CHAPTER FIVE

Lady Amara and I helped Louis stand. We supported him as we walked deeper into the temple. The High Priest led us through corridors lined with silver and white, past rooms where priests chanted prayers. We reached a healing chamber. Clean beds lined the walls. The smell of herbs filled the air.

"Lay him here," an elderly priestess said, gesturing to the nearest bed.

We helped Louis lie down. The priestess began cutting away his blood-soaked bandage. The wound underneath was ugly, deep, and clearly infected.

"This needs to be cleaned and stitched immediately," she said. "He should have had this treated hours ago."

"We were a bit busy," Louis said weakly.

The priestess began her work. Louis gritted his teeth but didn't cry out.

I stood by the window, looking out at the temple courtyard. I could see Nasir's assassins still watching from beyond the gates.

"We can't stay here forever," I said.

"I know," Lady Amara replied. She'd cleaned her sword and was now sharpening it with a whetstone she'd borrowed from a priest. "But we need a plan. We can't just run blindly again."

"What about the king? Prince Louis's father? Can't he help?"

"If we can get word to him. But Prince Nasir controls most of the palace guard. Any message we send might be intercepted."

"So we're trapped."

"For now."

The High Priest entered the healing chamber. "Your Highness will recover, though he needs rest. That wound was deep."

"We don't have time for rest," Louis said from the bed. His eyes were clearer now, focused. "Nasir won't wait long. He'll find a way to force us out."

"The temple's sanctuary cannot be violated," the High Priest said.

"My brother doesn't care about laws. Sacred or otherwise." Louis tried to sit up and winced. "He wants the throne. And he wants her dead because she's the only other person with a legitimate claim to rule."

"I don't want to rule anything," I said again.

"It doesn't matter what you want. That mark on your face makes you a symbol. People would follow you just because of what you represent."

"What do I represent?"

"The old ways. The old dynasty. A return to how things were before my family took power." Louis looked at me seriously. "My great-grandfather won the throne in a civil war. He defeated your family and took the crown by force. Some people think that was wrong. Some people have been waiting for a century for someone with the Mark of the Warrior Moon to return and restore the old bloodline."

"That's insane. I'm nobody. I grew up as a servant."

"You're the granddaughter of a queen," the High Priest said quietly. "Your mother was Princess Amira, daughter of Queen Yasmin, the last ruler of House Rashad before the war. Your blood is as royal as any in this kingdom. More royal than the current dynasty, some would say."

My head spun. This was too much. Too fast.

"I need air," I said, and walked out of the healing chamber before anyone could stop me.

I found a small courtyard with a fountain. Sat on the edge of it. Put my head in my hands.

My mother. A princess. My grandmother, a queen.

All the stories my mother told me about warrior women and queens who ruled with wisdom and strength. I'd thought they were just stories.

They were her memories.

"You're handling this remarkably well," a voice said.

I looked up. An old priestess stood there, watching me with kind eyes.

"I don't feel like I'm handling anything."

"Trust me child, you are." She sat beside me. "I knew your grandmother, you know. Queen Yasmin. I was young then, training to be a priestess. She used to come to the temple to pray."

"What was she like?"

"Strong. Fierce. Kind when she could be, ruthless when she had to be." The priestess smiled. "You look like her. Same eyes. Same stubborn chin."

"Did she have this mark too?"

"All the queens of House Rashad bore the Mark of the Warrior Moon. It appears on the firstborn daughter of each generation. Your mother had it. Your grandmother had it. And now you have it."

"It's just gotten them killed. It'll get me killed too."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you'll be the one who changes everything." The priestess stood. "Your mother made me promise something before she died. She made me swear that if you ever came to the temple, I would tell you the truth."

"What truth?"

"Your mother didn't just hide to protect herself. She hid to protect you. She knew that one day, the kingdom would need the Mark of the Warrior Moon again. She knew that you were meant for something more than serving in your stepmother's house." The priestess touched my birthmark gently. "This is not a curse, child. It's a calling. What you do with it is your choice. But know that your mother believed in you. Your grandmother believed in you. And I believe in you."

She walked away, leaving me alone with the fountain and my thoughts.

A calling. A prophecy. A choice that would determine if the kingdom stood or fell.

I was eighteen years old. I'd killed my first man today. I'd discovered I was the heir to a lost dynasty. And now princes and assassins were fighting over me like I was a piece on a game board.

Behind me, someone cleared their throat.

I turned.

A young priest stood there, looking nervous. "Lady Khalifa? Prince Louis asks for you. He says it's urgent."

I followed him back to the healing chamber.

Louis was sitting up now, his shoulder properly bandaged. Lady Amara stood by the window, her expression grim.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nasir just sent a message," Louis said. "He's given us until sunset to surrender you. If we don't, he'll burn the temple with all of us inside."

"He can't do that. It's sacred ground."

"He's going to claim we're heretics. That we're plotting rebellion. That we're using the temple as a base for treason." Louis stood carefully. "He'll burn it and blame us for the fire. By tomorrow, we'll be remembered as traitors, and he'll be the hero who stopped us."

"How long until sunset?" I asked.

Lady Amara looked out the window. "Three hours. Maybe less."

Three hours to figure out how to escape.

Three hours to save our lives.

Three hours before everything ended in flames.