A low chuckle echoed throughout the room, a tone so gruff it sounded more like it should belong to the sailors in the harbor than it did a King.

"Ah, so this is the latest merchandise you've brought my sons, is it, Abdul?"

"Yes, Vala Hazrat," Abdul said, his head ducked so low, I imagined he must've had a horrible headache.

"You've brought fewer than the ones before you," the same voice mused, and the sound of a goblet thumping onto a table resonated.

Other than that, though, the room was as silent as a skittering mouse trying to steal food.

"With all due respect, Shahryar, my delegates and I tried to find the Princes but the very best."

"Hm... Well, I suppose it all falls down to what my children think. Are they to your liking?"

How odd it was that the King was asking for the liking of his children, when it should have been the other way around.

After all, since when did a King listen to anything but himself? In a way, it almost sounded like he was scared of his kids.

"I'll say," another voice, this one higher but thicker than the King's, mused, "stand up and lift your pretty faces first."

"Do as he says," Abdul hissed, his voice just barely loud enough to hear.

I lifted my head and locked eyes with a smirking, tan face.

I couldn't quite figure out where exactly we were, perhaps one of the many dining rooms the palace held. But it was big and white, with an odd, slanting ceiling and a large table fitted in the center. Though it looked like it should've been able to host a whole banquet of guests, only four people sat around it -- A man wearing a gold Sarband, and three others wearing a silver one.

My first thought was that all three of them were very attractive.

My second was that I did not like the way the smirking man was looking at me.

"Ladies, this, is Shahzadeh Raza Benyamin Syahir, the First Prince," Abdul said, his hand gestured in exaggeration towards the man.

Prince Raza was tall, very tall, with dark hair cropped so short that his head might as well have been shorn. In contrast, his eyes were a stark, light brown, and if it was not for the leer on his face, then I'd easily admit that he had one of the most beautiful faces I'd ever seen on somebody, either man or woman.

But the smirk twisting his mouth was wicked, and I couldn't help the goosebumps prickling on the side of my arms.

"Abdul," he drawled, standing up. Even his gait looked smug, his back tall and pulled back in almost odd fashion, and I could feel my dislike increasing. "I simply take my pick, no?"

"Yes, my prince, of course," Abdul hurried to reply, "but the other princes has not yet been introduced to the ladies."

"Thoughtful of you, Abdul. You did a good job... I feel like I will have some fun this time around."

Raza's tongue slipped out to lick his bottom lip, and even though the room was hot, I shivered.

"Thank you, my prince, thank you."

Darij stepped forward now, his mouth pressed together, as if irritated that he himself was not getting praised and anxious to get his turn. "And these are the women I've picked out for you, Shahzadeh Finn Hashem Syahir."

Another man stood up now, his brow raised in keen interest. In comparison to Prince Raza, this man was shorter, paler, but stocky in the way most knights or soldiers were, as if he spent a lot of his time drilling military tactics rather than working out.

Beside me, I could've sworn I heard a girl muffle a squeal.

Prince Finn looked around the room, and as his eyes landed upon me — eyes with the color of deep rose wine — once again, I shivered.

The Gods of Persia had given us many, many rules over the course of their reign, so much so that, truth be told, I couldn't remember most of them.

But I could still remember some— the most important parts, at least. The commandments of Khuda, the preaches in the Quran, the major things our teacher would spend weeks at a time talking about, her gestures so expressive it was as if she was acting out a play.

And of course, the sins that came from the country oceans away, the one I could bet nobody listened to; the ones of Lust and Pride, of Gluttony and Greed, of Envy and Wrath and Sloth, the deeds that would bring down upon you the anger of the heavens.

If Prince Raza was the human embodiment of Lust, then Prince Finn was the embodiment of Pride.

I'd never quite seen such arrogant eyes.

"Pleasure," he said, his voice a deeper timbre than Prince Raza; rougher, too, almost as if he'd just started recovering from a dry, itchy throat.

"Pleasure," the girl beside me whispered.

Prince Finn must've heard her whisper, because in the next moment, he'd turned his head to look straight at her.

His lips twisted. "You, the girl with the pink head scarf — come forward."

The girl was tan, tanner than the average Persian, but when I turned to look at her, her face had gone pale.

"Me?"

Prince Finn nodded, his mouth pulled into a conceited smile. "Come here. Let me see your face."

As if he was Moses, the crowd parted on his words like the ocean, and as the girl climbed up to the front, I heard someone behind me murmur a quiet, grateful prayer.

I couldn't blame them.

"Yes, Shahzadeh?" The girl in the pink headscarf had a shaky voice now, trembling at the same pace as her jaw, but there was a tone to it that made me think that she must sound beautiful when she sings.

"What's your name?" Prince Finn asked. Beside him, Prince Raza shifted, his face pulled, as if it annoyed him that that he hadn't been the first one to choose a woman.

"Maryam, Shahzahdeh," she said.

"Maryam... Quite a beautiful name. Maryam, I invite you to join me for a walk this afternoon."

I blanked.

Beside me, a girl's mouth fell open.

"I'm sorry? A walk?" Even Maryam seemed confused, her thick brows pulled together.

"Yes. You're not going to refuse, are you?" The Prince's mouth rose higher now, as if he already knew her answer.

Then again, so did I.

"No! Of course not, I'd never — This subject of yours will gladly accept your offer," she said. I couldn't help but notice that her voice had suddenly become much, much breathier.

"Good. You may go back to your line, Maryam."

The squeal she was holding in was basically exploding out of her — I could see it in her eyes and the way her hands trembled on either side of her — but the girl was just able to manage a bow before she left, grinning so wide that her face looked like it was about to split in half.

I couldn't help but notice how pretty she was now, with large eyes and a little mouth that was now stretched as far as it could go.

And all of a sudden, I couldn't help but notice the icy chill dropping over all the other girls.

They all want that same chance.

Behind Prince Finn, Darij beamed with pride, his chest puffed out, but beside him, Abdul looked disgruntled. Perhaps he thought that Prince Raza would have had the first choice, being the oldest and all.

But Ismal stepped forward, and he couldn't have looked less burdened.

"And now, I introduce to you, ladies, Shahzadeh Cairo Ahmadi Syahir."

Just like the other two, the first thing I saw were his eyes.

Most Persians had very, very pretty eyes, eyes that mirrored the color of the sun the moment it started dying, eyes that flecked gold when the light hit it just right, but Prince Cairo did not have these eyes.

His eyes were dark, so dark they might as well have been black, and reminded me of nothing but old coal and the cold of an empty evening.

For the third time, I shivered.

They'd said that the Princes were all good looking to a fault, that they could cave anybody to their knees, be it man or woman or anything in between.

Perhaps it wasn't necessarily because of their looks, but they'd certainly caved me, one way or another.

"What have you brought me, Ismal?" he asked, his voice deeper than his brothers.

Prince Cairo was shorter than Raza, lankier than Finn, but he was the only one out of the three who walked like he was already king.

And though perhaps it was out of respect of their father that the earlier two did not, but if I didn't know better, in my eyes, he might as well have already been King.

He does not feel like a concubine's son.

"We've brought many, my prince—"

"I did not ask for what they've brought, but for what you brought for me," he said, his voice neither sharp nor cold, but effectively cutting Ismal off nonetheless.

"Then there's only one, Shahzadeh. Aliya, was it? Come forward and meet your prince."

In my head, I muttered a not-very-appropriate word to say in front of anybody, lest a prince.

This time, when the girls parted for me, I saw fingers gripping into palms so deeply that their hands started to drip blood.

But I couldn't help but think that they should all retain that same thought of gratefulness they'd had when Maryam had been called.

Despite the fact that the room was protecting us from the heat of the Persian sun, a bead of sweat ran down the back of my neck.

My steps were slow, deliberately so, and my eyes were glued down to the floor, in hopes that, maybe, just maybe, the Prince would grow bored and tell me to return.

But this Prince, it seemed, was patient, because he continued to stand there waiting until I was close, close enough that if he reached his hand out, his fingers would be able to cup my cheek.

"This is what you have brought for me?" His voice was cool, but not cold, like a sword plated with iron but left outside at night.

"Yes, my prince."

"Hm. Aliya, was it?"

My tongue felt too heavy to move in my mouth, and I was just able to muster a nod.

"Lift your head, Aliya. Let me see you."

For the first time in my life, I wished somebody to be racist. I wished somebody to use my eyes, my blood, my birthline against me. I wished somebody to use my mother against me.

But when I lifted my head and locked eyes with him, all I could see was his smile widening.

And all I could hear in my head was my own screaming.

"Blue eyes, hm?" he said, so low I had to strain myself to hear him.

I wondered if it because his family was around.

"Yes. My maman was Arabic," I said, my voice just as low.

"Hm." Prince Cairo's brow raised almost imperceptibly, and his mouth thinned into a line. Then, turning to Ismal, he said, "Ismal, you've gone to both Babylon and Mesaid, yes?"

"Yes, my prince."

"In Mesaid, you brought me nothing."

"Because there was no one there that was good enough to be presented in front of you, my prince."

I could almost hear Darij and Abdul bristling at the silent innuendo that the women they'd brought back from Mesaid was lesser than.

"And now, you've brought me this one from Babylon. Do you think she's good enough to be presented in front of me?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ismal nod his head. "Yes. But if I am wrong, then please punish me in whatever way you see fit, my prince."

Darij's head perked up.

"Then you are lucky," Cairo said, "because you aren't wrong."

My heart dropped the same moment Darij's head did."

"Thank you, my prince."

"She is interesting, if nothing else. An Arabic mistress," he murmured to himself, "very interesting. Aliya, was it?"

Once again, with my tongue too heavy for my mouth, I nodded.

"You're very intriguing," he said, despite the fact that I hadn't spoken more than five words to him. "Or, at least, you seem to be... And I do hope you won't be the type to disappoint."

When he turned his head to dismiss me, I caught a trace of satisfaction in his eye.

As I walked back into the crowd, I felt much in the way I had when I'd walked into the line of 'lucky ones.'

If Prince Raza was Lust, and Prince Finn was Pride, then it appeared to me that Prince Cairo could be Greed.

It was quite clear to me that he wanted me, whether that was due to the blood in my arms or the eyes my mother gave me.

But either way, I had a feeling that he was not the type of man to want half.

No, Prince Cairo would take every part of me, until there was nothing left—

But I'd be damned if I so easily let him.

trying really hard to maintain a consistent update schedule; what's the best day to update? please tell me what you think in the comments!

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