Imperial

8. Roshani

Roshani hurried purposefully through the palace halls, followed by a large retinue of guards. Youtab stayed by her shoulder as she walked, always slightly behind. He was a fortunate man; his life would be spared today.

The report had come just minutes ago: Homeira and Kasra had been apprehended attempting to board a ship to Turan. The soldiers had dragged them back to the palace and locked them in the empress's chambers, where they awaited Roshani now. Homeira's escape attempt had failed.

But they'd come close, so close that Roshani's stomach was still clenched in fear, her shoulders tensed. What would have happened if they had managed to escape? Homeira could have gathered another army around her son's claim to the throne, or perhaps run to Soraya's side and further legitimized her claim. The outrage from nobles in the court would have been scorching. Roshani tried to take a calming breath, but her anger and fear only heightened with every step she took closer to her step-mother and half-brother.

At last they reached the former empress's chambers. Roshani burst through the doors unannounced, the wooden doors clattering loudly. Strands of hair had escaped her careful bun and her breath was ragged. Her hands remained at her side, curled into two fists. She must have looked half crazed.

Homeira sat on a canopied bed in the back of the room, watching her silently. She sat on the edge of the mattress, legs crossed and back straight. She had been waiting for them. There was a stony edge in her eyes.

In her left arm, she tucked the prince Kasra in the crook of her elbow. The young prince seemed blissfully unaware of the situation enfolding around him. He was only months old, his face still round and fat. He hadn't even grown teeth yet. His small, chubby hands played idly with his mother's necklace. She clutched him tighter to her.

Homeira's right hand gripped a gilded dagger. Her fingers were clenched tightly around the hilt. Even from across the room, Roshani could see her knuckled going white with the effort. Roshani stared at her father's third, and last living wife for the space of a second. She kept her features unaffected and neutral as she walked inside, though her eyes were drawn to the dagger in Homeira's hand.

The soldiers fanned out inside the room. In an instant, Homeira was surrounded, the points of a dozen spears all trained at her throat. Only the slight, nearly imperceptible, trembling of her dagger-hand betrayed any panic or fear.

Despite all of her rage and hurt, Roshani felt a begrudging respect for the woman's courage in the face of her fate. Homeira knew the punishment for her actions, yet remained storng and proud confronted with her own death. At least she would meet her end honorably, as a queen of Sazia should.

Homeira, the third queen, the forgotten wife. In her memories, Roshani only remembered how Soraya would always cling to Homeira's skirts, how quiet she was. Roshani wondered if her father had also forgotten the unassuming woman so easily, pushing her aside in attendance of more important people and issues.

Her face was pretty, certainly. She had the soft, curving form of the southern sea peoples, her lashes long and her nose pointed. A face befitting of a queen. Only her meek nature and complete lack of ambition had relegated her to the sidelines of palace politics. Looking upon her now, Roshani wondered if perhaps such a manner had been intentional, a way to fade into the background and avoid making enemies.

As if an empress of the Sazian Empire and wife of the shah could ever truly avoid the intrigues of the court and their consequences. Roshani lifted her gaze to meet Homeira's. The woman's efforts had been in vain.

Roshani walked forward several steps, her pace slow. Homeira raised her knife higher in warning. Roshani let a small smile cross her face. Did the woman really think she was a threat? Even if the guards couldn't stop her in time, Roshani was more than capable of handling a weak, untrained woman with a baby in one arm. She took one more careful step forward.