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Highness, will you allow me to apologize?” Evemer said. That unidentifiable feeling from the night before was rising again—shame. That’s what it was, at least in part.
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have served you poorly.”
“You apologized already, and I forgave you already.”
Evemer stared down at his own feet. He was burning with that shame now; he could feel how hot his face was. “I don’t mean for last night, Highness,” he said. “I have not behaved as a kahya ought. I have dishonored the oaths I swore.”
“What are you talking about?” Kadou’s fidgeting had slowed, though he was still trembling fiercely.
“I have been . . . ungracious.” He felt as if he should be kneeling, perhaps like he should have his forehead pressed to the carpet or to the back of Kadou’s hands in supplication, but he did not deserve even that—he would stand, and confess to his wrongs like a child being scolded. “Last night, after Your Highness went to bed, Tadek and Melek told me the truth of what happened—the hunting party and the circumstances leading to it. I realized that I formed my first conclusions on shaky evidence, and I allowed them to influence my actions. I do notaskfor forgiveness,” he added swiftly. “I would rather prove that I—”
“Do you mean how I can tell that you don’t like me?”
Evemer would not stoop to flinching as if he’d been slapped. Kadou’s voice hadn’t even been particularly sharp, but he was still shivering, worrying at a tassel on the corner of a pillow, though his breathing had steadied. Evemer’s treacherous instincts tried to protest it, his mind offering forth more of that nonsense about how a prince should present himself—with poise and confidence and so forth. He shoved the thought back sharply. Perhaps that was true, perhaps it wasn’t. It wasn’t for him to criticize his liege. “I had . . . hesitations. That was not appropriate to my place.”
“Of course it is.” Kadou’s voice was rough. “A kahya isn’t supposed to be an automaton. You’resupposedto think. You’re supposed to be a person.”
Evemer wasn’t entirely sure how to reconcile this with the rest of what he knew. He was silent for a moment, gazing down at Kadou’s slippers—pretty ones of soft fawn-colored suede with pointed toes and beading and piercework decorations, too delicate for outdoor wear. He’d worn tall riding boots the night before, much like the boots the kahyalar wore with their uniforms. They’d been well kept, but showing signs ofuse,though not quite yetwear.
The cadets had taken them away last night to try to get the blood polished out.
“I didn’t thank you, Highness,” he said quietly. “For saving my life.”
Kadou went tense again. “You needn’t,” he said.
“You don’t want to hurt anyone, but you did last night. To save me.”
“What did you expect me to do? Leave you there to die? You’re my kahya, whether or not you like me. You’re a person who is sworn to me, and I have obligations. I wouldn’t have left you there, or—or Eozena, or the others—”
“Let’s not pretend Commander Eozena would haveneededyou to stay,” Evemer said, before he could stop himself, and then glanced up at Kadou again for the first time, horrified. He’dinterruptedhis liege.
Kadou didn’t seem to have noticed. “No. She wouldn’t have. But I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want you to feel like you’ve failed in anything. It’snothing.”
It wasn’t nothing, but His Highness didn’t necessarily need to know that. If this was something that was just Evemer’s, then so be it. He could let it change him, let it change how he thought about his liege without ever letting Kadou know the whys of it, or the way that it had thrown Evemer’s world out of balance, the way it had given him a new center of gravity, a sun to orbit, a star to follow.
“As you wish, Your Highness.” The hot shame still burned within him, but Kadou had quite rightfully left it between Evemer and his conscience. He was not entitled to forgiveness or even the possibility thereof simply because he had deigned to apologize for his behavior, nor did he require guidance in being better, only his own choice, his own determination and resolve.
His Highness said Evemer was supposed to be a person, not an automaton. If that were true, then by all the laws of fealty, Evemer had to reciprocate and allow the same of his liege: imperfection.
He had to forgive His Highness before he ever deserved the same in return.
It was several minutes before Evemer spoke again. Kadou did not dismiss him or command him to sit, so Evemer still stood there, hands behind his back. “Do you really believe Her Majesty would have sent you away?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. I had to talk her out of it.”
“Her Majesty is not unreasonable,” Evemer said carefully. “And she would not so easily cast her family aside.” He could see what Tadek had meant now, when he’d compared Kadou’s nervousness to that of a spooked horse shying from a shadow.
“My sister Zeliha might not, butHer MajestyZeliha might have no choice,” Kadou said. “You can’t make decisions purely on emotion when you’re sultan.” He shook his head—he hadn’t wanted his hair dressed that morning, evidently, so it was hanging loose and uncombed around his shoulders. “Usmim have mercy on me, will youpleasesit? You’re making me nervous.”
Evemer obeyed, folding to the carpet right where he stood and crossing his legs tailor-style. “You’re not without resources. You have opportunities to change her mind and prove your loyalty, earn her forgiveness.”
Kadou laughed sharply. “What, by uncovering whatever Armagan’s done and tidying up the mess? By doing the bare minimum I was asked to be responsible for?”
“Highness,” Evemer said, and Kadou sighed.
“You’re allowed to say you disagree with me. What am I going to do, have you whipped? After I saved your life?”
