The secretary narrowed his eyes. “The Babili incident . . . the one whose survivors your father just granted compensation. He ordered us to arrest their manufacturers and seize the remaining stock of carpets before they’re sold.”
Ali dimly remembered something like that being mentioned. “Oh . . . of course.” He reached for the scroll.
The other man held back. “Maybe I should give it to your secretary,” he said delicately. “Forgive me, my prince, but you look a little . . . overwhelmed.”
Ali cringed. He hadn’t realized it was that obvious. “I don’t have a secretary.”
“Then who took notes for you during today’s session?” Alarm rose in the other man’s voice. “There were at least a dozen matters that pertained to the Royal Guard.”
I was supposed to have someone take notes? Ali wracked his brain. Wajed had thoroughly explained Ali’s new responsibilities before he left for Ta Ntry, but shocked by Anas’s execution and the revelation about the weapons, Ali had struggled to pay attention.
“No one,” he confessed. Ali glanced at the sea of scribes—surely one of them would have a transcript of today’s session.
The other man cleared his throat. “If I may be so bold, Qaid . . . I typically take notes for myself regarding Citadel matters. I would gladly share them with you. And though I’m sure you would rather appoint a relative or member of the nobility as your secretary, if you need someone in the mean—”
“Yes,” Ali cut in, relieved. “Please . . . ,” he trailed off with some embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I asked your name.”
The secretary touched his heart again. “Rashid ben Salkh, my prince.” His eyes sparkled. “I look forward to working with you.”
Ali felt better as he headed back to his quarters. His attire and failure to take notes aside, he didn’t think he’d done terribly at court.
But, by God, those eyes . . . It was bad enough to stand and listen to inane petitions for hours; being examined by thousands of strangers while doing so was torture. He could hardly blame his father for drinking.
A palace guard bowed as Ali approached. “Peace be upon you, Prince Alizayd.” He opened the door for Ali, then stepped aside.
His siblings might have tried to find Ali simple accommodations, but it was still a palace apartment, twice the size of the barracks he’d once shared with two dozen junior cadets. The bedroom was plain but large, containing the overly soft bed and the single chest of belongings he’d brought from the Citadel pushed against the wall. Attached to the bedroom was an office ringed in bookshelves already half filled—improved access to the Royal Library was the one benefit of palace living Ali intended to make use of.
He entered the room and slipped off his sandals. His apartment faced the wildest corner of the harem gardens, a verdant jungle complete with hooting monkeys and shrieking mynah birds. A covered marble pavilion lined with swings overlooked the cool waters of the rushing canal.
Ali unwound his turban. The late-afternoon light filtered in through the sheer linen curtains, and it was mercifully quiet. He crossed the carpet to his desk and rifled through the stacks of paperwork: crime reports, appropriation requests, invitations to a countless number of social events he had no intention of attending, oddly personal notes requesting favors, pardons . . . Ali quickly sorted it, discarding anything that sounded unnecessary or ridiculous and putting the more important papers in order.
The sparkle of the canal caught his eye, tempting him. Though his mother had taught him to swim as a child, it had been years since Ali had last done so, embarrassed to take part in a hobby so strongly associated with the Ayaanle—and one that was viewed with revulsion and horror by many in his father’s tribe.
But there was no one around to see him now. He loosened his collar, reaching for the bottom of his shirt as he headed for the pavilion.
Ali stopped. He backed up to glance again through the open archway leading to the next room, but his eyes hadn’t deceived him.
There were two women waiting in his bed.
They burst into laughter. “I think he’s finally spotted us,” said one of the women with a grin. She lay on her stomach, delicate ankles crossed overhead. Ali’s eyes took in her layers of sheer skirts, soft curves, and dark hair before he quickly fixed his eyes on her face.
Not that it helped; she was beautiful. Shafit; that was clear from her rounded ears and dull brown skin. Her eyes were lined with kohl and bright with amusement. She rose from the bed, her ankle bells tinkling as she approached. She bit a painted lip, and Ali’s heart started to race.
“We were wondering how long it would take you to look past all your papers,” she teased. She was suddenly before him, her fingers trailing the inside of his wrist.
Ali swallowed. “I think there’s been some sort of mistake.”
She smiled again. “No mistake, my prince. We were sent to welcome you properly to the palace.” She reached for the knot of his waist-wrap.
Ali stepped back so fast he nearly tripped. “Please . . . that’s not necessary.”
“Oh, Leena, do stop scaring the boy.” The second woman stood, moving into the sunlight. Ali went cold, the ardor he’d been struggling to check instantly gone.
It was one of the Daeva courtesans from Turan’s tavern.
She walked forward with far more grace than the shafit girl, her liquid black eyes locked on his face. There didn’t seem to be any recognition there, but the night came flooding back to Ali: the smoky tavern, the blade bursting through the guard’s throat, Anas’s hand on his shoulder.
The way his scream had abruptly ended in the arena.
The courtesan’s gaze swept over him. “I like him,” she said to the other woman. “He looks sweeter than they say.” She gave him a gentle smile. Gone was the laughing woman enjoying a night out with friends; she was all business now.
“There’s no need to be so nervous, my prince,” she added softly. “Our master desires only your satisfaction.”
Her words cut through the fog of fear and desire clouding Ali’s mind, but before he could question her, there was another feminine laugh from the direction of the pavilion—this one all too familiar.
“Well . . . it certainly didn’t take you much time to settle in.”
Ali jerked away from the courtesan as his sister entered the room. The other women instantly fell to their knees.