“There are no coincidences when it concerns the Prophet,” he said and thought back to his vision in the desert. He had seen the runes before they had been burned in the sand. The Eternal Fire was warning him, taunting him. “I’ll speak with Samson. But search your men, Majnu. No one shall be overlooked.”
Majnu bowed.
“Your Majesty,” he said at the door, and Leo looked up, meeting his kohl-rimmed eyes. “What if the Prophet does not know that he is the one? What if his power lies dormant? What if… he’s you?”
Leo did not smile. “I am the furthest thing from a Prophet. Now send for Samson.”
The fire around the room purred as Samson arrived. He stood at the door, his eyes traveling over the flames and the mosaic floor before resting on Leo. He bowed.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “Arish.”
“I had the opportunity to meet a peculiar commander of yours recently,” Leo said.
“Ah.” Samson shifted his feet, crossing his arms behind his back. “You mean Chandi. She’s harmless.”
“She’s insubordinate,” Leo growled. He thought of her dark eyes, her skull tattoo.
“Chandi can be a bit possessive—”
“I cannot have your men defying me,” Leo said, his voice slicing through the room like a blade. “They’ve sworn their allegiance to Ravence. If they cannot even pretend to keep their word, what use are they to me?” His eyes met Samson’s. “What use areyouto me?”
The fire hissed. Samson stared at him, as if shocked, and then nodded slowly.
“I suppose my men do not recognize the true king.” He held up his right hand and spread out his fingers. “But I’ve taken the Desert Oath. And as long as you are king, I’m beholden to it.”
Leo rounded his desk. Late sunlight spilled in from the skylights, warming the crest on the marble floor. He stopped at its edge, Samson across from him. Silence wedged between them. Leo expected Samson to fidget, but his future son-in-law stood tall, his face carefully composed.
He knows why he’s really here.
“Saayna lied,” Leo said, and the crackle of the fire filled the space between his words. “The Prophet is in the palace.”
Samson closed his hand. He did not look alarmed. “Do you know her identity?”
“The Prophet is a man,” Leo answered. “I’ve searched the servants and the guards. All who remain are you and your men.”
Again, Samson nodded, his face still stoic. “I see.”
His composure annoyed Leo. He wanted to see some reaction—a twitch of an eyebrow, a downturn of the lip—but Samson did not yield. He would make a brutal king.
“Come,” Leo said.
Samson followed him to the edge of the room. The fire that had listened calmly now grew at their approach. Leo held out his hand, and without hesitation, Samson opened his palm, his signet ring glinting. Leo took his hand and held it over the flames. They grew and brushed the back of Samson’s knuckles.
Leo pushed down; the flames bit into Samson’s flesh. The warrior sucked air through his teeth, grimacing as the stench of burnt hair filled their nostrils. Leo held both of their hands over the fire until his own arm began to smart. Only then did he withdraw.
Samson cradled his fist to his chest, but he said nothing.
“Aloe will help with the burn,” Leo said and then added, “son.”
Delicately, Samson pulled off his ring and slipped it onto his other hand. “Do you plan to burn down this whole kingdom to find the Prophet?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
“Wouldn’t you do the same, if an overly powered lunatic threatened your kingdom?”
Arish drew up beside them and held out a damp towel. Samson took it and wrapped it around his hand, concealing the burn but not the smell of burnt flesh.
“I assure you, none of my men are the Prophet,” he said as he tucked in the end of the towel. He met Leo’s gaze then, and there was a gravity in his eyes, a depth that belied his charming demeanor. “You run a fool’s errand.”
“There’s the shobu’s bite,” Leo said with a mirthless smile. “And here I thought you would always roll over to please me.”
