Page 20 of The Prince's Wife

"Then I limp around dramatically the rest of my life."

Aradishir gnashed his teeth and said nothing.

"Seriously, Ari, why are you being so pissy? I haven't done anything to you—or anyone else for that matter. I came home and immediately sought out Her Highness. I would have thought that would please you. Mother sent endless messages about how wonderful and perfect her favorite child continues to be," he added in a mutter.

"I'm not her favorite child!"

Bakhtiar scoffed, but didn't get to reply as the door to his chambers opened and one of his concubines came bursting out. "Bakhti! You said you'd be right behind us, you worthless littleliar." Kurosh, the first of two concubines so far. In keeping with what seemed to be family tradition, taking Kurosh as his concubine had caused a scandal. It wasn't very often, after all, that a crown prince took as lover the man who'd tried to kill him. But nobody adored Bakhti, in all his irritating glory, more than the man currently yelling at him.

"Could everyone stop getting mad at me?" Bakhtiar asked, actually sounding and looking hurt. "I'm exhausted, in a great deal of pain, and I haven't eaten in nearly two days. Could I please be allowed to rest for a little bit before everyone tells me how pissed off they are this time?"

"Sorry," Aradishir muttered. "Come on, let's get you to bed." With Kurosh's help, it was much easier to get him into his room and settled on a long, wide sofa used for reclining. Across the room, his other concubine, Farrokh, was fussing with the refreshment tray servants had already brought. "How are you two?"

"Fine," Kurosh said. "It's good to be home. Now we just have to keep this stubborn ass still long enough to let his leg healproperly."

"Yeah, yeah." Bakhtiar didn't bother to move his arm from where it was draped over his eyes, or to stir at all, inreaction to the jab. "At least we're no longer in that damned temple where everything seemed determined to poison me."

Aradishir frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Everything he ate made him violently sick," Farrokh said as he joined them, carrying a smaller tray of stuff taken from the large one. "It was most peculiar. There wasn't even one thing in common across all the meals that we could pinpoint as not agreeing with him. It was like whatever was wrong was wrong withallthe food, even though the rest of us ate it just fine. Sit up, Bakhti."

"Teacher voice," Aradishir said with a snicker that turned to outright laughter as all three glared at him.

It was true, though. Farrokh had been one of Bakhtiar's tutors, and was nearly ten years older than him. That was hardly scandalous, though, not when one of their father's concubines was half his age—right aroundtheirage.

After several minutes, and looking significantly improved—and didn't Aradishir feel like an ass for not realizing just howbadBakhtiar had looked—Bakhtiar looked at him. "So what had you so angry with me?"

Aradishir almost said nothing, let the matter go, but at the pointed look that earned him, he sighed and relented. "You were soflippant. She's given up so much, risked literally her entire world for this marriage, and you couldn't even bother to buy her gifts. I had to do that! Last minute! Then you show up out of nowhere and act like all is well."

"I wasn't trying to be flippant, I'm sorry."

"You—what?" Since when did Bakhtiar apologize all on his own, without being prodded first? Whatever, didn't matter. Aradishir shook his head. "It's fine, I overreacted. I still can't believe you forgot to buy her presents!"

"I know, I know," Bakhtiar said with a groan. "I appreciate all you've done, I really do. I owe you, Ari. I promise I'll pay my debt."

Biting back all he really wanted to say, the futile demands of a hopeless fool, he instead said, "Get some rest, Bakhti. I'll likely see you at dinner. Try to stay out of trouble."

Bakhtiar rolled his eyes but smiled and waved him off.

Departing, Aradishir retreated to his rooms. He needed to get to work, but surely the world could spare him a bit of time to collect himself, bury his hopeless wishes once and for all, gather the fortitude he needed to meet the expectations of family and court.

Unfortunately, the world couldnotspare him any sort of time. He wasn't even halfway back to his room when guards came rushing up. "Your Highness! You're needed at once. Some of your contacts in the city have come back hurt."

"Take me to them. Bring Heydar and Merza to me there."

"Yes, Your Highness!" One of the guards ran off, the other showed him through the palace to a lesser used receiving room, likely for the sake of privacy. A healer was also there, tending to the cuts, bruises, and what looked like a broken arm.

Aradishir hissed in dismay. "Are you all right? What happened? Who did this?"

"They had masks, Your Highness, though they spoke with southside accents."

That was a typical place to hire thugs and the sort.

"Found us in our little apartment near the docks, took us by surprise. Said to tell you that next time they won't be so kind, and if you know what's good for you and your people, you'll back off."

The door behind him slid open, and a moment later Heydar was at his right side, Merza at his left, both of them looking intently over the wounded contacts—spies, really—witha deep frown. They stepped forward slightly and started asking all manner of questions, from exact numbers, style of fighting, and more, so many things that Aradishir never would have thought to ask—precisely the reason he'd asked for them to come.

When they had all the information they could possibly think to gather, Aradishir sent his poor people off with the healer and instructions they weren't to go back to work for at least a month.

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