Roshani hurried purposefully through the palace halls, followed by a large retinue of guards. Youtab stayed by her shoulder as she walked, always slightly behind. He was a fortunate man; his life would be spared today.

The report had come just minutes ago: Homeira and Kasra had been apprehended attempting to board a ship to Turan. The soldiers had dragged them back to the palace and locked them in the empress’s chambers, where they awaited Roshani now. Homeira’s escape attempt had failed.

But they’d come close, so close that Roshani’s stomach was still clenched in fear, her shoulders tensed. What would have happened if they had managed to escape? Homeira could have gathered another army around her son’s claim to the throne, or perhaps run to Esfandar’s side and further legitimized his claim. The outrage from nobles in the court would have been scorching. Roshani tried to take a calming breath, but her anger and fear only heightened with every step she took closer to her step-mother and half-brother.

At last they reached the former empress’s chambers. Roshani burst through the doors unannounced, the wooden doors clattering loudly. Strands of hair had escaped her careful bun and her breath was ragged. Her hands remained at her side, curled into two fists. She must have looked half crazed.

Homeira sat on a canopied bed in the back of the room, watching her silently. She sat on the edge of the mattress, legs crossed and back straight. She had been waiting for them. There was a stony edge in her eyes.

In her left arm, she tucked the prince Kasra in the crook of her elbow. The young prince seemed blissfully unaware of the situation enfolding around him. He was only months old, his face still round and fat. He hadn’t even grown teeth yet. His small, chubby hands played idly with his mother’s necklace. She clutched him tighter to her.

Homeira’s right hand gripped a gilded dagger. Her fingers were clenched tightly around the hilt. Even from across the room, Roshani could see her knuckled going white with the effort. Roshani stared at her father’s third, and last living wife for the space of a second. She kept her features unaffected and neutral as she walked inside, though her eyes were drawn to the dagger in Homeira’s hand.

The soldiers fanned out inside the room. In an instant, Homeira was surrounded, the points of a dozen spears all trained at her throat. Only the slight, nearly imperceptible, trembling of her dagger-hand betrayed any panic or fear.

Despite all of her rage and hurt, Roshani felt a begrudging respect for the woman’s courage in the face of her fate. Homeira knew the punishment for her actions, yet remained storng and proud confronted with her own death. At least she would meet her end honorably, as a queen of Parthia should.

Homeira, the third queen, the forgotten wife. In her memories, Roshani only remembered how Soraya would always cling to Homeira’s skirts, how quiet she was. Roshani wondered if her father had also forgotten the unassuming woman so easily, pushing her aside in attendance of more important people and issues.

Her face was pretty, certainly. She had the soft, curving form of the southern sea peoples, her lashes long and her nose pointed. A face befitting of a queen. Only her meek nature and complete lack of ambition had relegated her to the sidelines of palace politics. Looking upon her now, Roshani wondered if perhaps such a manner had been intentional, a way to fade into the background and avoid making enemies.

As if an empress of the Parthian Empire and wife of the shah could ever truly avoid the intrigues of the court and their consequences. Roshani lifted her gaze to meet Homeira’s. The woman’s efforts had been in vain.

Roshani walked forward several steps, her pace slow. Homeira raised her knife higher in warning. Roshani let a small smile cross her face. Did the woman really think she was a threat? Even if the guards couldn’t stop her in time, Roshani was more than capable of handling a weak, untrained woman with a baby in one arm. She took one more careful step forward.

“Queen Homeira,” Roshani addressed her directly. “You stand accused of treason against the crown and conspiracy against the empire.” She paused. “Do you deny it?”

Homeira’s hard gaze did not waver. She was not one to be tricked into such charades.

“Like mother like daughter,” She spat. “The blood of traitors and betrayers always runs true. It was your father’s mistake not to let you die with her.”

Roshani’s grin fell like a stone, her eyes burning in rage. She took a purposeful step forward. Homeira raised her knife again and Roshani froze- she had the edge of the blade pressed against Kasra’s throat. The infant raised a hand towards the blade, entranced as if by a shiny bauble. He smiled and gurgled happily.

Roshani’s expression darkened. So Homeira was not stupid enough to believe she could threaten Roshani’s life; she intended to kill her son and then herself. Roshani felt her pulse quicken and struggled to keep her whirling emotions from showing on her face. That couldn’t happen. Homeira needed to die publicly, in humiliation and shame. She needed to serve as an example to any others who thought they could betray her. Roshani had to show that the empire’s new ruler had no mercy for traitors.

Roshani straightened her posture, forcing her clenched muscles to relax. It had been her error for underestimating the woman. She would have to learn from this lesson.

She raised a hand, and the soldiers simultaneously lowered their weapons from Homeira. Homeira narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“The penalty for treason is death.” Roshani’s gaze was unwavering. “There is no other alternative.” Homeira’s grip on the dagger seemed to tighten. “However, I am not a cruel ruler,” she continued. “There is no reason for Prince Kasra to die for your sins.”

At last taken off guard, Homeira’s shaking hand froze. She turned to glance at the tiny body of her son, nestled so perfectly against her. Roshani took slow, calm steps towards her, keeping her voice firm, reassuring.

Her mind was turning. She heard Youtab’s voice in her ear, the voices of a thousand petty nobles, asking her to marry their sons, to tie the new dynasty to their house. The very thought disgusted her. No, Roshani knew she would never take a husband. The risk to her power was too great. However, if she never produced an heir, one noble or another would one day lash out and overthrow her. She couldn’t allow that to happen- never.

But here was the answer to all of her problems, eyes wide and innocent, knife gleaming against his pudgy throat.

“Prince Kasra is my brother by blood, and the lineage of the great al-Hassan dynasty runs through his veins.” Roshani stood directly before Homeira now. She waited patiently. “He is innocent- I have no reason to kill him for his mother’s crimes.” Behind her, Youtab made a noise of surprise. Roshani raised a hand to quiet him before he could protest. Homeira gazed fervently at her child. “Unless,” Roshani said, a dangerous glint in her eyes, “The blood of traitors and betrayers always runs true?”

Roshani could see it in her eyes, the moment she made her choice. Homeira’s own fate was sealed from the moment the shah drew his last breath. Now only Kasra’s life hung in the balance.

Homeira released her hand and the dagger clattered to the marble floor. She held Kasra in both of her arms, rocking him once, twice, before offering him up to Roshani like a priest offering a lamb for sacrifice.

Roshani took the child into her arms, making sure to be gentle. He looked up at her curiously, his head tilted to the side. A tiny hand reached up to grab a lock of Roshani’s hair and tugged. She almost smiled.

He was a quiet one. That was good- a prince should never show his distress.

Roshani looked up and nodded to Homeira. Guards came forward. They dragged her by the elbows, pulling her away from the room, to be locked up in the dungeons. She could rot there until her execution. Tears streamed down her face.

The last Roshani saw before the doors closed behind Homeira was her neck craning back to get one last glimpse of her son. Then they slammed shut, and she was gone.