Jewel of Persia

Why had he thought it worth the risk? Had she encouraged him in some way? Never—he had no doubt Kasia fought him with all the might she could spare, but she had been

weak with the pregnancy and would have feared hurting their child.

Poor Kasia, having to endure such a thing. No wonder she refused to look at the prince, no wonder she changed the subject whenever he came up. What agony must she feel

around him? He could not blame her for not telling him. It would hurt too much, and she would fear his reaction. But he knew exactly who to blame.

His son would pay.

He stormed to the palace that had once been his father’s personal quarters, the one he had given to his son upon his wedding. Just inside the front columns, he halted and

spun to face his servants. “You come no farther.”

The furrow in Zethar’s brow was deep as a canal. “But master—”

He slashed a hand through the air. “No. This is between me and my son. Stay here.”

Knowing they would obey whether they liked it or not, Xerxes strode forward again, through the cavernous entryway, through the empty receiving rooms. Where was he? “Darius!



He pounded into the bed chamber when all others proved empty, sending the door crashing into the wall. If his son were not here—

A startled cry drew his gaze to the corner of the room. Artaynte stood by one of the low windows, hand clutching her throat.

Xerxes was in no mood for female dramatics. “Where is your husband?”

Her hand fell away, and with it went all expression from her face. She looked as cold as he felt molten. “I do not know. Probably off trying to get a glimpse of your wife.



The blackest of curses tripped off his tongue as his hand sought and found something to send into the wall. Its crash resonated perfectly with the notes of fury within him.

“You know.”

Artaynte made no reaction to the display of temper. “I would have to be blind not to see the way he looks at her. And deaf not to hear him cry her name when it should be

mine.”

A roar left his throat raw and aching, like the rest of him. “Do you know what he did in Sardis? Do you know he forced himself upon her?”

“I saw him kiss her and assumed the rest.” Her voice was low, but it throbbed. “I thought I could still take back his heart. I was a fool.”

“I will not forgive this.” But how to punish him?

Artaynte turned her face away. “What good is forgiveness? I would see him humbled.”

“Humbled? He is all pride.”

And he was his heir. Xerxes could not smite Darius without smiting himself, not if he took any public action.

“Then I shall strip him of his pride.” The girl trembled as she spat the words.

“How?” Then again, it had not been a public crime. It had been a private one, an intimate one.

She raised her chin. “The same way he stripped me of mine. I shall give myself to another and let the court laugh at him.”

He realized his vision had been edged with red only when it went dark. The room felt heavy, shadowed in spite of the afternoon sunlight.

His voice sounded strange to his ears, too cold for the rage slicking through his veins. “Who did you have in mind?”

*

Something was wrong. Kasia could not put her finger on what, but she could feel it. A discord, a pebble in life’s shoe.

She studied her husband as she bounced little Zillah gently against her shoulder. They sat in the gardens, the sun bright and warm, the flora fragrant. But sorrow lurked in

the corners of his smile, tension shadowed his eyes. It had been there for weeks, but she could not figure out why.

Xerxes caught her gaze and quirked a brow. “Why do you look at me like that, my love? Have I an epic inscribed on my forehead?”

She refused to smile, though it took some effort. “I will figure it out eventually, you know.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Yet the sorrow flickered before he smiled it away. “Unless perhaps that you will figure out what gift you ought to request during my

birthday feast?”

She breathed a laugh. “I maintain it is a dangerous practice—granting everyone whatever they want on your birthday, unable to say no . . .”

“I have to agree to grant them something—then I am powerless to deny them. Hence why I only allow a few requests every year.” He stroked Zillah’s bald head—Kasia was

not certain where all that dark hair had gone—and grinned. “And I am eager to extend the right of request to you this year, my love.”

“Unnecessary.” She kissed his hand, then the babe’s head. “I have everything I want already.”

“Oh, come now. You could ask for that city you have always wanted. Up to half my kingdom—say the word and it is yours.”

Laughter bubbled up and spilled out. “Very likely. Perhaps I shall instead ask that you tell me what troubles you.”

His grin faded away. “There is nothing to tell.”

“Xerxes.”

He sighed and cupped her cheek. “And if there is, and I want to spare you the concern of it, you ought to grant me the indulgence. It is my birthday.”