He adjusted the heavy crown on his head and wished that Sajda was standing next to him.
Her name sent a bone-deep ache of misery through him, and he resolutely stretched his smile wider as he reached a hand toward the next pair of royals who attended his coronation. Above him, moonlight flooded the glass dome of the palace entry, gilding the enormous diamond chandelier a dazzling white.
Somewhere, Sajda was staring at the same sky. The starlight would turn to liquid silver beneath her skin, and she would be glowing in a way that almost hurt to see.
“Are you well?” The boy whose hand Javan just realized he’d been clasping for too long stared at him intently, his dark eyes narrowed as he pulled his hand free and took a step back.
“My apologies,” Javan said, wincing as the ache in his head redoubled.
“No apology necessary.” A beautiful girl with golden skin and a wide smile elbowed the boy and then leaned toward Javan as if she wanted to tell him a secret. “The key to surviving these interminable meet-and-greet ceremonies is a healthy supply of snacks.”
Javan’s eyebrow rose. “Snacks?”
She grinned. “Works every time. Chocolate is especially good if you’ve got a headache. Of course you don’t have a handbag to smuggle food in, but you’re the king! People have to obey you. You can send a page to the kitchen at any time.”
“Chocolate.” Javan smiled what felt like his first real smile since he’d watched Sajda leave as the girl tapped a finger against the beaded exterior of her handbag. “You’re carrying snacks right now, aren’t you?”
“You never know when you’re going to need one.” She extended her hand for him to lift to his lips. “I’m Ari.”
The boy sighed, though he seemed just as bemused by Ari as Javan was. “She means she’s the Honorable Princess Arianna Glavan of Súndraille.”
The girl looked pained. “I’d prefer just Ari.”
Javan nodded solemnly. “I’ll think of you as Ari, the girl with the snacks.”
She beamed, and then they moved on, beckoned by a page to a hall set with refreshments. Javan greeted several others, and then ducked out a side door to the courtyard, its fountains frozen solid.
His breath fogged the air as he removed his crown, nearly groaning in relief as its weight lifted.
If only it was that easy to lift the other weight he carried.
The nightmares. The corruption in his government. The wounds that needed to be healed across his kingdom.
And the way he missed Sajda with every breath he took.
“Your Highness, all the visitors have arrived.” A page spoke from the doorway behind him. “Are you ready to give your welcome speech?”
Javan let the ache of missing Sajda settle into his bones, and then squared his shoulders. Placing the crown back on his head, he took one last breath of the peaceful night air and then prepared himself to fulfill his duty.
To make his parents proud. To lead his people with honor and compassion. And to be the kind of king who understood what sacrifice and love truly meant.
“Your Highness?”
He rose to his feet, turned to face the page, and said, “I’m ready.”
EPILOGUE
JAVAN STOOD ON the balcony that overlooked his courtyard at the palace and watched the stars flicker to life in the velvet sky above. The chill of night was quickly chasing away the thick, lazy heat of another summer day in Akram, and nightingales sang in the lemon grove that rose on the hill behind his courtyard. Malik sat at his feet, his golden leopard eyes blinking sleepily.
Tonight, nearly eight months after leaving Maqbara behind, he would host Akram’s first kingdom-wide ball. Everyone was invited, from peasant to aristocrat. When a member of Javan’s royal council had protested the inclusion of peasants, Javan had removed him from his post and appointed someone else in his place.
Ballrooms across the city were open tonight. Every aristocrat was hosting an event. Every kitchen was busy assembling buffets fit for the finest tables in the land. And the palace itself had three halls converted into small ballrooms, five rooms hosting buffets, and of course the main ballroom.
It was a small step toward unifying his people, but it was an important one. He’d personally addressed invitations to the former Maqbara prisoners he’d released when an audit of the magistrate’s office revealed that nearly half the prison’s inmates had no evidence to support their convictions. He wouldn’t blame them if they refused to set foot in Makan Almalik again, but he hoped they would. He’d given them justice. Now he wanted to give them a sense of community. Of belonging.
He would dance tonight with the daughters of aristocrats, butchers, goat farmers, and guards. Many of the aristocratic young ladies had already been paraded in front of him while their fathers offered a list of ways their family would make a good alliance with the crown and their mothers mentioned that of course he would need a queen, and her daughter was very accomplished.
He’d brushed them off with as much dignity as he could, giving the girls themselves a quick, sympathetic look. He understood all too well the pressure of living up to your parents’ expectations, sometimes at the expense of what you really wanted.
The person he really wanted was wandering the wide-open spaces of the world, far away from Akram.
It had been eight months, and his heart still wandered with her.
He’d have given anything she asked for, anything she needed to keep her by his side, but in the end, he hadn’t made the offer. She’d told him from the beginning that she could never stay in Akram. He’d loved her too much to beg her to change her mind.
She hadn’t promised she’d come back, and as he’d watched her leave, he’d known there was a good chance she wouldn’t. She’d find freedom somewhere far from him, and she’d stay. She’d think of returning, but no matter how many open skies she slept under, no matter how many stars she counted, Akram would still be the shackle she couldn’t bear to touch again.
Now, as he stood on his balcony adjusting a purple sash against his silk tunic, he breathed in the night air, full of citrus and jasmine, and promised himself that one day he’d search for her.
One day, when his kingdom was settled. When no one was questioning his rule. When there were no more pockets of corruption to root out and destroy. He’d put a regent in charge, and he’d search the world until he found her.
And if she was happy—if she was truly free—he wouldn’t approach. He’d watch from afar, satisfied that the girl he loved was thriving, and he’d return to Akram, leaving his heart behind with her.
A gong sounded from the palace’s main courtyard. A call to enter the ballrooms and begin the festivities.
It was time.
He whispered a prayer that wherever Sajda was, she was safe and happy and at peace. Then he took one last breath of the citrus-tinged air and nodded respectfully in the direction of his parents’ graves.
Fear out.
Courage in.
It was time to bring his kingdom together.