Azul sat cross-legged on the floor of her small room, a game of Ukhel Dain spread before her.She had been playing alone for hours as the council moved through their plans for war.
Moving first one piece, then another.Testing strategies.Losing battles.Winning wars.The game unfolded beneath her fingers, becoming a prophecy written in wood.
Nkiru knelt in the corner, watching with wide eyes.She did not understand the game, nor did she understand why her mistress would sit here playing while the palace fell apart around them.
Azul's hand hovered over the board, considering.She reached out and picked up a pawn she had not yet used.She moved it forward."Right on time."
Nkiru shivered, though the room was warm.
Chapter 23
Somadinapausedattheedge of the sun-dappled pavilion.It was the calm before the storm, a day of preparations before Borji left to enquire about negotiations.The boy, of course, was busy, as was the Great Khan, and so Azul would be left unguarded for once.
His gaze softened at the woman sleeping.Azul was curled on her side on a pile of cushions, a heavy book—The Apothecary’s Arts of the Eastern Reaches—slipping from her slack fingers.
He had to acknowledge he had never seen her in muted colours.A few strands of small white beads were woven through the braids crowning her head, and delicate tangele lines accentuated the sweep of her closed eyelids and the full curve of her lips.
Drawn by impulse, Somadina moved closer, sinking into a crouch beside her.He leaned in, taking a few strands of her hair, closing his eyes, and inhaling deeply, the fragrance filling his senses.
That was his mistake.
In the space between one heartbeat and the next, a hand clamped around his wrist.A searing pain pricked the soft flesh beneath his jaw.
His eyes flickered open.
Azul was awake and chillingly alert.Her golden eyes were inches from his and he wondered how long he had stared, transfixed.The silver hairpin in her hand was pressed firmly to his throat; any slight movement, and he would bleed to death.
"Okpalaeze, reading over a woman’s shoulder is considered rude.Sniffing her hair is a good way to lose a nostril.What, pray tell, did you hope to find?"she questioned, the silver pin unyielding.
Something cold and thrilling strode into his heart and settled there.A smile played on his lips, widening as he felt the sharp sting and the warm trickle of blood down his neck.
She wouldn’t kill him.
Killing the Crowned Prince in this moment would mean death for her and for her wretched family.Azul tolerated her father’s neglect, but she loved him enough to protect his legacy.Somadina knew her weaknesses—family, duty, a frustratingly logical mind—and he was more than willing to use them.
So he leaned forward.He pressed into the pin until the skin broke further, his lips coming dangerously close to hers.She had no choice but to recoil, to pull the weapon back a fraction to avoid driving it too deep.It was all the space he needed.He moved with the speed of a serpent, seizing her wrist and twisting until the pin clattered to the mat.In a heartbeat, he had her pinned beneath him, her white robes a stark contrast to his blood dripping on her chest.
"Still playing with sharp things,Obim?"he asked, his breath fanning her face.
"Get off me," she spat, her golden eyes blazing with a hatred so unadulterated it was almost refreshing.It was the hatred of a woman who remembered him.It meant he’d left a mark large enough for her to notice for once.
"I came to make sure you were actually alive," he said, ignoring her struggle."My mother overstepped her boundaries this time."
She stopped struggling, her gaze turning icy."Why bother yourself?As you and that man have requested, I have the warlord in the palm of my hands."
That man, the man that was not her father.
The answer displeased him.It lacked the bitterness he wanted to cultivate."I hope you understand, no matter what grand deeds he does, he won’t be able to save you.Inevitably, he will die, no matter what you scheme."
Azul scoffed, a dry, disdainful sound."I have done as you both asked; my actions after this are mine and mine alone.Plan as you wish.But I hope you understand this.You, Somadina, will regret ever crossing me."
"Is that so?"He shifted his weight, enjoying the press of her beneath him."Let me guess your grand plan.You hope for my bastard Djinn brother, to sit on the throne and save you," he leaned closer, volume dropping to a sweet whisper."If that is your feeble idea of scheming, I will kill him myself.You have no path to victory, Akwaugo, understand, by the end of this, you will have to submit to me."
To seal his point, he took her left hand.It was trembling slightly, a satisfying betrayal of her fear.He brought her wrist to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the frantic pulse there, his eyes watching her over the delicate bones of her hand.
When he looked up, her face was calm.The disparity between that serene mask and the fury he knew simmered beneath was so intoxicating he felt a jolt of desire so strong it was a struggle to keep his composure.He wanted to shatter that calm.He ached for it.For her rage to bathe him, to drown him, to suffocate him.
A desperate, mad part of him begged in the silence of his own mind:Hit me.Spit at me.Kill me.
