Page 11

XERXES

Xerxes’s room was so dark, he could hardly see himself in the mirror as he pulled on his blue coat of nobility, sliding his arms through the sleeves, and positioning the shoulders where they ought to be.

He’d forgone the assistance of servants today, wishing for quiet he’d never find.

The servants vanished after some threatening persuasion, leaving the King to get ready for the Introduction Ceremony alone with his voices.

He shoved things around on his dresser in the dark, searching for the last piece of his outfit he was expected to wear before the court.

By the Divinities, he couldn’t remember where he’d put his ring.

He glanced over to the water glass beside his bed, recalling how his signet ring had drowned in the middle of the night.

The royal ring was a heavy boulder on his hand, and he couldn’t stand how it kept him awake.

He’d watched it sink to the bottom of the glass, and there, he’d stared at it for hours.

With a sigh, he headed over, fished the ring out of the water glass, and slid it onto his forefinger where it belonged.

It was a shiny, gold thing with star runes of royalty and prosperity.

Not his style, but certainly his father’s sort of thing.

Xerxes hadn’t inherited his father’s plain features, his ruthless confidence, his control over the kingdom, nor his peaceful, care-free slumbers.

The only gifts the former King had given Xerxes before he died were a wife he never wanted and this lump of gold that rested heavily on Xerxes’s hand.

He took in a deep breath and exhaled through his nose.

It was the time he’d been dreading. The time when the Heartstealer maidens he’d been avoiding all morning would get to see his face.

They would like it, too—he didn’t have to look in the mirror to know he was handsome.

Grovellers on his council informed him of such things all the time even when he wished they wouldn’t.

He tugged open a curtain before he left, eyeing a rising bout of smoke far in the distance.

The smoke had appeared behind the mountains at daybreak, and it was only increasing.

The mountains weren’t a part of Xerxes’s land, but still.

He had men out there, enforcing the kingdom boundary.

His chest tightened when he thought of them.

If his boundary men were attacked, he wouldn’t get word until it was too late.

“Just let them die,” one of the voices said.

“Don’t trouble yourself with such trivial things,” another agreed.

“Quiet,” Xerxes snapped through his teeth. He released an exasperated grunt. It seemed he needed to visit his tree before the Ceremony began. The last thing he wanted was another incident before all the watching eyes in the Hall of Stars.

As the thought crossed his mind, a deep hunger boiled within him. A hunger that could not be satisfied by any food, apart from one. Xerxes rushed for his door and ignored the questioning looks from his room guards as he flew past.

The Hall of Stars buzzed with so much energy, Xerxes could hardly sit still in his gilded chair upon the dais.

He shifted in his seat, licked the taste of pears from his lips, patted imaginary dirt off his shoulder, and tapped his toes against the floor.

He wished to stand and pace, but he knew that would make people whisper.

His robe was too warm for a day like today too, and the organizers had decided to keep the glass doors to the courtyard closed, suffocating everything in the room with still air. It was all unbearable.

Seven Celestial Divinity statues built into the walls gazed down into the Hall of Stars.

The servants must have polished them for this event; the white marble glowed beneath the chandelier lights and the two hundred gold lanterns hanging from the ceiling.

Xerxes eyed the statue of Nyx, her slender female form taking up half the East wall.

For a Divinity who governed the night, she hadn’t helped Xerxes sleep much.

Perhaps it was because Nyx was claimed to be the daughter of chaos itself.

Maybe it was the goddess’s nature to bring only restlessness to one’s sleep.

Xerxes rolled his eyes at the thought. He’d prayed to Nyx and Hesperus more times than he could count, and they never gifted him a pleasant slumber.

He was sure the Celestial Divinities had all forgotten about the King of Per-Siana by now.

Which was an easier truth to believe than the alternative; that they knew of his troubles and didn’t care.

Xerxes tapped his knuckles against his armrest, thinking of how the Divinities also hadn’t lifted a finger to stop him from being trapped on this throne facing the debacle before him today.

“What a fine day to meet the four Heartstealers,” one of the Intelligentsia murmured down the dais.

Xerxes huffed a quiet laugh to himself. How shocked the Intelligentsia would be when they learned that one of their precious chosen maidens had already escaped the palace and was probably racing into the wilderness by now.

Currently, there were only three maidens left, and despite the dreariness of the situation, Xerxes revelled in the fact that he would get to see the Intelligentsia discover this fun little fact up close.

A sweep of glassy wind chimes filled the Hall with music, and hundreds of nobles of the highest rankings turned to face the silver entrance.

Only the dark blue centre carpet was empty—a walkway for the maidens.

All the Intelligentsia who stood at Xerxes’s sides aimed themselves to watch the show, their shadowy faces peering from below their long hoods.

An organizer said a short welcome, and before Xerxes was ready, the first maiden was announced.

Xerxes closed his eyes and sucked in a lungful of air.

The announcer said her name was Ulita Sorabata .

At one point, Belorme had informed Xerxes about these young women, but Xerxes couldn’t remember a thing about this Ulita person now.

He rubbed his temples, waiting for it to be over as the nobles below reacted with gasps and other obnoxious noises.

He finally opened his eyes when the second maiden was announced—just a crack to see how terrible everything was.

Calliope Ingrid . Unfortunately, Xerxes remembered that one.

Only because the Intelligentsia had discussed her the most. This was the horrid woman Xerxes would likely be expected to marry.

He released a huff of disbelief at the sight of the large, frilly pale blue and navy dress she wore.

“This is utterly impractical,” Xerxes muttered.

At his side, Damon tilted his hood toward Xerxes. In his low, dark voice, he asked, “How so, Your Majesty?”

“What good will fancy dresses do for these women?” Xerxes asked, loud enough to challenge all the Intelligentsia down the line, yet quiet enough to keep the conversation from the rest of the nobles.

“How will those dresses save them if B’rei Mira attacks?

Shouldn’t we be more concerned with finding a queen who can defend herself, rather than one who looks nice in a ridiculously large ball gown?

” Xerxes didn’t hear the third maiden announced through his talking.

Down the line, Belorme tilted his head toward Xerxes too, but he said nothing.

Xerxes closed his eyes and went back to rubbing his temples. He wanted a hot bath and a drink. What a waste of time this all was.

“Estheryn Electus,” the organizer announced, and Xerxes’s eyes opened.

His gaze darted up. He was not interested in her, but perhaps he wanted to know what she looked like—the girl whose father had traded her life for his own freedom.

The girl Xerxes, by a deal bound by the Celestial Divinities, now owned.

Xerxes’s heart stopped when he spotted her.

It wasn’t because she wore a gown inlaid with a depthless sea of gems, or because her sheer skirts whispered of the night breeze as she walked, or because she left strange, wet footprints behind when she came in.

It wasn’t because it occurred to him that four maidens had been named after all, instead of three.

No.

It was because he recognized her from the garden last night when she tried to escape. When she succeeded in escaping—with his help.

She’d returned.

A slow, wicked smile threatened Xerxes’s face when she lifted her gaze to him.

Their eyes locked, and in her expression, Xerxes saw it all: her startled look as it dawned on her that she knew his face, the rigidness that seized her body, and the flash of horror as she must have remembered all those things she said to him in the garden.

“Goodbye, you ugly, heartless King!”

Those dangerous, exquisite, amusing words.

Forget the moment she mistook him for a palace servant. This was now the most entertaining moment of Xerxes’s kingship.