Firuzeh faltered. “I cannot think of any at present, Your Majesty, but I am certain we shall think of something.”
Zaal steepled his hands under his chin, against the carefully trimmed cloud of his beard. To Kamran, he said, “You neither deny nor justify your actions today?”
“I do not.”
“And yet, I see that you are not remorseful.”
“I am not.”
Zaal turned the full force of his gaze upon his grandson. “You will, of course, tell me why.”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I do not think it unbecoming of a prince to care for the welfare of his people.”
The king laughed. “No, I daresay it is not. What is unbecoming is a fickleness of character and an unwillingness to speak the truth to those who know you best.”
Kamran stiffened, heat prickling along the nape of his neck. He knew a rebuke when he heard one, and he was not yet immune to the effects of an admonishment from his grandfather. “Your Highness—”
“You have walked among your people for some time now, Kamran. You’ve seen all manner of suffering. I might accept an explanation of idealism more readily were your actions symptomatic of a larger philosophical position, which we both know they are not, as you’ve never before taken an active interest in the lives of street children—or servants, for that matter. Certainly there is more to this story than the sudden expansion of your heart.” A pause. “Do you deny that you acted out of character? That you put yourself in danger?”
“I will not attempt to deny the first. As to the second—”
“You were alone. Unarmed. You are heir to an empire that spans a third of the known world. You solicited the help of passersby, put yourself at the mercy of strangers—”
“I had my swords.”
Zaal smiled. “You persist in insulting me with these ill-considered protests.”
“I mean no disrespect—”
“And yet you are aware, are you not, that a man in possession of a sword is not invincible? That he might be attacked from above? That he might be slain by arrow, that he might be mobbed or overrun, that he might be knocked on the head and dragged away for ransom?”
Kamran bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Then you accept that you acted out of character. That you put yourself in danger.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Very good. I am asking now only for your explanation.”
Kamran took a deep breath and exhaled, slowly, through his nose. He considered telling the king what he’d told Hazan: that he’d involved himself in the situation because the girl had appeared to him conspicuous, untrustworthy. And yet, Hazan had all but laughed at his explanation, at his instinct that something was amiss. How might Kamran forge into words the influence of an intuition invisible to the eye?
Indeed the more he deliberated, the more the prince’s justifications, which had earlier struck him as cogent, seemed now, under the searing gaze of his grandfather, as scattered as sand.
Quietly, Kamran said, “I have no explanation, Your Majesty.”
The king hesitated at that, the smile evaporating from his eyes. “You cannot mean it.”
“I beg you will forgive me.”
“What of the girl? I would not judge you too harshly if you admitted to some weakness of the mind there. Perhaps you will tell me she was a disorienting beauty—that you interfered for some lesser, sordid reason. That you fancy yourself in love with her.”
“I did not.” Kamra’s jaw tensed. “I do not. I most certainly would not.”
“Kamran.”
“Grandfather, I could not even see her face. You could not expect me to own such a lie.”
For the first time, the king grew visibly concerned. “My child, do you not understand how precarious your position is? How many would celebrate any excuse to have your faculties examined? Those who covet your position would invite any reason to deem you unworthy of the throne. It disturbs me more to know that your actions were born not of recklessness, but thoughtlessness. Stupidity is possibly your worst offense.”
Kamran flinched.
True, he deeply respected his grandfather, but so, too, did the prince respect himself, and his pride would no longer allow him to endure an onslaught of insults without protest.
He lifted his head, looking the king directly in the eye when he said, with some sharpness, “I believed the girl might be a spy.”
King Zaal visibly straightened, his countenance revealing nothing of the tension visible in his hands, clenched now around the arms of his throne. He was silent for so long that Kamran feared, in the interlude, he’d made a terrible mistake.