“I’ll think on it,” Yatin answers.
He would never gripe to the prince. Natesa, on the other hand . . .
I mount a guard’s horse and amble uphill toward the palace. Its immaculate ivory exterior reflects the midday sun, and its golden domes burnish a glorious gleam. No doubt it is spectacular, but my heart’s wish is for rolling pastures and grazing sheep. A humble hut filled with books. The Alpana Mountains outside our door while I sketch in the den and Deven mills about the kitchen.
The hot desert wind pulls my attention back to the city. As I cross a road, I pass by a mother and her children. She tugs them away and flees in a rush. A painful tightness grabs at my throat. I remember a time when these roads were lined with people waving and cheering my name. They may not have adored me, but they adored the throne I represented. I gave much of myself to prove I was worthy of that throne. Some days I think I gave too much. The demands of the empire are bottomless. I had to step down, or the burdens would have consumed me.
I never thought I would miss it this much.
3
ASHWIN
My return to the palace inspires no fanfare. I pass the reins of the horse to a guard and stride up the entry steps. Repairs from the battle against the Voider are finished. Although I oversaw the restoration of the damages, the palace’s expansive floors still feel foreign. “Home” is too valued a term to bestow upon a residence absent of memories.
I pause at the top of the double curved staircase. Which way is my meeting?
Two ranis see me and hasten over.
“Prince Ashwin,” says Parisa. Or is she Eshana? I cannot recall. They are both stunning ranis. Lords, a man could forget his own name. “Eshana and I were discussing how generous you are to house all the sisters, wards, and trainees.”
“You’re too kind,” purrs Eshana.
My neck grows hot. “I see no need for them to stay elsewhere.”
“How magnanimous of you.” Parisa dips her chin as if we are coconspirators and grips my bicep. “Eshana and I were wondering if you’ve decided whether you will retain your father’s former ranis in your court?”
I flex my arm muscles. “I’m still thinking on it.”
“We can help you decide,” Parisa says, her lips stretching. “You should visit us at the Tigress Pavilion soon.”
“Your father loved my foot rubs,” adds Eshana.
Disgust worms into my belly. I try to forget they were Tarek’s wives; it helps me to think of them as more than ranis. “I’ll take your offer under consideration.”
They each kiss me on a cheek and sashay off. As the wetness evaporates off my skin, my guilt sets in. They have been through many trials: their Claiming, rank tournaments, marriage to Tarek, imprisonment by the warlord, and full-on war. They deserve every happiness for their loyalty to the empire, but they need not know I am betrothed to Princess Gemi.
During this tenuous transition of bhutas into society, I feel better announcing my selection for kindred right before the wedding. Once we wed, custom will constrain me from marrying another rani for two years or until we produce an heir. Tarek ignored this practice by wedding my mother and then Kalinda’s mother one after the other. I will honor the waiting period to establish that I have no aspirations for a hundred wives like my father. Then I will be expected to marry the former ranis or release them from their rank and dismiss them from the palace.