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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A low chuckle echoed throughout the room, a tone so gruff it sounded more like it should belong to the sailors in the harbor than it did a King.
"Ah, so this is the latest merchandise you've brought my sons, is it, Abdul?"
"Yes, ValaHazrat," Abdul said, his head ducked so low, I imagined he must've had a horrible headache.
"You've brought fewer than the ones before you," the same voice mused, and the sound of a goblet thumping onto a table resonated.
Other than that, though, the room was as silent as a skittering mouse trying to steal food.
"With all due respect, Shahryar, my delegates and I tried to find the Princes but the very best."
"Hm... Well, I suppose it all falls down to what my children think. Are they to your liking?"
How odd it was that the King was asking for the liking of his children, when it should have been the other way around.
After all, since when did a King listen to anything but himself? In a way, it almost sounded like he was scared of his kids.
"I'll say," another voice, this one higher but thicker than the King's, mused, "stand up and lift your pretty faces first."
"Do as he says," Abdul hissed, his voice just barely loud enough to hear.
I lifted my head and locked eyes with a smirking, tan face.
I couldn't quite figure out where exactly we were, perhaps one of the many dining rooms the palace held. But it was big and white, with an odd, slanting ceiling and a large table fitted in the center. Though it looked like it should've been able to host a whole banquet of guests, only four people sat around it -- A man wearing a gold Sarband, and three others wearing a silver one.
My first thought was that all three of them were very attractive.
My second was that I did not like the way the smirking man was looking at me.
"Ladies, this, is ShahzadehRaza Benyamin Syahir, the First Prince," Abdul said, his hand gestured in exaggeration towards the man.
Prince Raza was tall, very tall, with dark hair cropped so short that his head might as well have been shorn. In contrast, his eyes were a stark, light brown, and if it was not for the leer on his face, then I'd easily admit that he had one of the most beautiful faces I'd ever seen on somebody, either man or woman.
But the smirk twisting his mouth was wicked, and I couldn't help the goosebumps prickling on the side of my arms.
"Abdul," he drawled, standing up. Even his gait looked smug, his back tall and pulled back in almost odd fashion, and I could feel my dislike increasing. "I simply take my pick, no?"
