29. James

29

JAMES

T he early evening light painted the sky in hues of bloody red, the orange glow of sunset slowly fading. A canopy of blue silk stretched over the palace's central garden, transforming the space into something almost magical.

Even I, with my jaded perspective, had to admit that the setup for Princess Aramar's show looked enchanting. Not that what she was doing was actual magic—no one believed in fairy tales these days. There was no such thing as magic, only new—or more likely, rediscovered old—technology that could fool the senses into believing, however briefly, that what you were seeing was miraculous.

I had believed in magic as a child. My mother had read me all sorts of fantastic stories, and it was easy to believe them, and why not? We lived in a city with flying devices and healing machines, isolated from the world beyond due to humanity's own hubris. The fact that people were not only alive but thriving in such a hostile environment seemed like magic, and to a child who marveled at pictures of mountain streams and lush green forests, magic seemed like a given.

I learned better, of course. It was as hard a come-down as I'd ever experienced, the day magic left my world. It was the day Londabad experienced a blackout due to overextending our generators, fighting off the heat and dust of the outside world. The shields failed, and a layer of toxic dust enveloped the entire city. There was no electricity, no temperature control, no environmental protection whatsoever for three long days. I had huddled with my mother in her rooms, all the windows and doors sealed, as we tried to stave off the brutal cold of the nights and the terrible heat of the days while our engineers worked nonstop to repair the generators. It was the only time I'd ever truly feared for my life, and it had put an end to my concept of the benevolent magic that kept us safe.

Tonight, though, I had a feeling that my presupposed notions would be tested. The performance was an intimate affair, limited to the royal family and all the dignitaries of my father's court, along with their families.

Jeffry and Lavanya were regrettably included. She still scowled every time she saw me while he tended to flinch. I didn't know what was going on there, and I didn't care.

His day would come, and in the meantime, he would sweat, knowing that I was plotting revenge.

Just as the sun kissed the horizon, two lines of dancers stepped gracefully onto the long rectangular marble terrace that outlined our small circular lotus pond. They looked absolutely real, except for the fact that they seemed, ever so slightly, to glow. Half of them were women, half men, all clad in colorful, elaborate dancing costumes.

A beat began, and a woman started singing in a language I'd heard before but never learned to speak.

"Garba," my mother exclaimed, leaning forward with excitement. "This is a traditional garba dance. I haven't seen it performed since my theater days!"

The women began twirling, and it was transfixing.

I'd never seen anything that blurred the line so closely between real and fake, not even the beautiful light shows that I had attended with Adina. I couldn't look away while they danced. The only thing to break the illusion was when some of the dancers skipped right onto the surface of the lotus pond without falling in—but even then, ripples expanded from the sides of their feet with every step, making it look like they were defying the laws of physics instead of ignoring them entirely.

The first song ended, and another began. It wasn't until after the third dance, though, that the holograms struck a pose and slowly, almost reluctantly, faded from view.

Once they vanished, the only person left on the terrace was a woman clad in amethyst silk from head to toe. Her outfit was so dark that I hadn't even seen her arrive before her illusions vanished. I was half convinced she was an illusion herself, but... no. Her footfalls made a sound, and she carried herself so upright it almost made her look stiff, no doubt the result of the collar-like necklace she wore.

She covered her hair but wore no veil, which was considered scandalous in Londabad but was supposedly the norm in the great eastern cities. She was elegant, the pride in her carriage tempered by a hint of humility in her face. Beautiful, but not full of herself was how I interpreted it.

So, this was the famous Princess Aramar.

She walked up to the dais where my parents and I sat, and curtsied.

My father opened his mouth to speak, but to my astonishment, Ravana got there first.

"Raise the alarm," my tiger-faced bodyguard growled, unsheathing his scimitar. "There is a Class Five danger here." He stepped forward, sword rising into an offensive position.

I jumped in front of him and gave him my override code. "Stop at once."

But Ravana didn't respond the way he ought to. "There is a Class Five danger here." He pushed me carefully but inexorably out of the way.

"Stop that bot!" my father shouted from his throne as Ravana descended toward Princess Aramar.

She didn't look overly alarmed, but she was understandably tense, holding both hands up in front of her with no visible weapon.

Ravana took another long step toward her, shrugging off my attempts to stop him as he readied himself for a strike.

"Alpha-sigma-nine-three-seven-delta-four," she said firmly, and a second later, Ravana simply stopped.

He didn't change his stance or lower his blade, but he ceased advancing. It was like he'd glitched somehow or been frozen.

I stared from him to Princess Aramar in confusion.

"I, ah. Um." For the first time since she appeared, her confidence wavered. "This isn't the first time my technology has elicited a reaction from a bodyguard bot," she said after collecting herself. "I had to learn a lot about how to talk them down very quickly. Forgive me, Your Highness. I should have warned you this might happen."

"It's fine," I said, even though it patently wasn't. "Ravana has never reacted this way before. What sort of technology do you have on you?"

Her lips quirked up in a smile. "The finest that Edinbai has to offer, and different enough from Londabad tech that it causes the equivalent of an allergic reaction." She pressed her palms together and bowed in the ancient way. "I apologize for distressing you. It wasn't my intent to cause any mischief, merely to delight you with my performance tonight."

"And so you did," my father said.

I wasn't quite so sanguine. Ravana was still frozen, and I knew enough about his classification system to know that Class Five was the highest-level danger he reacted to.

Was Princess Aramar a spy or an assassin?

I'd have to watch her closely to assess her intentions and protect my father.

I cast a quick glance at Jeffry, who was my number one suspect in every conceivable plot to eliminate my father, but he seemed just as surprised and alarmed as I was by the developments.

"The malfunction of a bot shouldn't distract from the pleasure of your performance," my father went on. "Our security here is top of the line. If you truly had something nefarious on you, we would have detected it."

"I've no doubt, King Jaimesh," she said with a smile.

It was an interesting smile. It looked genuine, and yet there was an edge to it that made me think that Princess Aramar was toying with us. I'd seen a smile like that before when Adina was talking someone into giving her a good deal or out of something they didn't want to part with. My curiosity and sense of foreboding grew even stronger.

"That was a lovely choice of dance," my mother commented.

As the princess looked her way, I expected to see her smile at my mother the same way she'd smiled at my father, but to my surprise, her expression turned more open.

"Thank you, Queen Maryana," Princess Aramar said. "I thought if anyone here could appreciate it, it would be you. I've seen holos of a few of your exquisite performances from your youth, and I know it's a dance you're familiar with."

"You have?" My mother's hand fluttered above her chest. It had been a long time since someone had referred to her previous career in a tone that was anything other than cutting and judgmental, and it clearly meant a lot to her. "My goodness. I'm honored."

"The honor is mine." The princess bowed again. "I'm grateful to meet with you all face to face." This time, when she straightened up, she looked right at me. "I've been especially looking forward to meeting you, Your Highness."

That was unexpected. Had she heard about my quest for a bride and thought to offer herself?

"Why?" I asked before I could stop myself.

She was a beautiful woman, but this was not the place or time for that. If she wished me to consider her, she should get herself invited to one of the receptions my mother was organizing for that purpose.

This time, when the princess smiled, I noticed that it looked a bit odd, like her muscles were reacting half a second behind the expression in her eyes. "It's nothing sinister. Completely prurient curiosity, I promise."

I snorted a laugh before I could stop myself. Both my parents turned and stared at me in amazement. I didn't know why until it hit me.

This was the first time I'd laughed since Adina was murdered. And I'd done it because of nothing more than a witty quip from a woman I knew nothing about, and I didn't care to learn more.

The bitter taste of betrayal spread across my tongue, and I stood abruptly.

"Free him," I said with quiet intensity to Princess Aramar as I pointed to Ravana.

She looked startled but inclined her head and recited another string of letters and numbers.

A second later, Ravana could move once more. He didn't try to attack again, but his eyes were fixed on the princess.

Something was off here, but I was too unmoored to think about it right now. "I must take my leave," I said stiffly. "Thank you for the show." Then I turned and walked away from the garden, heading straight for my private suite.

As I strode through the opulent corridors of the palace, my mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The laughter that had escaped me moments ago now felt like a betrayal of the deepest kind.

How could I have allowed myself even a moment of levity when Adina's death still weighed so heavily on my conscience?

I needed to be alone and remind myself why I didn't deserve to be happy. I was responsible for the death of the woman I loved, and I was still grieving for her.

Once inside my suite of rooms, I didn't feel any better. What used to be my sanctuary now felt like a prison of my own making, and as I paced my large reception room, my thoughts raged in a tumultuous storm.

Adina's face floated before my mind's eye—her mischievous smile, the sparkle in her eyes when she showed me the wonders of Londabad, and the softness when she looked up at me and took my hand.

How could I have laughed, even for a moment, when her life had been cut so tragically short because of me?

I could never make it up to Adina for my mistakes, but at the very least, I could respect her memory and not get distracted by the first interesting woman to come my way.

No, I would be true to Adina and not see Princess Aramar again.

As I sank onto the edge of my divan, head in my hands, I made a silent vow. I would honor Adina's memory by dedicating myself to making Londabad a better place, just as I'd promised myself in the wake of her death.

No distractions, no fleeting moments of joy.

It was the least I could do to atone for my role in her tragic fate.

Yet even as I reaffirmed this commitment, a small, treacherous part of my mind couldn't help but wonder about Princess Aramar, her mysterious technology, her ability to control Ravana, the odd familiarity of her smile. There were puzzle pieces here that didn't quite fit together, and despite my determination to avoid her, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the princess than met the eye.

No! I shook my head, banishing those thoughts.

I had made my decision. Princess Aramar, with her enchanting shows and enigmatic presence, would remain nothing more than a fleeting curiosity. My path was set, my penance clear. Londabad and Adina's memory deserved nothing less than my total, unwavering dedication.