“Baba, please,” she says, taking her father’s face in her hands. “I love you. Don’t do this.”
“It was he who arranged this match years ago,” Sulifer says. “Will you defy his wishes now, when he is a breath away from the eternal godlands?”
“He was led by the nose,” she fires back. “This was your doing! You swayed him to your will when he was left weak by my mother’s death!”
“You dare call the king weak?” Darian interjects hotly. “You dare question his will?”
“You dare to usurp him!” she cries. “And to manipulate a man at his weakest! I won’t let you bully him into signing your stupid decree!”
Sulifer bares his teeth angrily. “Will you defy him until his last breath?”
She stares into her father’s face, her eyes dazed. “Of course not. Baba, I will do whatever you tell me to. But please, let it be your will, and none else’s.”
Malek murmurs something.
“Baba?” Caspida bends over him. “What is it?”
“Best . . .” he groans. “Best . . . thing for you . . . Keep you safe.”
“Baba?” Caspida’s eyes fill with dismay.
Sulifer stares down his nose at her. “The king has spoken. Step aside, Princess, and let him make his dying will.”
He brushes Caspida aside, holding up the parchment and supporting Malek’s arm as the king signs. Caspida’s face turns ashen, and Darian looks away, hiding a small smile.
“It is done,” intones Sulifer. “The king’s will is known. Signed and witnessed.”
“The king’s will is known,” murmur the physicians. “We stand witness.”
Darian takes Caspida’s arm. “Even on this tragic night, we have cause to be glad. Your father has given us a great gift, Cas. Don’t spoil it by being selfish.”
Suddenly Malek gasps, his eyes growing wide, pupils constricting. The physicians rush over and fuss, but there is nothing they can do. Caspida throws herself to her knees beside the king.
“No, no, no,” she murmurs, her eyes tearing up at last. “Baba, please!”
Malek’s eyes find hers. He opens his mouth as if to say something, and she leans over in anticipation, but the only thing to come out of him is a long, thin breath that trails off, until his lungs are empty and do not rise again.
“My brother has departed to the godlands,” intones Sulifer. “Sweet may he rest.”
“Sweet may he rest,” echo the physicians.
The women begin wailing and tearing their clothes. One holds a jar of ashes and begins throwing them in the air. As the physicians hasten to begin performing the death rites that will send Malek’s soul into eternity, Caspida stands and slips out of the room.
Unsticking my toes, I follow her.
She runs out of the king’s chambers, bursts through the nobles standing around, and ignores her handmaidens when they call to her. Her gown flapping around her legs, she runs up and down the palace corridors, losing the few people who try to follow her. I have to drop to the floor and shift to a cat to keep up, my paws silent on the stone. Caspida weeps as she runs, leaving a trail of dark spots on the stones where her tears fall.
Eventually she stops in front of Aladdin’s rooms. There she stands for a moment, leaning against the wall with her arms wrapped around herself as she struggles to control her breathing. She stops sobbing and scrubs her face with the hem of her gown.
Then she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and knocks on Aladdin’s door.
It opens at once.
“Zahra, I’m so—” He freezes. “Princess Caspida.”
“Prince Rahzad. Can I come in?” she asks.
Aladdin glances up and down the hall, then nods and stands back. Caspida slips inside, and just before he shuts the door, I dart through. Aladdin notices and watches me warily. I sit in the corner, my tail curled around my paws, watching impassively.
Caspida stands in the grass courtyard, looking small and lost. Her loose hair is tangled from running, and her feet are bare. Aladdin approaches her slowly, his face etched with concern.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“My father has died,” says Caspida flatly.
Aladdin stops and shuts his eyes, exhaling softly. “I’m so sorry.”
She shrugs and looks away, her jaw tight.
Hesitantly, Aladdin walks to her. “Is there . . . anything I can do?”
She blinks rapidly, holding back more tears. Her body is rigid and tight, as if she’s poised to flee. “I came to accept.”
“Accept?”
“Your offer of marriage.”
Aladdin’s mouth opens and shuts. He blinks at her, stunned.
“Well?” she snaps. “Are you going to gape, or are you going to say something?”
“Um. I don’t think . . . I’m not sure you’re in a frame of mind to really make a decision like that. Your father just died. You should be mourning him, not—”
“Sulifer made my father sign a decree just moments before he—he passed. It says that I must marry within two days, before I am crowned, or I must abdicate.”
Aladdin’s lips form a perfect circle. “And . . . you’ve come to marry me instead of Darian.”
“The decree doesn’t mention Darian by name—only that I must marry a prince.”
Aladdin chews his lip, his eyes creasing. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“You said you wanted to help me! Well, this is it. This is me asking for help!”
“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “Of course I’ll help you. I just want you to be sure this is what you want.”
“I want you to marry me,” she says firmly. “And then I want you to summon your army.”
Aladdin’s face goes still. “My army.”
“You have an army, right?” Her gaze darkens dangerously.
“Uh . . . sure. I mean, of course.”
“Well. How soon can they be here?”
“Um. I don’t know. A month, maybe?” Aladdin glances anxiously at me, and I look down at my paws.
She nods. “Good. We must begin drawing up battle plans.”
“Battle plans,” he echoes tonelessly.
“My scouts report that there are jinn gathering in the hills—more than we have ever seen.”