AYASHA'S POV
I was nine years old the day I saw my brother come undone.
It was early afternoon, and the halls of the east wing were quiet, heavy with that kind of stillness that clings before a storm. I was curled on the cushioned bench beneath the arched window, tracing lines in the condensation with my finger. I wasn't meant to be there, not during grown-up conversations, but I had snuck away from my minder to watch the ravens on the lawn.
Then I heard it.
"Where is she?" Tariq's voice snapped through the air like a whip.
I sat up, startled. My brother didn't yell. He was seventeen then, already a full head taller than most of the guards, always calm, always smiling when he passed me in the halls. But now… now his voice sounded dangerous.
"Answer me," he demanded. "Where is Naima?"
I pressed closer to the wall and peered through the door's crack. Father stood at the hearth, arms folded, jaw tight. Mother sat poised in her chair, her fingers steepled.
