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Enjoy!
Christine
Chapter 68
The Prince
Four executions.
All in one night.
No magic. Simple. Bloody. Clean, deep cuts across the wrists, so that they should perish the way they allowed their Khanum to.
I was not to attend. The Shah did not want me there. This was not a dinner or a party. This was not a performance. This was a punishment. A retribution. There was nothing entertaining about it.
So I was taken to Nadir's house to wait for Erik to be done, to come and collect me.
And after this execution, the Shah wanted to cease Erik's magic shows. They had been, after all, a gift for his mother. She was gone. So now the Shah wanted Erik to focus on his gift to himself - the torture chamber. Criminals and rioters could be put to death the way they had before the Angel of Death, and the Angel could focus on his room of mirrors.
He, like Nadir, wanted the process hurried along.
His thirst for blood, I fear, had only worsened.
I sat next to him where he stared absentmindedly at the keys of the piano. The bench was hard, but the last two weeks had been harder. For two reasons.
I missed hashish - though the cravings lessened with each setting of the sun. The fact that I knew Erik wanted me - needed me - sober helped to push that feeling away as well.
And what was more, every day since the execution of the ladies, he'd not entirely been himself - and I knew why. He felt that he'd not only killed them, but marked them for death in the first place. He felt that he was responsible for the Khanum's suicide, and now these women were taking the fall for him.
And although it was his voice that led her to madness, I reminded him that he couldn't have known she'd go this far. And he would remind me in turn that it had always been a possible outcome - that it was even something he and Nadir had discussed could happen.
"Even still." I took his hand where it rested on the keys. He allowed it. "You didn't choose to kill those women."
"I know, Christine." He closed his eyes. "But I can't be responsible for anymore innocent deaths."
"You don't have to be," I said softly. "The Shah released you from that duty."
"Until he's offended," he responded, voice bitter, "and requests my services once more. I can't do it again, Christine. I won't do it again. No more deaths. No more." He paused. "The first time I was made to kill here in Persia, I vomited. It was a shock. And I thought I couldn't continue. But I did. And I became used to it. But now that the Shah has told me that these women are the last, it's as though I've reverted back to my first night here. It's as though my tolerance has gone, and the thought of taking another life has me sick to my stomach."
I rested my head on his shoulder. I didn't know what to say.
Eventually, he was able to continue our lesson. And it was during our lesson that Ibrahim came to the door. When Erik let him in, he was tailed by four guards and a young man I'd never seen; he was dressed in a similar fashion as the Shah, though with slightly less frill and opulence.
When Erik saw the man, who looked around his age, he bowed. I blinked - he hadn't bowed to the Shah, though that had been for show, to play a character and amuse the Shah with his cockiness. He had bowed to the Khanum - that had been for show as well. So who was this - and was this bow genuine or to play a part?
Ibrahim stood tall and gestured to us all with his hand, palm up, waving it horizontally across the room. He spoke in Persian. The young man next to him nodded. He had a kind face, I noted. Dark, gentle eyes. Lamblike in manner.
The Grand Vizier switched to French. "Angel of Death and the Rose," he said, "may I present to you the Prince Izad of Persia."
I widened my eyes and bowed immediately. Izad must have seen my expression, because he laughed. It was a sweet, boyish sound - not lovely and sensual like Erik's, and not raucous and infectious like Ibrahim's. It was soft. Nice.
The Prince spoke to the Grand Vizier, who said, "Prince Izad thanks you for your reverence, but asks that you straighten once more."
"Excuse please," said Izad suddenly, as I stood tall again and looked at him. He smiled kindly. "I learn French. I speak small."
"He means that he speaks very little." Ibrahim turned to the guards, said something to them, and I watched as they turned and exited the room. "I recommended that he learn the language, and he started a few months ago."
"Erik. How do?" Izad was looking at Erik. Bare-faced. Unflinchingly. Warmly
"Very well, Your Highness, and you? It is good to see you again." And he seemed to mean it. I gathered, then, that he'd likely met the Prince before - and liked him leagues better than his brother.
"Ah. Good. Yes." Izad then turned to me. "Name?"
"Christine," I said softly, then added, "Your Highness."
He repeated, "Christine."
"Yes."
"Good." He pointed to Erik, still looking at me. "Wife?"
In a way, I wanted to say, but when Erik and I looked at one another, searching for a correct answer, Ibrahim took the Prince's arm and said something in Persian in his ear. At the touch, both men seemed to soften. As the Grand Vizier spoke, Izad's smile disappeared. He took me in, and a bit of pity entered his gaze. He sighed, and when Ibrahim let go, the Prince nodded to me. It seemed, even, almost a bow of his head.
"I sorry," he said, "for Garden. Brother not..." He looked for the word. "Not kind. But-" He looked at Erik now. "Happy you love."
Erik lowered his gaze in respect. "Thank you."
Izad nodded to him as well, and then smiled at Ibrahim. Whatever tension had existed between them, I decided, must have been worked out. Izad confirmed my suspicions when he said to the Grand Vizier, "And happy you not love in Garden." He laughed awkwardly as Ibrahim looked back at him with affection, and then turned to us. "Ibrahim say he told of us."
"Yes." Erik nodded. "We will not say anything to anyone. Your secret will die in our graves, Your Highness."
The Prince furrowed his brow, not understanding fully, and looked to Ibrahim, who explained Erik's meaning.
"Ah! Good," exclaimed Izad. "Happy." The Prince spotted the piano against the wall. "Erik - you music?"
Ibrahim pointed to me with his whole hand, fingers tightly packed together. "And the Rose sings!"
"Oh! I hear?"
We obliged.
As I sang for the Prince and Grand Vizier to Erik's piano playing, watching Izad's friendly, kindly youthful face stretch into a grin, I felt a jolting realization.
I, too, wanted Erik to finish the chamber. I wanted the Shah gone.
I wanted this man on the throne instead.
