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Xerxes found himself on his knees. “I will do whatever you ask of me,” he promised. From the corner of his eye, he saw General Reza turn his head back as the Per-Siana soldiers were led out of the Hall. “I will do anything—I will be a quiet art piece in your Museum, I will be a submissive hostage, I will perform for you if I must—just don’t harm my men.”

Alecsander sank into his seat at the head of the table without a word.

Xerxes counted down the seconds as Ryn walked past in silence, as she sat in her seat at Alecsander’s side, as the highest-ranking nobles in B’rei Mira indulged in their feast. He counted until the guards appeared to unlock his chains from the wall and bring him back to his room. He lifted his fingers, counting the seconds before his eyes so he wouldn’t scream as he feared what was happening to Reza, to his Division One men.

He almost reeled backward across the hall when he saw his cell door.

“What sick joke is this?” Xerxes demanded, glaring at the blood smeared over everything, dripping from the doorframe. “Who did this?” Xerxes spun just as a guard reached for the doorhandle in disgust and opened the cell. Xerxes was shoved inside.

His hands were already digging through layers of moss and rocks on the floor to unearth his keys before the guard’s clattering metals and footsteps vanished. He raced to his door and peered down the hall, reaching through the window and unlocking his cell. The door opened with a quiet creak, and he stuffed the keys into his robe as he came out.

Norkin’s window was larger than his. That didn’t seem fair. Xerxes pulled the right key out and unlocked Norkin’s door. The fool was already standing on the other side waiting when Xerxes opened the door as if he knew how to read minds. “Hoping to find your soldiers?” Norkin guessed.

“I need a map. This palace is a worse maze than the Outer Rings.” Xerxes slipped inside and closed the door, but Norkin shook a finger.

“You’re going to get caught, Xerxes,” he warned.

“I’ll take my chances.” Xerxes shook his head at the thought of Reza crossing the desert in his condition. There wasn’t a stone, voice, or tree that was going to be able to keep him from meeting his General tonight.

Minutes later, Xerxes was absolutely lost, grumbling at Norkin even though Norkin wasn’t there to hear it. Voices lifted down the hall, and Xerxes ducked into a room. He realized he wasn’t alone in there when he found several flickering candles on a table. Bookshelves filled the room like wooden giants with stomachs of leather and paper. Xerxes eyed the shelves as he drifted between them, peering through the openings above uneven rows of books. He yelped when he turned around and found a boy there.

The black hair, golden eyes, and rosy lips reminded Xerxes of Prince Mansour… but younger.

Prince Emad.

Xerxes cleared his throat and straightened himself. “I have permission to be here,” he lied.

A small smirk pulled on the boy’s face, and Xerxes glanced at it curiously. But the boy stepped aside and raised an arm toward what Xerxes gathered was an enormous two-story library, at least three times the size of Per-Siana’s. Rows of ladders hooked onto high spindles, and twisted balcony walkways circled the room where the highest books could be reached. Everything in B’rei Mira was ugly, except perhaps this.

“You can pick whatever book you want. I imagine it’s boring in your hostage cell.” Prince Emad’s voice was higher than Xerxes would have guessed.

Xerxes’s brows pulled together. “How old are you?” he asked.

The Prince dropped his arm, smile falling away. He didn’t answer, and Xerxes read between the lines: “Too young to have to endure this place.”

“I’m the same age as Sarai,” he stated in a tone too soft to be stern, even if he meant it that way.

Xerxes scratched his chin, thinking, cursing his terrible ability to remember names. “Who’s Sarai?”

Prince Emad shook his head. “I mean—Sigilene.”

Sigilene. It took a moment to dawn on Xerxes, and he made a face. “You mean that white-faced goblin of a woman?”

The Prince’s eyes widened a fraction, his cheeks pinking as he glanced at something particularly interesting on the shelf beside him. He cleared his throat. “Never mind.”

Xerxes folded his arms and looked around, noting the vast collection of volumes, some new, some splitting at their seams. After a second, he plucked a book from a row and pulled it out. He pretended to flip through it, but he studied the young Prince over the pages. “Have you read any strategy books?” he asked.

The smirk returned to the boy’s face. “Many.”

Xerxes flipped a page and nodded.

“Have you read any fairytales?” the boy asked, and Xerxes fought an unexpected smile.

“Too many.”

The boy turned to the shelves, his golden eyes taking in titles on spines. He reached for one and slid it out, eyeing the back cover. “You’re like the heroes in fairytales, King Xerxes,” he said.

Xerxes slapped the book shut. He wedged it beneath his folded arms and blinked at the boy doubtfully. “I’m not sure what kinds of tales you’re reading, but I’m most certainly not like the heroes. I’m more like the monstrosities, unfortunately.”