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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MARIAHAD PRAISED BREAKFAST with the royal family as if it was some sort of honor, but to be quite frank, nothing had ever felt so much like torture before.
The dining hall was quiet. Much too quiet, even for dining etiquette; it seemed that in the hopes of impressing the princes, all of the girls had decided that it was important to show prim, proper behavior, and as a result, none of them were talking, or moving, or, to my knowledge, even looked as if they were breathing.
There wasn't even a single sound of a knife scraping against a plate, or a spoon clattering against a bowl; as far as I knew, none of the girls were eating.
I glanced once at the Princes, noting how they all were glancing at each other, as if gauging who and what kind of first move the other would make.
I supposed that right now, as their father wasn't here and going who knows what, they were a little lost for direction, even though it certainly hadn't seemed that way yesterday.
In a way, it calmed me. It was normal for these young Princes to not know what to do without a King, much more normal than if they were to.
As if sending my gaze, Prince Raza looked up once, smirking when he saw me looking. Keeping his gaze on mine, he lifted up a large, gold goblet, taking a sip as he continued to smile.
For the first time, I was the first one to look away.
"Abdul," I heard someone call, their voice a deep, bass timbre, but unfortunately, with my refusal to look back and my very limited time in the palace, I hadn't yet remembered what each of the princes voice sounded like.
Abdul stepped forward, red robes swishing behind him. Today he looked much more composed than he had the day before; his robes were much fancier now, the color of fresh blood, and his beard had been trimmed to the standard Persian length.
"Yes, my Prince?"
"Do we have any plans for today?"
"If you do, I was not made aware, Shazadeh," Abdul replied. Looking up, I could see his head tucked in so low, his turban was almost falling off.
"I see, so there will be no objections if we decide to spend the day with our latest... prize?"
It disgusted me how this prince referred to us as 'prizes' for whatever competition he'd dreamed up of winning, but suddenly, all the girls around me were straightening up, backs rigid and shoulders stiff.
This was a competition, but the only difference was that, instead of the princes competing, it was us; eight village girls thrown together in a gilded cage as entertainment, to see who would get the privilege of warning a royal's bed.
I wrinkled my nose in disgust.
"If that is what you wish, Shahzadeh, then I see no reason why you shouldn't," Abdul said, inclining his head, looking remarkably more and more like a lap dog.
