Roshani ran her fingers over the sleek, metal blade, testing its sharpness. The bright metal seemed to glow in the dim sunlight streaming in from the veranda of her chambers.

It was a beautiful sword, not that she much cared. Esfandar had been the one always so particular about his weapons, from the decoration on its pommel to the weight of it in his hands. Roshani, though- as long as the weapon could kill, she didn’t see why there was a need to fuss about anything else.

This weapon, for example, had killed a shah- the shah. Roshani had held the blade herself, walked up the stone steps to the throne, and plunged it through her father’s heart.

Roshani was no warrior. She’d never practiced swordplay in her life, nor did she have any affinity for martial arts. She had killed with this sword all the same. It only proved definitively what Roshani had always known: it didn’t make a difference who wielded the weapon. All that mattered was the sharpness of the blade.

She carefully placed the sword upon the table, making sure it lined up exactly horizontally. It bothered her when things were out of their place. Esfandar and Soraya used to tease her for it.

Roshani shook her head quickly, walking away from the sword towards the other side of the room. She shouldn’t keep thinking of them like this, as if they were still her brother and sister. They were dead to her now, traitors and betrayers who would kill her in an instant. She clenched her fists at her sides. They were nothing more than enemies.

At the thought of enemies, the events of the last council meeting rushed back to her. Princess Farah’s arrival and Goshtab’s impossible demands. All of the nobles of the different houses vying for her favor, the delicate balance she was keeping by playing them off one another. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. It gave her a headache just thinking about it.

Roshani flattened the skirts of her dress and sat on a square cushion placed before a low desk. She flattened out a new scroll and picked up the stylus delicately.

The nobles of House Suhren were nervous in their written replies to her. They feared Esfandar’s armies, so close to their borders, and they doubted her capability to rule. It caused a flare of anger to burn in her stomach at the thought. Because her rule was still insecure, they thought to disrespect her.

Droplets of ink splattered across the scroll as Roshani hastily wrote an appropriate reply. She restrained herself from making any overt threats in her message. This was House Suhren after all, an essential ally who dominated the central plains of Parthia. A stern but forgiving scolding would serve her purpose well enough.

A sharp knock sounded upon the doors, echoing in the wide chamber. Roshani looked up from her letter.

“Enter.”

A pair of servants dressed in dark red kaftans pushed open the doors, then bowed low and stepped to the side as Grand Minister Youtab made his entrance. The aging man had his hands tucked into the folds of a flowing robe the color of saffron, the draping sleeves decorated with patterns of the sun and moon. His pace was hurried, even as he bowed to her. The lines of his face creased in worry and beads of sweat broke out on his brow.

Roshani frowned and placed her stylus carefully onto the desk, turning to Youtab. It was a rare thing for him to be so concerned. Youtab was a man who foresaw anything unpleasant well in advance and took whatever steps he needed to avoid it. After all, he’d hardly been reluctant in helping Roshani to organize her coup- he’d been downright elated, in fact.

“What is it, Youtab?” she asked.

“Your highness,” he said, his words fast. “Lady Homeira…” He gulped. “Lady Homeira is not in her chambers.”

Roshani immediately straightened, her shoulders tensing. She replayed his words over again in her head, deconstructing and anlyzing the implications, the consequences. None of her conclusions were good. Slowly, she stood up from the desk and took two purposeful steps towards Youtab. He inclined his head in reverence as she approached, but it wasn’t out of respect- he was terrified of meeting her gaze.

“Where is she, then?” Roshani’s voice was as cold and sharp as steel. She narrowed her eyes at the minister.

“Soldiers are searching every corner of the palace, and the entire city is being scoured,” Youtab replied hurriedly. He raised his gaze to meet hers at last. “Your highness, by Mithra’s sword, we will find them. I swear it.”

“’Them?’” Youtab paled further, his eyes widening ever so slightly. “What do you mean by ‘them’?”

“Your highness,” Youtab began slowly. “We believe that she took the young prince with her as well. He is also missing and has likely escaped-”

Roshani snatched the ink well from her desk and threw it at the old minister. He winced as the small silver bowl bounced off of his chest and clattered to the ground at his feet. A large, ugly black stain marred the suns and moons on his robe, the ink dripping down his chest.

“Escaped?” Roshani repeated. “How do you let an infant of no more than two months escape?”

“Your highness, Homeira must have had a servant still loyal to her in the palace who took the boy. His nursemaids switch every hour, so they couldn’t have gotten far-“

“Enough!” Roshani held up a hand to silence him. Youtab’s mouth hung open on his next word as he spluttered to a stop.

“Forgive me, your highness.” He dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor. Roshani imagined she could hear the pounding of his heartbeat, the frantic, petrified rhythm of it.

She bit her tongue sharply until she tasted blood, her mind burning in anger. She knew Youtab was not directly to blame for this catastrophe- but he happened to be the unfortunate messenger and controlling her temper had never been one of her greatest talents.

This was the last thing she needed now. With Esfandar amassing troops and Soraya stirring up trouble with the magis, she didn’t need another heir to the throne running about the empire unchecked. She needed Kasra to be kept in the palace at all costs- and now his traitorous mother had ruined everything by stealing him away.

Roshani inhaled slowly, letting her muscles unclench. She had been fair and kind to them. When Youtab and the other ministers had pleaded for their executions, Roshani had let them live. When the lords of the great noble houses tried to convince her to throw them in the depths of the dungeons, she had allowed them to have a comfortable house arrest in the palace.

Now she questioned why she had made such decisions. Had it been mercy? The knowledge that the gods punished kinslayers? No. It had been because they were her family- her last remaining family. No matter how logically it needed to be done, no matter how many allies doubted her for her decisions, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it.

Until now.

Roshani regarded Youtab, his prostrate form on the ground in front of her. This was what loyalty looked like- a man who would execute her orders, follow her commands without question. And why? Because if he did not, she would take his life. She had been a fool to believe there was any other way. And now she would have to suffer the consequences of her naiveté.

“Youtab.”

Youtab raised his face to look up at her.

“You said that you’ll be able to find them before they escape the city?”

“Yes, your highness!” Youtab spoke hurriedly. “I swear it to you.”

Roshani nodded. “That’s good.” She turned and took a seat once more at her desk. She picked up the stylus, dipped it in ink and continued to write her letter to House Suhren.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll have your head.”