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Xerxes tilted his head, his finger tracing over the violet marking on his neck. He hadn’t been able to sleep through the night, and his stomach had rolled over itself into the early morning hours. Gold and silver were valuable enough, but B’rei Mira was already overflowing with riches, livestock, and exotic spices. He’d heard as much from travellers’ reports as a boy. B’rei Mira lacked nothing. Nothing but more land, more people, more kings.

Never had Xerxes heard of a kingdom paying B’rei Mira a tax to protect themselves. Alecsander, the War King, took whatever he wanted with no regrets. Messa and the dozens of other decimated kingdoms across the map were proof.

Xerxes’s hand came against his stomach, and he scowled down at the horse giving him a bumpy ride. That, along with the thought of meeting the Intelligentsia again, made him want to vomit down the side of his horse.

He heard the chants before he saw the people. Xerxes emerged through the Mother City street arches flanked by Division One and was greeted by the silver and blue of the Folke on the other side. The chants were ear-piercing, and with them came grunts as Folke turned on their heels and whacked citizens against their arms and even over their heads. Xerxes halted his horse, watching it all, his mouth peeling apart.

At first, he couldn’t see why the Folke were attacking ordinary citizens. He almost leapt ahead and growled at his royal guardsmen to stop, but as he watched, he realized all those chanting waved small gold flags. They pushed forward, shouting to him. Begging him, even, in words he couldn’t understand over the noise. His gaze travelled to a man standing upon a stone wall, holding up a banner with a giant painting of a maiden in bright gold armour.

It was then their chants solidified into a clear message: “The Gold Maiden! Queen of the Adriels!” and “The God Original is with us! He’s coming to heal this land!”

Xerxes released a grunt as he watched the Folke shove the crowds back. He knew Per-Siana admired the Gold Maiden, but he hadn’t realized how much that admiration had escalated into this obsession. And in the Mother City of all places; a city firmly established under Weylin order. No wonder the Intelligentsia had sent an invitation to the Gold Maiden to visit them.

An Adriel getting the people riled up. Being called a queen. How treacherous. The Intelligentsia would be outraged. Xerxes suddenly laughed, and all of Division One looked at him in question.

He ushered his horse forward, leaving the rioters to the Folke. There would be an Adriel uprising very soon if he didn’t do something about this. Now that he was back, it was time to get things under control in Per-Siana. Starting with the Intelligentsia.

The horses veered onto the Navy Road where people threw soft Damask rose petals, blew glitter, and sang Weylin songs for him. It was a kings’ parade, only different from the ones he’d known before because this time he wasn’t hidden away in a palanquin, worried about his flesh turning grey and losing his mind. Though, some citizens huddled, pointed toward his face, and whispered. He didn’t have to be close to them to know what they whispered about. Xerxes fought the impulse to touch the ink mark tarnishing his pretty face. The people probably assumed he was cursed like that little girl had the last time he was in the city. He imagined all sorts of suspicions would arise across the provinces now that the people got a clear look at him.

Folke opened the palace gate before he got there, and Xerxes sailed into the gardens, the familiar fragrance of fruit and blossoms washing over him in a way that both called him home and made his gut recoil. He came to the palace entrance and slid off his horse, leaving it behind with Division One as he marched up the stairs. The great doors were swung open for him and loud trumpets blasted. Nobles and councilmen clapped from where they crowded the lobby.

When Xerxes came into the atrium, he slowed his walk.

It was the same place, but it was vastly different than it had been before the war. Last time he’d charged into the palace, he was in too much of a daze to notice that the seven statues of the Celestial Divinities had been rebuilt, glistening with white gemstones now, the glorious painting across the ceiling had been touched up, and—Xerxes blinked up at a magnificent white stone dragon statue hanging from the ceiling, its long tail coiling behind it and stretching across the entire atrium. He wondered how much the gaudy statue of the fallen great judge of the sky had cost. While his soldiers ran out of meat and water, grew thin and had their hope crushed, the sages were here spending Per-Siana’s storehouses of gold.

Xerxes took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. If there wasn’t enough gold and silver left in the royal houses to pay off B’rei Mira now, he would hand the ignorant Intelligentsia over to Alecsander as an offering of slaves instead.

The thick taste of magic swarmed in as he marched through the atrium, people barely separating from each other in time to make a path for him. He ignored the new paintings on the walls, the gilded pottery on the end tables, the detailed mosaics that had turned the palace even more beautiful in a tacky, cluttered way than before. He marched right to the Room of Knowledge where the Intelligentsia must have been hiding away discussing kingdom affairs instead of waiting out in the atrium to greet their King.

He smashed the door open on his way in, making eleven sage magicians in long robes jolt. Yelenos. Oppehand. Choi. Damon. They all stared now, giving him the attention they’d failed to give him while he was away at war. He glanced up at the painting of Nyx that hadn’t been replaced yet. It hung in shameful tatters and he smirked—just a little.

“Your Majesty. Welcome back,” Damon said. “We were just planning the celebration ceremony for your return.” He paused. Then he added, “Among other things.”

“No ceremony,” Xerxes decided. “No celebrations.” He clasped his hands behind his back and paced the length of the room like he had many mornings in the strategy tent with his army commanders. “I have an important matter to attend to. I’ve made a deal with King Alecsander of B’rei Mira, and we’ll be compiling a package of goods to send to him in exchange for peace. You’d know this if you’d read any of the reports we sent from the desert. B’rei Mira will be sending a list of their requirements soon, and we must comply.”

Damon eyed him from unwavering black eyes. Then he said, “Very well, Your Majesty. It’s our duty as your advisors to listen. However—” the edge of his purple lip tugged “—we’ve been discussing the important matter of your future. We’ll be hosting a meeting with the council tomorrow night to discuss it further with them.”

Xerxes rubbed his temples. Didn’t they hear anything he’d just said about the peace deal? “To discuss what?” he snapped. “Which colour robe I should wear next?” It was a joke. It would be navy blue.

“To discuss the commencement of the Heartstealer trials in a few days,” Damon said, and Xerxes faltered.

“The maidens have already been selected, Your Majesty.” Choi spoke with a cool bite as he fiddled with a sparkling bronze chain around his neck.

One of Xerxes’s knees gave out—he jerked a step to the left before he caught himself. He thought to throw a fit and flip the table over. To chase these men out of this horrid room where they compiled all their precious information and made ‘educated decisions’ about his life. But for the first time, he didn’t move a muscle against them.

What was he to do anyway? This was what he’d come back for. This was what Reza had told him to do: get married. Produce an heir.

The beating dulled in his chest, and he cleared his throat. But he came up with nothing to say. He was a man now; he couldn’t even argue that he was just a boy. He was old enough. He’d fought a war.

Damon must have taken Xerxes’s silence as rebellion because the sage stood, his chair screeching as it soared back. “After providing us with no heir all these years, murdering your first wife,” Xerxes choked, “and sabotaging the first Heartstealer trials, we hardly think you’re in a position to refuse anymore.” His shout cut through the room. “You, Your Majesty, have been selfish. And unfortunately, that puts us in a difficult position.”

Xerxes closed his mouth and found his hands quaking at his sides. He slowly clasped them behind his back again to hide them. He wasn’t sure why he thought it would be easier to deal with the Intelligentsia once he came back, now that Belorme was gone. Now that he’d saved Per-Siana from destruction. He held tight to his fingers, moisture threatening to slide them apart.

When Xerxes left the border, when he’d left Reza behind, he’d resolved to fulfill his responsibility as King—to become the King that Reza and the whole kingdom wanted. But looking at these men’s expressions, his mouth moved before he could stop it. “It doesn’t matter which women you send my way, I will send them all running,” he promised, “unless you let me choose my own wife this time.”

Damon folded his arms, the celebration sounds out in the street creeping in through the window.

Xerxes marched from the room. He knew it didn’t matter which of the new maidens he chose, the Intelligentsia had likely selected all of them for being women they could control. He headed back down the hall, back through the atrium and out the entrance, but he stopped short to find the garden empty and the palace gates closed. He blinked, his gaze darting from tree to path to wall and everything else.