A low voice sounds behind us. “Brother Shaan—Oh. I didn’t realize we have visitors.”

I swivel to see a man in the far doorway. Great Anu, it cannot be.

His shiny dark hair is trimmed and combed back, his smooth face beardless. His soft skin is oily like a freshly molted snake, and his apparel was sewn from the finest silk, purple as a field of irises. The regal man stands tall, perched above the world like a proud bird of prey.

Rajah Tarek is alive.

The rajah’s face lights up, as though he has been waiting for me here all this time. I whip out my dagger and push Brother Shaan behind me.

“Stay back,” I warn.

Rajah Tarek’s smile shrinks, and he closes his book. “I—I apologize for startling you, Kalinda.”

His voice is wrong.

The realization triggers an avalanche of other details that my startled mind only now registers. His chin is softer and eyes rounder. He is a tad taller and thinner than Tarek, gangly and less muscular. His clean-shaven face is young, placing him a year or two younger than me. And he carries a book that he was reading when he walked in. I never once saw Tarek interested in reading.

Brother Shaan steps out in front of me. “Your Majesty, please forgive the kindred. You’ve given her quite a shock.” He pushes my arm down, lowering my dagger. “You came in before I could prepare her. Kindred, this is Prince Ashwin.”

I stare at the man—no, boy—before me. The longer I gape at him, the more obvious my mistake. He is a twin of his father, but the subtle dissimilarities are apparent enough for my face to heat with humiliation.

“Your Majesty.” I manage a short bow, my guarded gaze firm on him.

The prince steps fully into the chamber, and, on instinct, I raise my dagger. He sidesteps, skirting me near the exterior of the room. “I’ll shake your hand later.”

I tremble at the thought of touching him. The prince notices my disdain, and injury fills his eyes. Didn’t I tell Deven to give Prince Ashwin a chance? I rush to recover my abysmal first impression. “We traveled across Tarachand from temple to temple searching for you.”

“We?” he asks, glancing behind me. Opal sits in the chair Brother Shaan vacated, picking dried carob seeds from a dish on the table.

“I had to leave my companions behind with Rohan. They’ll join us soon.”

“Are they all right?” he asks.

Prince Ashwin’s concern causes me pause. “I . . . I don’t know, Your Majesty.”

Remorse flickers across his face. I am entranced by his openness; I cannot recall seeing Tarek regretful about anything. Prince Ashwin turns away from me, and his voice softens. “I appreciate your coming, Kalinda. I was uncertain if you would.”

I frown at his back, desiring to see his haunting face and read his expression. “Of course, Your Majesty. I have come to help with your transition onto the throne.”

The prince swivels back around. Even after listing their dissimilarities, I am still unprepared at how closely he resembles his father. Don’t be a fledgling. He isn’t Tarek.

“I cannot express how grateful I am that you’re here,” says Prince Ashwin. “I was worried you would decline to come for the tournament.”

I go still, my stomach lurching with unease. “What tournament?”

The prince flashes a startled look at Brother Shaan. “You said you would tell her.”

“Tell me what?” I demand, my voice rising.

Brother Shaan gestures at Opal, a half wave. “You may go now.” She hops to her feet and scoots for the door.

“Tell me what?” I call after her as she leaves. I fix Brother Shaan with an impatient glower. “What is this about? What tournament?”

Prince Ashwin toys nervously with a gold cuff around his wrist. “The sovereigns of the neighboring countries are alarmed by Hastin’s insurgence. They want to see him displaced and his rebel army stopped. They agree we require aid, but not on how much and who will supply it.”

“We need allies,” says Brother Shaan, “but they’re reluctant to risk their manpower and resources without being invested in Ashwin’s new empire. Sultan Kuval offered to host a trial tournament to decide who would be responsible for aiding us. All four of the sovereigns will have one female competitor to vie as a representative from their nation. Ashwin consented on the condition that he could select the competitor from Tarachand. Your reputation is hailed all over the continent, and as the current kindred, your continued reign would assure our people’s cooperation.”

“What’s the reward for winning?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“My kindred’s throne,” Prince Ashwin replies with a bright smile that does not warm me. “The champion will have the honor of marrying me.”

“I don’t want to marry you.” Prince Ashwin frowns in hurt. Has he already envisioned me as his wife? I will have to put a stop to that right away. “I don’t want the throne.”

Brother Shaan licks his lips with cautious hope. “But you must see the diplomatic advantage the other sovereignties would gain should one of their competitors win. The Tarachand Empire is the largest territory on the continent and has the richest resources. Prince Ashwin has promised to open trade negotiations once he is seated on the throne and offered a treaty of arms in support of lessening tensions. The sultan has agreed to provide bhuta military aid regardless of the tournament’s outcome. It is in all our best interests to bind states in defense against the rebel insurgents.”

His diplomatic reasoning does not explain the need for a tournament. “Why doesn’t the prince wed a wife from each sovereign?”

“I recommended that,” Prince Ashwin insists. “I suggested that the champion would become my first wife, and the other contenders would be my second, third, and fourth wives, according to the succession of their performance in the tournament. But Sultan Kuval felt the strongest alliance should remain solely between us and the champion’s nation. Too many competing agendas would frustrate the purpose for uniting nations, which is to defend against our common threat—the warlord.”

Brother Shaan finishes their explanation. “All Sultan Kuval requests is that Princess Citra has a chance to contend for the throne. Female representatives from Lestari and Paljor will arrive soon to compete.”

“I swore I would not step foot in the arena again.” Of the three of us, only I have fought and killed in a tournament. My memories of the bloody duels dredge up horrors I have struggled to bury under hard-won apathy. I will not relive them.

“This will be unlike your rank tournament,” assures Brother Shaan. “Each contender will be tested in a series of challenges intended to find the most worthy queen. The final test will remain a traditional match between the last two competitors, a duel to first blood.”

Back home, “first blood” means competitors battle until someone’s throat is slit. But a series of trials would be less life-threatening. I am cautious to hope. “What will these trials be?”

“We don’t know particulars,” answers Brother Shaan. “Sultan Kuval will devise them.”

“Then you cannot guarantee this will be different than my rank tournament!” I hear how rancorous I sound, and with great effort, I level my voice. “What happens if I refuse?”

“We haven’t considered that outcome,” Prince Ashwin admits. “You’re the only rani who escaped Vanhi. We have no one else.”

“Then I suggest you get used to the idea of wedding a foreigner.” I storm for the door.

“Kalinda,” Prince Ashwin calls, catching up. “Please—”

“I won’t fight for you.”

He smiles, a dashing tilt of his lips. “I was going to ask if you would like me to escort you to your chamber.”

I deflate a tad. He must know I cannot find my way alone. “Fine.”

He joins me, leaving a gap between us. I widen our distance even more. I am not skittish, but Prince Ashwin has brought my nightmares of my short marriage to Tarek back to life.

We leave his chamber in silence, the Janardanian guards following us. I peek at the prince from the corner of my eye. He catches me, and I swiftly glance away.

“You aren’t the first to fear me for my appearance,” he says.

“The resemblance is incredible.” I assumed the prince would have more of his mother in him. Prince Ashwin was Lakia and Tarek’s son, and I was Lakia’s niece.

The prince and I are cousins. Family.

I mellow my voice. “It isn’t you they fear. It’s him.”

“I’m born of Tarek’s blood. Isn’t that the same?”

“I—I don’t know.” I walk faster. We do not choose the circumstances we are born into or the gods’ will for us, but which shapes us the most? Do our parents’ choices bind us to an escapable fate or do our own?

Prince Ashwin pauses at an open door. “Brother Shaan told me of your tastes and hobbies. I took the liberty of requesting a few comforts for your stay. Opal will be your personal guard. I hope you find everything to your liking.”

I step inside the chamber, and my knees weaken with want. I have not slept in a bed since I left Vanhi. Adjacent to the large bed is a table with three chairs, and near the hearth a raised lounge. More potted plants and trees stand in corners. The jungle could not spare a single room from its intrusion.

“Kalinda.” The wistful way Prince Ashwin speaks my name compels me to face him. The strength of his optimistic gaze spears me to my spot. “I would like for you to join me in defending our homeland. I need for you to stand on my right-hand side.”

“I’ve stood on the right-hand side of the rajah’s throne. No matter what you were told about me, that isn’t where I belong.”

His shoulders draw up, his elbows tucking into his sides. “I’m not blind to the legacy I’ve inherited. Rajah Tarek was a tyrant, but he also made you a champion.”

“I made myself a champion. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” I slam the door in his startled face, letting the satisfaction of the brusque echo vibrate through me.