Garsiv knew that since long before he was even born the people of Persian felt secure within their Kingdom. Their Empire was one of the mightiest forces the world had ever seen, and King Sharaman and his brother Nizam ruled justly and wisely throughout their lands. For many generations, it has been said that the bond between brothers is the sword that defends the great Persian Empire.
It was all a damned lie.
Seething, feeling like a rug had quite literally been swept out from beneath his feet, Garsiv paced the room he had been placed in. He paid no attention to the bawdy decorations or the delicate frippery that was scattered around the bedroom – clearly set aside as a royal suite of some sort – and instead focussed solely on his thoughts.
Though he held about as much derision for his thoughts as he did the ridiculous room around him.
"Our Uncle," he muttered under his breath as he paced, snorting at the thought. "Our own Uncle! Plotting treason!" The very idea was beyond ridiculous, and yet Nizam had threatened Dastan's life in front of the entire Persian army, on the steps of this very palace. In one foul swoop he had both proved Dastan's claims and sealed his own fate.
Their father wouldn't be happy. The Alamutians certainly weren't, crying out about desecrating the grounds with tainted blood. Nonsense. Pagan fools. But Tus had stepped in and did his part and Dastan did what he could, while Garsiv himself calmed the soldiers and ordered that they retreated a little further from the Alamutian temple and palace. A treasonous snake had wheedled and tricked them all into this invasion against a peaceful Kingdom, one that had never set foot outside the valley it was nestled in. The least he could do was call off his troops.
He growled at the injustice of it all, refusing to let himself think for even a moment that his anger and hurt might actually be caused by his grieving the loss of a once dear Uncle. Garsiv shed his helmet and hurled it across the room, watching as it hit the opposite wall with a satisfying crack.
"I'd ask that you not decimate our guest rooms as well," said a voice from the doorway behind him. "But even I can admit that you may have just cause for being so aggravated."
Whirling around, Garsiv blinked and straightened, interlocking his hands behind him when he spotted a young woman at his door. "I won't bother to apologise. I'd hazard a guess that the wall fared better than my helm."
The slim brunette's lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. "Then perhaps it is I who should apologise for the damage." Then her eyes sharpened and emotion flashed within their depths. "Though you have already spent enough time this day hurling debris at our walls. Maybe the clay is just seeking its revenge."
Drawing himself up, not used to being spoken to so callously by a mere wench, Garsiv demanded, "Do you know who you're talking to, woman?"
"Yes, though I don't doubt you'd be happy to proclaim yourself regardless." Somehow managing to look down her nose at him despite the fact that she was a good few hands shorter than he, the woman raised her chin haughtily and advised, "Your company is gathering in the royal chambers to make amends for their atrocities against our city. I believe you are required to be there."
Narrowing his gaze at the woman, Garsiv took several steps forward, bringing him within very close range of her body. "Are all Alamutian women this insolent? Or is this just a fortunate trait you alone have been blessed with?"
Her lips curved with a mirthless smile once more. "I hardly think I'd be the only one. The royal chambers, Persian. Now."
Following slowly as she stepped out the door, Garsiv paused and watched as the woman walked away, her cream robes swaying behind her.
It is common knowledge within his cavalry that it is unwise to provoke this particular Persian Prince. Some make the mistake of saying he's hot-headed. Even those outside his own company of soldiers know or realise that it is a bad idea to cross him. This woman should have been meekly begging his pardon, not sneering and voicing censure at his actions.
Or smiling.
Removing his armour and donning more suitable attire, Garsiv moved slowly as, for the first time that afternoon, he was distracted from thoughts of his brother and the development with their Uncle. Instead, his mind lingered on the brunette spit-fire that had just left his room.
A hint of a smile tugging at his own lips, Garsiv cinched the belt at his waist and walked out to meet with his brothers as demanded.
Keeping her features calm and still was an impossibility, though it was one she had to manage regardless.
But seeing the shocked look on the Prince's face upon entering the room behind his brothers had Tamina biting back a loud bark of laughter. Only one of her ladies maids noticed her amusement and hid her own tittering giggle behind a hand before schooling her features back into a neutral expression.
Her champion led the Persians to the foot of her elaborately decorated throne, having requested the task personally. From the way the youngest Prince's eyes darted to the man's bandaged arm and the glare Asoka shot back in return, she hazarded a guess that the two of them had met earlier.
The scene reminded her of her mistake only a short time before, and Tamina mentally cursed
She had intended to meet this young Prince when she had intercepted the servants from fetching the Persian royals. The man had not only broken past her city's defences and slaughtered a number of her soldiers, but he'd then single-handedly halted the march on her palace and brought the invasion to an end. Enemy and murderous warrior or not, he had saved her city. Tamina had wanted to meet the man who could turn full circle in such a short amount of time.
But instead she had stumbled upon him.
Prince Tus was the heir, making the city's saviour Prince Dastan, and leaving only the middle child; the brooding, callous and battle-hardened royal warrior.
Since his reputation had proceeded him, his remarkable lack of restraint in front of her should not have fascinated her so. He spoke bluntly and honestly, and she had the oddest feeling that even if he had the chance to do over their conversation now, he would choose to speak the very same words he had before.
Not that she was entirely blameless for his anger. Her anger had gotten the better of her and she'd spoken out of turn, purposefully riling the already irate Prince. And yet while seeing his face and hearing his words earlier had only heightened her hurt emotions, now she could barely contain her laughter as Prince Garsiv stared at her.
A calculating gleam sparkled in his eye, and his look of grudging respect made her lips twitch with a satisfied smile.
She was recalled to the purpose of the gathering before her when Prince Tus stepped forward to address her. As Asoka moved to take his place at her back, Tamina refocussed her attention to the man in front of her.
"Princess of Alamut. I was misled to attack your city. Forgive me, highness. Let me try to make amends."
He spoke clearly and openly, and even she had to admit that his words would speak volumes to the High Council standing behind her. It seemed this heir was well on his way to succeeding as the great ruler his father was rumoured to be; he was wise to quickly atone for the insult to Alamut.
Taking a breath, Tamina reached up and drew the hood of her royal robe back. A few other deep breaths were drawn in the room as some men had their first real glimpse of her face, but her gaze didn't stray from Prince Tus as he continued.
"It would be to our mutual advantage that our nations be united by a bond stronger than friendship."
Prince Tus conveniently turned away to address the crowd before her, missing the tight clench of her jaw and the swift frown that graced her features. The reality of the situation settled around her, and Tamina wiped all expression from her face.
"Marriage!"
An alliance. An unplanned one, if the surprised glance shared by the other two Persian Princes was any indication.
"Your marriage, to one who is both conqueror and saviour of your city."
Watching, curious, as Tus descended the short stairway back to his brothers, she was further surprised by his next words. Gripping the youngest Prince's shoulders, he turned with a bright expression and announced, "Dastan!"
The look on Dastan's face would have been comical if she wasn't as stunned by the decision as he was.
"Royal blood or not, he is every bit a son to our father. Every bit a brother to Garsiv and me. A true Prince of Persia."
A steely gaze caught her eye, and Tamina's gaze slid to Garsiv. Instead of watching his brothers, the Persian's gaze was locked on her.
A lazy smile graced his features, and yet she couldn't decide if it was indeed a smile, or an amused smirk at the situation she now found herself in. Perhaps the two expressions were one and the same.
But then he looked away, reached up to grip Dastan's shoulder, and she saw that sardonic smile soften as he gazed at his brother.
Wrenching her thoughts away from that man, Tamina called her focus to more important issues; namely, being thrust into a marriage born of war.
The Persians were correct. Any alliance with their Empire would greatly help aid the defence of Alamut. But what of its people, it's culture?
What of the secrets The Alamutians had been guarding for thousands of years?
An alliance with Persia would help them prosper, but could cripple their way of life. They followed new Gods, new orders. They sought power.
She could seethe at the presumption of these invaders, but her foremost concern had to be the safety of the city. With the rising threat of the eastern Warlord Kosh, she had no other choice.
Caught up in her thoughts, she missed the moment when Garsiv leaned in to speak to his younger brother, murmuring, "Get up there before I take you place," against his ear.
With a hand each, the two Princes urged Dastan up the few steps to stand before the Princess, and she watched with interest as the boy – man, he looked more like a man up close – stuttered a greeting. His quiet, almost nervous voice filled the silent room, and Tamina felt her amusement bubble as he joked about his lack of a betrothal gift.
But the sight the Dagger of Time being drawn from the sash at his waist had Tamina staring in shock as he knelt and presented it before her.
The Dagger. He had stolen the Dagger, and was now … returning it.
Thoughts of Garsiv, of marriage, of anything besides this man and this gesture fled her mind. She tried to comprehend what this could mean. He obviously knew it belonged to her, that it may have some important meaning to her.
How much did he know? Is this why the Persians had invaded in the first place? And what had prompted him to return it?
Questions swirled unanswered through her mind as she took the Dagger from his grasp. Attempting to maintain the calm countenance she had otherwise held through this meeting, Tamina tried to control her whirling emotions long enough to suggest he walk with her.
Away from prying eyes, where she could possibly find the answers she sought.
The Princess of Alamut.
The knowledge that the feisty woman he had encountered earlier had in fact been this Kingdom's reigning monarch had completely thrown him. Had she some ulterior motive to visit his chambers? Perhaps to see with her own eyes the man who had lead the attack against her city.
Well, as far as Garsiv was concerned she could look her fill; and he would not apologise for the attack. Strategically, Alamut was easily defendable and conveniently placed in Persia's borderlands. A strong outpost that would only help expand their mighty empire.
The pleased glint in her eyes earlier bothered him though. She found his shock at the revelation of her identify amusing did she? Blasted wench, she would do well to curb that insolent streak of hers. Strong women were all very well, but if she was to be Dastan's bride Garsiv had no doubt that the two would butt horns on more than one occasion.
Though the idea of little Dastan marrying that woman – Tamina, he might as well call her by her name – amused him to no end. The boy wouldn't know what to do with a woman like that! All fire and passion, and possessing a beauty to rival even Tus' comely wives.
But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Garsiv's mirth faded and he frowned fiercely. That was no way to think about his brother's future wife.
Jerked from his thoughts by the hollow echo of approaching footsteps, Garsiv reminded himself of why he was waiting alone outside the Alamutian's royal throne room, having stayed long after Tus had lead their men away. He'd mentioned waiting for Dastan, supposedly to ensure his brother didn't get his throat slit by muttering some peasant's lurid tit-bit around the Princess, but he was really just waiting for her.
And he hadn't needed to wait long.
"Looking for something, Prince? Surely I don't require a personal escort by the leader of Persia's illustrious armies."
Ah. And to think he had wondered if the use of that rapier wit was a one-time event.
"You can never be too careful," he replied pleasantly, uncrossing his arms and straightening from his resting place against a marble pillar. "But no, I wouldn't waste my time." As her brow arched in silent query, he smirked. "You'd flay anyone who accosted you with your words alone."
Tamina's eyes considered him for a moment and he would have missed the slight upward twitch of her lips if he hadn't been paying so close attention.
"Be that as it may, I have to ask why you're cluttering our hallways with your presence. Don't you have innocent cities to pillage and plunder?"
Gritting his teeth to hold back the biting retort he was tempted to give, Garsiv reminded himself that if she was to be family a little civility was required from here on out. Forcing a smile, he attempted something a little more polite. "You wound me, Princess. Even barbarians need rest."
Tamina snorted. If she hadn't already stood out in his mind, that action alone would have made it so. She was unlike any Princess, or any woman in power, he had ever met before. "No rest for the wicked."
"Even so."
Again she considered him, and Garsiv felt the eerie sensation of his deepest thoughts being stripped bare by her gaze.
Unnerved, he rested a hand against the comforting cold steel of his sword's hilt and decided, to hell with civility. "Though you were partially right before. I have come to offer my services to you."
"Your services?" She repeated, her derisive tone making the words themselves sound dirty and repulsive.
She was above his help then, was she? "A few soldiers to bolster your depleted army. I can offer several companies of men that would greatly—"
"We do not need your charity, Prince," Tamina bit out, holding herself rigidly before him. "We have plenty enough soldiers in our ranks to defend ourselves. Alamut had not been breached in a thousand years!"
"Is that so?" Maybe she was stupid after all. "I must have imagined how deceptively easy it was to break through your heavily guarded walls. These soldiers of yours are hiding elsewhere, then? Behind rocks, are they?" Leaning sideways, feigning a cursory glance behind the pillar next to him as if searching for the hidden soldiers he spoke of, Garsiv had to bite his lip against the chuckle that threatened to form as Tamina's aggravation grew. "Use the men for slaves instead, people to do your servant work. Maids, messengers even." Sneering he added, "Anything to save the city's royalty from lowering herself to do an inferior's work." Such as fetching Persian Princes from their private rooms.
"We have more than enough people in our care, Persian—"
"Could have fooled me."
A strangled sound of frustration slipped from her lips, and Garsiv didn't bother to wipe his smugness away as the Princess' eyes flashed and her cheeks flushed with anger. The air around her practically radiated her fury, and Garsiv knew that if she were a man, he would have been beaten to a pulp within minutes.
She was spectacular.
"Leave. Now. Or alliance or not I will order for your death. And believe me, Persian, we Alamutians know a thing or two about eliminating our enemies from time itself."
Giving way to the urge to laugh, Garsiv bowed elaborately and turned his back on her, walking briskly from her sight.
There had been no point to that meeting, none at all. He'd only wanted to get another rise out of her, and the spit-fire had delivered beautifully. He felt somewhat like a cat toying with its prey.
No doubt Dastan would call a stop to his fun shortly. Damn him.