Page 107 of The King's Menagerie

"I do not trade in children—in people at all, but especially not children."

The man just sneered. "Please, like we don't all know what happened to you, what you'd do to hold a babe that isn't—"

Berkant didn't remember moving. One moment he was standing close to the stairs, the next he had the stupid bastard with the stupid mouth pinned to the wall by his throat. "Finish that sentence. Finish it and I'll be executed for murder, but only one of us will die quickly."

"Master Berkant! Let him go!"

Only the fact that it was Shafiq who gave the order allowed Berkant to slowly pry his fingers away and step back, going without resistance as his guards hauled him across the room, putting distance between him and the infuriating bastard with a death wish.

"What in the world was that about?" Shafiq asked, motioning for the prisoners to be hauled away.

When it was just him, Nadir, Berkant, and the guards, he descended the stairs and stopped just a couple of paces away. "What did he mean about holding a babe?"

Berkant wanted to scream. Couldn't people just leave him alone? Why did they always want to tear his wounds open? He wasn't their fucking spectacle. "My wife died in childbirth. The babe, a girl, was stillborn. I think he wants you to believe that I am party to the child trafficking in the hopes of getting myself a new child. Which isn't true."

"Merciful Divine," Shafiq said—and then startled all of them, alarming the guards, by embracing Berkant tightly. Hewas warm, and smelled like sandalwood and jasmine, his arms heavy and solid as they held Berkant close. He was slightly smaller than Berkant, but so much bigger in ways far more important than physical.

Drawing back, Shafiq gripped his arms. "I am so sorry. That is not a pain anyone should have to endure. I lost my wife… I cannot imagine… No one thinks you capable of being party to this, I promise. You're free to go for the day."

"Than—Thank you, Your Majesty." Berkant stepped back, and back another step, before he did something stupid, hands curling into fists at his sides. His guards led him away, and it took everything Berkant had not to look back at Shafiq one last time.

Back in his room, he sat on his bed, already exhausted and done with the day. He reached up to curl his hand around his locket. Why couldn't people just leave himalone.Especially now, when he was trying so hard to finally move on the way Parvaneh would have wanted.

He jumped slightly when a knock came at the door, and sighed at himself before going to answer it.

A servant stood on the other side and smiled, bowing her head slightly. "Master Berkant, your presence is requested by Master Ashel. Shall I escort you?"

"That would be appreciated, thank you, just give me one moment, please," Berkant replied. Going to the small desk in his room, he fetched the sash that had been wrapped around the book of poetry and tucked it carefully away in a pocket. Back in the hallway, he fell into step behind the servant as she headed off.

Strangely, no guards came with them, and none of the other guards they passed seemed to think this was strange. Well, Berkant certainly wasn't going to bring attention to the lapse. Hecompletely understood why they were necessary, but that didn't mean he enjoyed the constant reminder that he was a prisoner.

Though as to that…

The concubines were always under constant watch, escort, save when they were alone with the king. That was different, though. Those guards were to ensure their protection, not to ensure they didn't try to escape. Was there an appreciable difference? Did it really matter, when it was a non-negotiable requirement of royal concubines?

Did he really think he would ever have cause to know?

What do you think of this one?

He would keep hoping. Cling to the feel of Shafiq holding him, the kindness and true understanding in his voice as he offered words of comfort, and keep hoping.

When they arrived in the training hall, Ashel immediately motioned from across the room. "Come, come!" he called. "I have you ready for a fitting."

"Good afternoon, Master Ashel. I actually had a question about my outfit: would it be possible to use this for the sash?"

"Oh, what have we here? Where did you come by this?" He ran his fingers over it, eyes full of gleaming approval. "I know people who would cheerfully murder to obtain a single length of this fabric, and here you are withtwolengths."

Berkant frowned, annoyed with himself for not having anticipated that question. "It was a gift, after a fashion."

Ashel looked at him with too much knowing, though what he could possibly know, and how he could know it, was impossible to determine. "I see. Yes, it's too beautiful not to use, and goes perfectly with the fabric you already picked out. Making a sash won't take more than a couple of hours. Try on the pants, and I can finish the whole ensemble tonight."

"As it pleases," Berkant replied, and took the carefully pinned pants behind the changing screen. The fabric was softand cool, fluid enough he would be able to move easily in it, yet fitted perfectly to him, even better than those he'd worn as a professional fighter.

Ashel sighed in satisfaction as he stepped out from behind the screen. "Marvelous. You really are made for that color, Master Berkant. With this fabric as your sash, there will be a perfect contrast in patterns. You have a good eye for such things, if you ever wanted a change from fighting." He winked, and then got to work on adjustments, though what adjustments could possibly be needed, Berkant couldn't begin to fathom.

When he was done, Berkant headed for the mats, where Litta and Jorin were conversing quietly. "How did the fitting go?" Litta asked, smiling as he joined them. "The colors certainly suit."

Berkant laughed. "All the years I fought while wearing purple, I clearly should have gone with red."

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