“We must now temper your recklessness with displays of solemnity,” said his

grandfather. “Such performances will be for the benefit, in particular, of the noble
families of the Seven Houses, upon whose political influence we heavily rely. You will
host a ball. You will be seen at court. You
will pay your respects to the Seven Houses, House of Piir, in particular. You will relieve
them of any fears they might have as concerns your character. I will have them question
neither the soundness of your mind nor your ability to rule. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the prince, discomposed. Only now was he beginning to
understand the weight of his error. “I will do as you bid me, and I will remain in Setar for
as long as you think it necessary to repair this damage. Then, if you will allow it, I'd like
to return to my troops.”
Briefly, Zaal smiled. “I'm afraid it is no longer a good idea for you to be far from home.”
Kamran did not pretend to misunderstand.
“You are healthy,” he said with more heat than he intended. “Fit and strong. Of sound
mind. You could not be certain of such a thing⠀””
“When you get to be my age,” Zaal said gently, “you can indeed be certain of such
things. I've grown weary of this world, Kamran. My soul is eager to depart. But I cannot
leave without first ensuring that our line is protected⠀”that our empire will be
protected.”
Slowly, the prince looked up into his grandfather's eyes.
“You must know.” Zaal smiled. “I did not ask you to come home merely to rest.”
At first, Kamran did not understand. When he did, a beat later, he felt the force of the
realization like a blow to the head. He could scarcely form the words when he said:
“You need me to marry.”
“Ardunia requires an heir.”
“
I
am your heir, Your Majesty. I am your servant—”
“Kamran, we are on the brink of war.”
The prince held steady even as his heart pounded. He stared at his grandfather in
something akin to disbelief. This was the conversation he'd been waiting to have, the
news he'd been waiting to discuss. Yet even now, King Zaal seemed disinclined to say
much.
This, Kamran could not countenance.
His grandfather was threatening to die—threatening to leave him here alone to wage a
war, to defend their empire—and instead of equipping him for such a fate, was tasking
him with marriage? No, he could not believe it.
Through sheer force of will was Kamran able to keep his voice steady when he said, “If
we are to go to war, Your Highness, surely you might assign me a more practical task?
There's no doubt a great deal more I could do to protect our empire at such a time than
court some nobleman's daughter.”
The king only stared at Kamran, his expression serene. “In my absence, the greatest
gift you could give your empire is assurance.
Certainty.
War will come, and with it, your duty”—he held up a hand to prevent Kamran from
speaking—“which I know you do not fear.
“But if something should happen to you on the battlefield, we will be in chaos. Worthless
relations will claim the throne, and then lay waste to it. There are five hundred thousand
soldiers under our command. Tens of millions who rely on us to manage their well-
being, to ensure their safety, to procure the necessary water for their crops, to
guarantee food for their children.” Zaal leaned forward. “You must secure the
line, my child. Not just for me, but for your father. For your legacy.
This
, Kamran, is what you must do for your empire.”
The prince understood then that there was no choice to be made. King Zaal was not
asking a question.
He was issuing a command.
Kamran rose on one knee, bowed his head before his king. “Upon my honor,” he said
quietly. “You have my word.”