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Xerxes stumbled until his back hit the wall, the metal loop digging into his shoulder blade. Mockery lifted from the table—insults toward the Gold Maiden and General Reza of Per-Siana who continued to frustrate the B’rei Mira army. But Xerxes didn’t care. He didn’t care what the enemy nobles said. His kingdom hadn’t fallen yet. His people weren’t murdered or enslaved. Tears sprang into his eyes as he realized how close he had come to giving up when Ryn was still holding the Per-Siana line like he’d asked her to. When General Reza was still breathing, fighting to defend the kingdom.

“Take her out, Father.” Prince Mansour twisted his goblet against the tabletop, making an obnoxious scraping sound. “Snuff out the enemy’s little candle of confidence. Or I can, if you won’t?”

Alecsander’s gaze remained on his plate, but warning prickled the air. “You stay out of it.”

Prince Mansour paused, his red lips curling faintly. “As you wish.” He dragged a finger across his chin in thought. “She’s not afraid of us though. Perhaps you should crush her.” This time, his dark gaze sailed over the table, across the room, and landed on Xerxes leaning back against the wall. The Prince’s mouth twisted into a diabolical grin, and he added, “Make King Xerxes watch.” He took a drink over his smirk.

It was the first glint of a smile that found Alecsander since the start of the meal, and Xerxes’s stomach dropped when Alecsander finally lifted his glittering gold gaze to Xerxes. Xerxes inhaled when the whispery voices of the Vafat lifted around the room, sailing into his chest like a finger driving into his heart.

“Let me show you how I take your kingdom and your gold maiden, Xerxes son of Draco.” And then, “Did you really think we couldn’t ANNIHILATE your people? We were waiting for you to wake up so you could bear witness to your kingdom’s downfall.”

4

XERXES

Xerxes’s shadowed heart screamed when they came. His cell door swung open and Vafat flooded in, one whipping a handful of red powder into his face as he swung a fist. He was apprehended with his fist still in the air. He tried to hold his breath, he tried to pinch his lips together, but the powder hit his nose, and the last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back was the watery image of a scarlet hood and a pure white face towering over him as he fell.

Sand had a particular flavour. Xerxes didn’t realize he recognized it until he tasted it rolling across his tongue and felt the grind in his teeth when clenching his jaw. His head throbbed—he reached to rub his eyes before he opened them, a thousand murmured voices, snarls of horses, and clashing metal instruments filling his ears. His belly croaked with hunger, and he moaned as he rolled onto his side, his eyes peeling open. Yellow filled his vision. Sand. Desert. War.

He sat up so fast he almost fainted, dizziness hitting his mind and soul as he beheld the cage around him, bars at his right and left. A carriage turning him into a caged bird, and beyond the carriage…

An army of red and bronze, shields and spears, chariots and horses. Xerxes scrambled on his knees to the bars, gripping the spokes and leaning his forehead against them as he tried to see over the cliff his carriage sat upon. Six guards surrounded him plus a Vafat whose hood tilted in his direction, revealing a dark eye.

Over the cliff, Xerxes took in rows upon rows of B’rei Mira soldiers, a deadly line of Vafat behind them, and him—Alecsander—resting on a horse behind it all in glistening copper armor. There were more warriors than Xerxes had ever seen during his time in the desert, spread out and surrounding the Per-Siana border as if waiting to invade from all sides.

Per-Siana. Xerxes’s moisture-filled gaze fired up to the sandy hills, toward those familiar mountains that made his abdomen curl into itself; the border. He slapped a hand over his mouth, stifling a cry of horror at the sight of an enormous black cloud there, swirling, raging, snapping with lightning and pelting rain down upon the desert. Thunder boomed, sailing into Xerxes’s stomach, and he inhaled as he fought the need to wretch.

It was happening. The fall of Per-Siana, right before his eyes. He scanned the hills until he saw them; the modest collection of soldiers in navy and silver atop a hill, a few flags with his army’s crest raised among them. There were maybe a few dozen—this would be a massacre. It was a pathetic resistance to stop Alecsander in person.

He slapped a hand over his eyes, refusing to watch.

“Open your eyes, Xerxes.”

“No.”

“Xerxes. It’s time for you to open your eyes.”

He peeled two fingers off, daring to peek with one moisture-filled eye. His sight fell upon a beige flag amidst the navy ones. He bit his lips to keep a sob from slipping out when he saw a figure in gold armour standing at the front of the small Per-Siana border army. Oh, Divinities, he didn’t want to watch Ryn die. He’d evaded this moment twice now, the moment he would watch her be executed. He had done this—he had done this to her, to his army, to Per-Siana. If he’d only done things differently, maybe it wouldn’t have come to this. But he’d thrown rocks at the War King, he’d become a nuisance to a conqueror, and he’d practically taunted Alecsander for almost six months.

And now he’d watch his maiden die, and the provinces would fall next.

Xerxes shook his head. His whole life he’d considered himself a brave King in the face of his enemies. But he could not watch this. He would rather gouge out his eyes…

A high, flute-like tune flittered over the desert, drawing his gaze to a faraway cliff where a collection of maidens in pastel pink and green gowns clustered together. Xerxes blinked at them, his jaw dropping. Were those priestesses? His stomach sank as they pointed, raised their arms, stomped their feet, the faint sound of their shouting reaching his cage. What in the name of Boreas were a bunch of priestesses doing here in a war?! Was this how Ryn and General Reza were fighting in the desert? Was this the horrifying method his army had resorted to after he’d been taken? Madwomen shouting prayers at the sky?

He’d die a laughingstock. But he supposed he didn’t care. He slumped back, putting a hand on his forehead. “Run, Ryn,” he whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“This is the last time I shall tell you, Xerxes. Open your eyes.”

Xerxes inhaled a shaky breath. “I don’t want to watch,” he admitted, tugging a fistful of his hair and letting his eyes slip closed. Ryn was right there in front of him. Did she even know Xerxes was here?

“Then you’ll miss it.”

A flash of light against his eyelids drew his eyes open one last time. His attention lifted to a spiralling twist of brilliant wings amidst the dark cloud in the sky, barely visible past the black pillars of twisting cloud. But it wasn’t lightning. In fact, it seemed to be wrestling with the cloud. Xerxes’s brows tipped in, and he released his hair, crawling back onto his knees. He blinked, a gasp slipping out when the entire B’rei Mira army below him went dark.

Shadows crawled along men’s shoulders, swirled over heads, wove in and out between boots and sandals, crawled under chariots. A black mist settled on their entire valley, curling at the corners like a restless sea. Xerxes leaned forward, his lips peeling apart. Whispers rose, strange promises that muddied the air, coming from the mist, but not from the men.

The Gold Maiden raised an arm in the distance, and Xerxes held his breath.