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R ohan returned to their chambers with a silent Jafar. His brother’s dark eyes were shattered, mistrust and hurt dragging the proud line of his shoulders down. Rohan had wanted to show him what it was like to feel the pain that he did. To trust in someone completely and learn they’d been selfish. To be used by someone he loved.

He’d thought it would make him feel better.

It had not.

When Rohan tried to speak, his tongue tied itself in knots, but it didn’t matter, for Jafar stalked into his room and slammed the door in Rohan’s face.

It was long past midnight, and as tired as Rohan was, he was also overwhelmed—from the voices and the blood and the fact that he’d opened his mouth. As he lay in bed, tossing and turning, the distance between him and Jafar more than an antechamber, he realized something far more horrifying than anything that had happened tonight.

The Sultana hadn’t asked for the secret.