Hazan did not respond, reaching instead into his coat pocket for the handkerchief,

which he held out to the prince. This, Kamran accepted wordlessly.

Kamran studied the handkerchief with his fingers, running the pad of his thumb over its
delicate lace edges. The textile was of a higher quality than he'd originally considered,
with an embroidered detail in one corner that the prince only now noticed. He struggled
to distinguish the details in the dim light, but it appeared to be a small, winged
insect—just above which hovered an ornamental crown.
The prince frowned.
The heavy fabric was neither damp nor dirty. Kamran turned it over in his hands, finding
it hard to believe that such a thing was in fact stained with the girl's blood. More
curious, perhaps, was that as the day wore on, Kamran grew only more interested in its
mysterious owner.
“Your Highness.”
Kamran was again studying the embroidered fly, trying to name the uncommon insect,
when he said: “Go on, then. I take it you've discovered something dreadful?”
“Indeed.”
Kamran finally looked up at Hazan, his heart constricting in his chest. The prince had
only just reconciled himself to the idea of the girl's innocence; all this uncertainty was
reeking havoc on his mind.
“What, then?” Kamran forced a laugh. “She is a Tulanian spy? A mercenary?”
Hazan grimaced. “The news is bleak indeed, sire.”
Kamran took a deep, bracing breath, felt the chill fill his lungs. He experienced, for an
extraordinary moment, a pang of what could only be described as disappointment⠀”a
feeling that left him both stunned and confused.
“You worry yourself overmuch,” the prince said, affecting indifference. “Certainly the
situation is far from ideal, but we have the better of her now. We know who she is, how
to track her. We may yet get ahead of any sinister plotting.”
“She is not a spy, sire. Nor is she a mercenary.” Hazan did not appear to rejoice in the
statement.
“An assassin, then? A turncoat?”
“Your Highness—”
“Enough of your filibustering. If she is neither spy nor assassin why are you so
aggrieved? What could possibly—”
A sudden
oof
from his minister and Kamran took an elbow
to the gut, knocking, for a moment, the air from his lungs. He straightened in time to
hear the sharp splash of a puddle, the retreating sound of footsteps on slick stone.
“What the devil—?”
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Hazan said breathlessly. “Some ruffian barreled into me, I
didn't mean t—”
Kamran was already stepping away from the protection of the awning. It was possible
they'd been knocked into by a drunkard, but Kamran's senses felt unusually heightened,
and intuition implored him now to explore.
Just an hour ago the prince had been convinced of his own ineptitude, and though he
took some comfort in his recent vindication as pertained to the servant girl, he worried
now that he'd been so willing to doubt his better judgment.
He had been right to mistrust her all along, had he not?