As it would turn out, I was wrong.
She didn't have a week or two. She didn't even have a day.
"Ah, Mikhael, just the Val'Rhayne I was hoping to find." Qasim said, appearing at my shoulder as I left the Star Garden.
Prince Qasim's voice cut through the morning air like a blade through silk. I'd barely stepped from the Star Garden when he appeared at my shoulder, too close. His hair had been oiled, as was this court's fashion and the scents of blood orange and honey filled my senses.
"Walk with me."
Not a request. Never a request with him.
Hands clasped behind his back, he fell into step beside me as we moved through An'Shar's open corridors, his silk robes whispering against marble floors. Morning light filtered through horseshoe arches, casting geometric shadows across turquoise and gold zellige tiles.
"Interesting creature you carried out of the Grand Hall the other day," he said, conversational. Pleasant. "Those eyes. Like molten gold, weren't they?" He gave me a sidelong glance. "Or honey."
I kept my expression neutral. "I wouldn't know, my prince."
Qasim chuckled, a hollow sound. "No?" His smile sharpened. "Odd, since you were close enough to count the freckles on her cheeks before you threw her over that broad shoulder of yours."
My hand found the hilt of my sword. Rested there.
"The rebellion in Vraycia was... illuminating," Qasim went on, glancing at me with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I honestly had not spent much time in that part of the Empire. Before it, I must confess, I thought it rather dull. Uncivilized." He waved a dismissive hand. "But I've come to appreciate the... variety it has come to offer."
"The rebellion has been quelled, my prince," I said carefully. "The southern lords have submitted. Vraycia is now under the control of the God King's chosen."
"Indeed. All those proud southern families, thinking they could grow wild beyond our walls. But we trimmed them back nicely, didn't we? Cut away the diseased branches, dug out the rot." His smile widened, showing too many teeth. "Such a shame how wild things can become when left untended."
One strike.
The thought had come so easily, my fingers already curling around the hilt. The blade was an extension of my body, centuries of wielding it had made it so. I could have taken his head before he drew his next breath. Clean. Fast. The world would have been better for it.
I didn't. A regret I have carried since. I cannot help but think that, if I had, things could have ended differently.
"But here's the remarkable thing, Mikhael." Qasim stopped, turning to face me fully. The sunlight caught in his dark eyes, making them glitter with something predatory. "Even in that wasteland of traitors and rebels, we found the most unique blooms."
My jaw tightened.
"The Dragon Lords arrive today for the wedding." He said it casually, as if discussing the weather and not a woman's fate. "You know how dragons are. They appreciate treasures. Especially rare ones." He turned to face me fully, sunlight catching in his dark eyes. "I'm presenting a gift to the Dragon King tonight. A gesture of goodwill between our houses."
The world tilted.
"A gift from Vraycia's finest garden." His smile widened, showing too many teeth. "Defiant. Golden-eyed. Still has some fire in her, I imagine." He paused, watching my face. "Unless you and your brothers have already broken that?"
I forced air into my lungs. Kept my voice level despite the thunder in my ears. "Which prisoner?"
Qasim's laugh was genuine this time, delighted. "Come now. We both know exactly who I mean." He clapped my shoulder, grip just shy of painful. "The widow. Have her bathed and dressed for presentation. Something that displays her... attributes. I want the Dragon King to understand the value of what he's receiving."
He started toward the palace interior, then stopped.
"Oh, and Mikhael?" He glanced back, smile sharpening. "Make sure she understands the honor. I'd hate for there to be unpleasantness in front of guests." A pause. "Though I suppose that could be entertaining too."
Then he was gone. Footsteps echoing down the corridor until silence swallowed them.
I had hours. Maybe less.
And I had absolutely no idea what in the Daeude I was going to do.
I found my mother and Azralyth already waiting beneath her pavilion, as though they had been expecting me.
"Well, we knew this would come sooner or later. Qasim was ever a boy unable to let go of a toy he'd set his sights upon."
My mother said this as she plucked three ripe plums from the tree outside her pavilion, casually, the way another woman might remark on the weather while pruning her flowers. As if the impending humiliation of a captive noblewoman before the Dragon Lords was simply another seasonal occurrence, like the fruit in her small orchard.
She handed one to both Azralyth and myself. They were perfectly ripe, their skin splitting at the slightest pressure, and full of sweet juice that spilled down Azralyth's chin as she bit eagerly into its flesh. She ate like a woman savouring a moment in life.
"You don't seem surprised," I remarked of Azralyth.
I watched her for a beat too long, the plum warming and forgotten in my closed fist. There was something almost defiant in the way she ate. Not delicate. Not performative. Honest. Raw.
"I'm not." She wiped her chin with the back of her hand, a gesture so unguarded it caught me off guard, and settled onto the low wooden bench beneath the pavilion's canopy, crossing her ankles where the hem of her indigo dress pooled against the moss-covered ground. "Men like Qasim are not rare. I've dealt with his kind before. They can be quite imaginative in their cruelty."
A pause. Something shifted in her expression.
"Though given to a Dragon Lord." The corner of her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Something drier than that. "That's creative. I'll grant him that much."
I shifted on the bench, suddenly aware of the plum still uneaten and warming in my closed fist.
"You know, it's funny," she said, looking at her hands. "When they dragged me onto that ship, after cutting him down right before my eyes, I spent every night praying it would be over quickly. That whatever came next would be swift."
She paused. Her gaze drifted to the garden. "I wanted to join him. In the Realm of Songs. Wherever the dead go when they're done suffering." A beat. Quieter still. "And now I find myself wishing I'd had a little more time here."
The silence that followed was not empty. It held something neither of us was willing to name.
Then she looked up. Her golden eyes found mine, steady, clear, already decided.
When she finally spoke, she was looking at the garden.
"It's beautiful here," she said. Very quietly.
She turned back to us with the stillness of a woman who had looked at what was coming and decided, quietly and without flinching, that she would not spend what remained of her time being afraid of it.
Then Tyreal appeared at the edge of the pavilion. He was flanked by a dozen royal guards.