“Your Highness,” said Hazan, bowing his head, his eyes cast down. “You must go. It’s not safe for you here.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Kamran frowned. “This is my home, of course it’s safe for me here.”
“There are complications, Your Highness. You must go. Surely you received my message.”
Now Kamran grew irritated. “Hazan, have you lost your mind?”
“Please trust me, Your Highness. Please return to your quarters and await further direction. I worry greatly for your safety so long as you remain here. Things are not going according to plan—did you not receive my message?”
“That is quite enough, Minister. Not only do you exaggerate, but you bore the young lady with talk of politics. If that is all—”
“No— No, sire,” he said, lifting his head sharply. “The king has requested your presence at once. I’m to deliver you back to the throne with all possible haste.”
Kamran’s jaw tensed. “I see.”
He watched as Hazan glanced from Alizeh to the prince, looking suddenly frantic—and Kamran couldn’t be entirely certain, but for a moment he thought he saw Hazan shake his head at her.
Or did he nod?
Alizeh surprised them both by dropping into an elegant curtsy. “Good evening, sir,” she said.
“Yes—yes, good evening.” Awkwardly, Hazan bowed. To the prince, he said quietly, “Sire, the king awaits.”
“You may tell the king that I’ll b—”
“Alizeh!”
Kamran went immobile at the sound of the unexpected voice.
Of all people, Omid Shekarzadeh moved fast toward them now, ignoring both the prince and his minister in his pursuit of Alizeh, who beamed at the boy.
“Omid,” she called back, rushing forward to meet him.
And then, to Kamran’s utter astonishment, she drew the child into her arms. She hugged the street urchin who’d nearly murdered her.
Kamran and Hazan exchanged glances.
When the unlikely pair drew apart, Omid’s face had gone bright red. In Feshtoon, the boy said nervously, “I wasn’t even sure it was you at first, miss, because I’ve never seen you without your mask, but I’ve been searching for you all night, and I asked near everyone I could find if they seen a girl in a snoda—in case you were still wearing yours—but they only kept pointing at the servants, and I said no, no, she’s a guest at the ball, and everyone laughed at me like I was crazy except one lady, of course, one lady, I forget her name, Miss something, she told me she knew just who I was talking about, and that you were here wearing a purple dress, and that you weren’t a snoda, but a queen, and I laughed so hard, miss, I said—”
“I beg your pardon?” Hazan interjected. “Who is this person? Why would she say such things to you? How does she know anyth—”
“While we’re asking questions, how on earth do you know this young woman’s name?” Kamran interjected. “How are the two of you even on speaking terms?”
“Begging your pardon, Your Highness,” Omid said, “but I could ask you the same question.”
“You little blighter—”
“Actually, Omid is the reason I’m here tonight,” Alizeh interjected quietly, and Kamran went taut with surprise.
Always, she astonished him.
He watched as she smiled fondly at the child. “He invited me to the ball as an apology for trying to kill me.”
Impossibly, Omid went even redder. “Oh, but I was never gonna kill you, miss.”
“You used your credit with the crown to invite a girl to a ball?” Kamran stared at the boy, agog. “You conniving rascal. Do you imagine yourself to be some kind of young libertine?”
Omid scowled. “I was only trying to make amends, sire. I didn’t mean nothing inappropriate by it.”
“But who was the woman?” Hazan demanded. “The one who told you that”—nervously, he glanced at Alizeh—“that this young lady was a queen?”
Kamran shot his minster a warning look. “Surely it was a lark, Minister. A silly jest to startle the child.”
“Oh, no, sire.” Omid shook his head emphatically. “She weren’t joking. She seemed pretty serious, and scared, actually. She said she was hiding from someone, from a man who’d done some awful magic on her, and that if I found Alizeh I should tell her to run away.” He frowned. “The lady was mighty strange.”