“One day, Kamran, I’ve no doubt you will be a great king. Until then there is much you do not see, and a great deal more you must try to anticipate. Tell me: can you imagine such a revolt finding success?”
“Does it matter?” the prince nearly shouted.
King Zaal raised his chin, drew a sharp breath.
“Forgive me.” Kamran lowered his eyes and collected himself. “But does it matter whether they are capable of success? Is there not a greater danger, Your Highness, in demanding obedience from unwilling subjects? And should any sovereign be satisfied with the tenuous allegiance of a people merely biding their time, waiting for the right moment to unleash their anger—to revolt? Would it not be wiser to allow such a people a voice now—to cool their anger now—in the interest of preventing an eruption later?”
“You are quite good,” his grandfather said coldly, “at taking clear and logical arguments and elevating them to a level so esoteric they are rendered ineffectual.
“Your reasoning, while admirably impassioned, will not weather the storms of the real world. This is not about rights, child, but reason. It is about preventing the kind of bloodshed so horrific it would keep a man from ever again closing his eyes. What astounds me most is that you, the impending heir to this throne, would even consider allowing the birth of another monarchy on your own land.” His grandfather hesitated a moment, studied Kamran’s face. “You’ve met this girl, I take it? Spoken with her?”
Kamran tensed; a muscle jumped in his jaw.
“Yes,” said the king. “As I thought.”
“I do not know her, Your Majesty. Only of her, and from afar. My arguments are not influenced b—”
“You are young,” said his grandfather. “As such, you are well within your rights to be foolish. Indeed it is natural at your age to make mistakes, to fall for a pretty face and pay dearly for your folly. But this— Kamran, this would not be foolish. This would not be folly. This would be a travesty. No good can come of such an alliance. I gave you a direct command, bade you find a wife—”
A moment of madness prompted Kamran to say, “This girl has royal blood, does she not?”
King Zaal rose to his feet, abandoning his throne with an agility that belied his age. He carried a golden mace, which he slammed against the glittering floor. Kamran had never seen his grandfather angry like this—had never seen him unleash the weight of his temper—and the transformation was chilling. Kamran did not see a man in that moment, but a king; a king who’d ruled the world’s largest empire for nigh on a century.
“You would dare make a tasteless joke,” he said, chest heaving as he stared down at his grandson, “about a creature predestined to orchestrate my demise.”
Kamran swallowed. The words felt like ash in his throat when he said, “I beg you will forgive me.”
King Zaal took a deep breath, his body trembling with the effort to remain calm. It felt like centuries before he finally resumed his throne.
“You will now answer me honestly,” said his grandfather quietly. “Knowing the might of Ardunia—tell me sincerely whether you can imagine the eventual victory of such a revolt.”
Kamran lowered his eyes. “I cannot.”
“No,” said the king. “Nor I. How would they ever hope to win against us? Our empire is too old, our armies too strong, our bases scattered generously across the land. It would be a long and bloody war, and all for naught. How many lives would be lost in the pursuit of an impossible revolution?”
Kamran closed his eyes.
“You would consider risking the peace of millions,” his grandfather went on, “the unnecessary deaths of tens of thousands—to spare the life of one girl? Why? Why spare her when we already know who she will become? What she will go on to do? My dear child, these are the kinds of decisions you will be forced to make, over and over, until death strips your soul from this world. I hope I never led you to believe your task here would be easy.”
A length of silence stretched between them.
“Your Majesty,” the prince said finally. “I do not dare deny your wisdom, and I do not mean to take lightly such a prophecy from our Diviners. I only argue that perhaps we wait to cut her down until she becomes the enemy once foretold.”
“Would you wait for poison to ravage your body, Kamran, before taking the antidote you hold all the while in your hand?”
Kamran studied the floor and said nothing.
There was so much the prince longed to say, but this conversation felt impossible. How might he hope to argue in favor of leniency toward a person believed to be the provocation of his grandfather’s demise?