment? Did he find toying with me funny? Was that why I’d won each round against many girls who would have made great royal wives and princesses?

  I’d thought I’d known what Cyrus, the servant-slash-thief, had wanted from me. But what did Prince Cyaxares want? It surely wasn’t pleasant company, or else he wouldn’t be favoring Fairuza now.

  I hated to sound bitter and jealous—but of course I was jealous of her! Aside from having his attention and a fifty-percent chance of becoming his princess, she was beautiful, noble and wealthy with incredible talents and no worries. I had too many of the latter and none of the former. I didn’t even have his attention now.

  I wished there was a way to turn back time. Back to the exact moment Bonnie and I were pulled into this mess. I wished none of the last month had happened.

  Mostly, I wished I’d never met him.

  I wanted to hate him for making everything so much harder, for twisting my feelings and scrambling my plans. But I couldn’t. Not when I’d fallen in love with the side of him he’d shown me. What might not be real at all.

  Conflicting emotions swirled within my head like the suffocating smoke from the fire as we reached a circular hallway with three doors along the curve of each half. To the right of each door was a veined, pink marble pedestal with the bust of a woman. Though made from the same monochrome material, from their features, it was clear all six women were from different lands.

  Their names said as much: Helia of Orestia, Alysanne of Arbore, Morgana I of Almaskham, Ethelstine of Orcage, Primavera of Campania—and Princess Zafira of Cahraman.

  I remembered that last name. In The Anthology of the Dunes—the book Master Farouk had given me at our first test—the explorer Esfandiar of Gypsum had noted that he was sent into the desert to recover treasures by a Queen Zafira. Either this princess became that queen or she was her namesake.

  Next moment, every rational thought fled my mind like steam from a boiling teapot. From the door by the bust of Alysanne of Arbore, came Fairuza. Her shiny dark hair was twisted up in a three-tiered bun, set by a peacock-shaped comb, with her jewels as if made to complement her bell-shaped, silver-satin dress. The epitome of calmness and perfection. It made me want to wring her by the neck and ruin both.

  But Fairuza was uncharacteristically serene as she floated out of to us, her handmaidens rushing to flank her sides like they were extensions of her. All three wore the same calm, smug expression like they had the peace of mind I so desperately wanted.

  The black eye I had given her was healing well, too. It was
now more easily covered up by makeup. I wanted to punch her other eye when Cyrus came out of her room last.

  All my anger faded when I saw him clearly, and was immediately spellbound by his presence. He wore an open coat the color of his eyes over a white ensemble, a simple design but nevertheless it was complex in rich material and subtle embellishments. His thick mane of sun-streaked hair was styled as it had been last night, when he’d transformed from Cyrus to Cyaxares, with the fairer locks of his fringe smoothed to one side rather than in a natural part or a mess over his bright green eyes.

  I had once noted the timeless beauty of his features, compared it to the royal sculptures hidden in the vault, imagined him made of the same precious material with his skin smooth gold, his hair shining bronze and his eyes encrusted emeralds—the crown jewels of his magnificent face. That had been before I’d known that he was, in fact, the descendant of those royals.

  But with that in mind, he did look like a different person. I didn’t know whether this was my perception now I had to reconcile both aspects of him, or if he truly was different now that the act was over. Yet, regardless of what I thought, he dazzled me more than the glittering structures of Sunstone and all the treasure in the palace vault put together. He was their combined luxury in motion. He was the living embodiment of Cahraman’s history and wealth, and it made him fantastic to behold and painfully unattainable.

  Still, this was the man I needed to win. Not for my own desires, but because I had to. As the prince, he’d no longer be my prize, but a means to an end. Being chosen by him led to his father’s quarters. I’d only use the opportunity to steal the lamp and run, leaving him to settle for his runner-up. To marry Fairuza as their aunt, Princess Loujaïne, clearly wanted from the start.

  That would have been the unquestionable plan if I hadn’t formed a relationship with him. A relationship that had been based on us both lying about who we were. But the time we’d spent together, the words we’d spoken, the feelings we’d expressed had felt so genuine, still flowed in my blood and reverberated in my being. I couldn’t yet stuff them in a dark corner of my mind among all the painful memories I stowed away so I could survive.