“Come,” Cyrus said, extending his hand.
Nuriya arrived next to him, and he took her hand, leading her to the kitchen. Opening a silver cabinet, he took down a large flask of the same orange juice he had been drinking. He filled his own glass with it, but this time handed it to Nuriya.
“Drink up, my sweet.”
Nuriya still looked bleary-eyed from sleep, or perhaps that was her normal expression now. Obediently she took the glass and sipped. She immediately choked.
“Drink it all,” Cyrus insisted.
Gingerly, she swallowed the rest. After setting down the empty glass, she clutched her throat, wincing.
Cyrus looked pleased, his full lips broadening in a smile. Running his palms down her arms, he took her hands in his and leaned forward to kiss her lips.
“You will be my queen, Nuriya. My tenth and final queen.”
Tenth and final. Wow… way to woo a woman.
I wondered if all of his nine wives were still current. I also wondered how many children he had fathered. According to the oracle’s story, before he was crowned he had already had several wives and children.
Nuriya swallowed harder than when she’d been trying to down the potion. Still, she nodded, though her eyes remained distant.
“I must leave you now,” he said. “I have a meeting.”
We followed Cyrus out of the kitchen and the apartment, along the winding hallways, until we reached a magnificent courtroom—empty except for one jinni hovering in the centre. He turned around to glare at Cyrus as soon as he entered the room. I could tell immediately from his stark features that he must’ve been one of Cyrus' relatives, and from his youth, most likely one of his sons.
“Horatio!” Cyrus boomed cheerily.
Horatio. The name rang a bell. I was sure that he was the jinni Aisha had mentioned—her old friend, the person who’d banished her from The Dunes for her own safety. Unless there were two Horatios…
“Father.” Horatio stormed over to the king, not even giving his father a chance to rise to his throne. “Are they true, the rumors?” Horatio asked, unrelenting in his glower.
“What rumors?” Cyrus asked, a half amused look on his face.
“That you plan to wed Nuriya?”
Cyrus heaved a sigh. He took to his throne, one elbow resting against its arm, while the other hand massaged his temple.
It seemed that was enough to answer Horatio’s question. The young man’s eyes narrowed. “You promised my mother she would be your last. You promised us all.”
Cyrus' smile faded. “You forget, Horatio, that Nuriya was meant to bear my heirs long before I made that promise.”
“You’re an abomination,” Horatio spat. “That’s what you are.”
I was shocked to see Horatio insult Cyrus in this manner, even though he was his son. Horatio must’ve been very dear to Cyrus, for Cyrus did not admonish him in the slightest. He simply rolled his eyes as his son stormed out of the room.
Crouched down in one corner with Lucas, I dared breathe, “Let’s follow him.”
Lucas shot me a quizzical look. I jerked my finger toward the door and whizzed toward it.
To have found somebody who did not worship the ground that Cyrus walked on was more than intriguing. Horatio had just become far more interesting than any meeting Cyrus might have been about to call in his court.
We hurried after Horatio as he rushed along winding corridors and then through the doorway of an apartment not far from Cyrus'.
“Mother!” Horatio called, his voice booming through the apartment.
“Horatio?” A female voice drifted from one of the rooms. Horatio turned into a sitting room, where his mother—a beautiful ebony-skinned woman—was seated on a sofa with a servant behind her, brushing her silky black hair with a bejeweled comb.
Her honeycomb eyes widened with concern as her son stormed toward her. His chest heaving, he took a deep breath. “It’s true what they’re saying. He will wed Nuriya.”