Pure Destiny

by Aja James

  He was a doppelganger, the real Crown Prince’s protector, just like Kira had pretended to be Amon, except in reverse. His name was Dalair, titled Al-Amir, Protector of the Prince. And since he also saved her life while escorting her from Zau to Persepolis, Cambyses often joked that he should be called Dalair Al-Amirah instead.

  Dalair.

  It meant “brave” or “valiant.” So very fitting for the warrior she first met ten years ago. Even more fitting now that he was the hazarapatish, the Chief Commander, of King Cyrus’ fearsome armies—the Immortals.

  Although, it depended on how one looked at things. To the people of the Persian Empire, he was indisputably a hero. Not by coincidence, they also looked upon the Crown Prince as the hero, given that Dalair looked enough like Cambyses that they could be twins.

  King Cyrus often misled the Persian citizens and military that it was actually Cambyses who led the campaigns, so that the Crown Prince’s reputation could grow among the people, preparing for the day that he would inherit the throne. Only very few palace insiders knew the truth.

  Kira certainly hadn’t known ten years ago. Not until it had been too late.

  To the people of the conquered lands, however, the Chief Commander was feared as a demon warrior. Kira was thankful that at least the Immortals were not known to pillage and rape. She knew without a doubt that it was because of the unassailable honor in their leader.

  She looked up now as Cambyses came into view, his dark curls cresting the top of the hill. He was walking swiftly, full of happy energy, a letter clutched in one hand.

  “Dalair’s Immortals captured Elam and its capital Susa. He’s now marching toward Opis. With a couple more wins, we will finally have control of Babylon!” her husband crowed excitedly.

  He leaned down and gave her a haphazard, affectionate peck on the cheek before settling on the small patch of grass beside her on top of the hill.

  “Congratulations,” Kira said dutifully. “The King must be proud.”

  She avoided discussions about war and politics as a rule. She didn’t agree with King Cyrus’ ambitions to consolidate lands under Persian dominion for as far as the eye could see.

  She believed in different peoples having the right to rule themselves. She advocated for trade and commerce, cultural sharing between kingdoms. But to subjugate one under another by force—she disagreed on principle.

  This was one of the many reasons she couldn’t accept Persia as her homeland. And in return, it was no surprise that Persia had not accepted her. The fact that she hadn’t borne sons, not even one child, in ten years of marriage didn’t help her popularity either.

  As the Crown Prince’s wife, and eventually the Queen of Persia, she could never express such views openly. Even in private, Cambyses changed the subject whenever she started a discussion. Likely, he didn’t want to argue with her.

  Theirs was a friendly marriage, filled with teasing, laughter and light-hearted banter. They were the best of friends. Even though, after all this time, Kira still didn’t know her husband. Not the way she knew Dalair within moments of meeting him, as if her soul had recognized his and breathed a sigh of joyful relief.

  She and Cambyses, or Cam, as she decided to call him early on, were not lovers. Not even on their wedding night could they be called such, for it was merely a duty they performed. And rather badly, at that.

  “Pfft,” Cambyses dismissed. “That’s not why I’m happy. You know I don’t care for my father’s campaigns.”

  No, the Crown Prince was as far from a warrior as someone in his position could be. He was witty, well-read, artistic, poetic. But he absolutely detested martial arts and was regularly beaten by his siblings in mock battle and training. If not for Kira’s private practices with him, the resounding defeats would have resulted in much greater damage to his person.

  Kira was rather too fond of him to let that happen.

  “Then why have you run all this way from the Palace to tell me?” she teased, stroking her fingers through a few locks of hair that had fallen over his forehead.

  “You’re all sweaty from the exertion. You hate to be sweaty.”

  “I’ll soak in the baths later,” he acknowledged absent-mindedly before beaming with anticipation. “You know what this means, don’t you? Dalair could be coming home soon! The war is almost over!”

  Kira’s heart gave a dizzying leap before she wrestled it back into its cage.

  “That’s what you said ten battles ago, even ten years ago,” she reminded Cambyses. “There is always a new campaign, a new kingdom to conquer. Dal—the Commander hasn’t been back in all this time. Only a few days here and there to visit his mother.”

  She always hesitated to say Dalair’s name. It felt too intimate. Irrationally, saying it out loud seemed like a betrayal of her husband. And gods knew, Kira had already betrayed Cambyses enough in her heart.

  Cambyses’ full lips turned down into a pout, his expression almost childlike.

  In so many ways, her husband reminded her of a child. There was a mischievousness about him, an irreverent snark that got him into plenty of trouble, of which his position as the Crown Prince helped on many occasions to bail him out.

  But he also possessed a beautiful innocence. If she weren’t so desperately in love with his half-brother, she’d have been honored to truly be Cambyses’ wife. He deserved someone who loved him wholly and unconditionally. As it was, Kira tried to be the best wife she could, in all ways except one.

  “When I see Dalair again, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind,” Cambyses huffed. “How could he visit Vashti and not us? We are his family too!”

  Kira stayed silent, looking away.

  Unfortunately, she knew exactly why Dalair stayed away. She could never forget the disbelief and sheer anguish on his face the morning he found out who she really was. She was sure her own face reflected the same consternation and agony. Because it was the same time she discovered that he was not really the Crown Prince.

  Not destined to be her future husband.

  Dalair had disappeared right after the wedding. She’d barely caught a glimpse of him during the ceremony. He hadn’t even said goodbye to Cambyses, though the two brothers were very close. Closer than any of Cambyses’ full-blooded relatives.

  Kira was quite certain her husband loved Dalair more than he loved her, platonic though it was in both cases. She didn’t begrudge the sentiment at all. Not when she completely understood and empathized.

  “I am going to write him a letter, demanding his return, as soon as we get back to the Palace,” Cambyses declared.

  He often wrote Dalair letters. All of them unanswered, as far as Kira could tell. But once in a while, Dalair would send a brief note, a few words only to reassure Cambyses that he was hale and hearty when his brother grew too rabid with worry.

  “Anything you want to add, my dear?” he asked, as he always did.

  Kira suspected that Cambyses was aware of her feelings toward his brother, though he’d never broached the subject with her, and she certainly never volunteered to discuss it herself. He always behaved as if she loved Dalair as much as he did, that they were also the best of friends, even though Kira’s interactions with Dalair had been limited to the few-days journey from Zau to Persepolis ten years ago.

  Perhaps it was because they’d adopted Dalair’s mother, Vashti, in the warrior’s absence, visiting the beautiful, kind woman as often as every other day. She was King Cyrus’ favorite concubine, and as such, she was on an island by herself, a victim of palace jealousy and cruelty. If not for Cambyses, Vashti would have suffered greatly without Dalair by her side to protect her.

  Perhaps it was Cambyses’ way of sharing himself with Kira, because Dalair and Vashti were the only two people in the entire empire that Cambyses was close to.

  Or perhaps he simply knew. Despite everything Kira did to hide her regard for Dalair, perhaps her love was a visible, palpable thing that anyone could see if they bothered to look closely enoug
h.

  “No,” she answered by rote. It was always her response.

  As was her amendment that came a beat later, “Just ask that he stay safe. Take care.”

  Cambyses tilted his head to assess her with those much-too-clever eyes. Beautiful, dark eyes with lashes thicker and longer than a girl’s. This was the feature that most easily distinguished the brothers, for Dalair’s eyes were silver.

  Somehow, despite the same shape and ridiculously luxurious lashes, Dalair’s eyes made him look predatory, dangerous, powerfully male, while Cambyses’ eyes looked soft, almost feminine.

  “Shall I ask whether the new, light-weight armor you sent fits him properly? Or the supplies for his soldiers? The ointment you made yourself for dressing his wounds? Or the packages of his favorite dried meats and cheeses?”

  Kira hunched her shoulders, trying to hide her embarrassment.

  Perhaps Cambyses knew how she felt about his brother because of these aforementioned “gifts.” And more. After all, she’d been sending supplies to Dalair through various channels with regularity and reliability for the past decade.

  “It was Vashti’s idea,” she muttered. “How should I know the foods the Commander prefers.”

  Well, she might have not known before, but after ten years of pumping Dalair’s mother for information, she knew quite a bit about the man’s preferences, habits, strengths and weaknesses. She’d soaked up every tidbit of knowledge Vashti imparted about her son.

  For example, Kira knew that Dalair was ambidextrous. He was most lethal when he had a weapon in each hand. She’d observed for herself some of his fighting style when he thwarted the assassins that attacked their caravan on their way from Zau to Persepolis.

  It was the reason she’d commissioned, years ago, a special weapon designed just for him by the Master Blacksmith of Persepolis. Twin, half-moon blades that could be used separately or combined into a single circular blade. There was no other weapon like it across the empire. The blacksmith had boasted that even the god of war would envy the Commander when he wielded it. She hoped to have it ready soon.

  Through her continued communications with Dalair’s close-knit group of retainers—the same ones who’d escorted her from Zau—she learned more about his fighting techniques, the exact reach of his arms, the grip of his hands. She’d sent him other weapons throughout the years and received feedback from his men about how they worked for him. Different types of swords, daggers, maces, spears.

  She knew that he never fought with a shield; he preferred always to attack. Because of that, she designed and tested a variety of armor fit for his body, made out of different material, from chained metal to animal hide.

  She used her knowledge of healing arts to derive the most potent salve for his wounds, something that both numbed the pain as well as staved off disease and festering. And when she needed help finding herbs, or the right people to talk to and work with, Cambyses always helped her. He never once admonished her for her strange, unladylike pursuits. He never asked her why she insisted that he send these supplies to Dalair under his name rather than give credit where it was due.

  Kira was extremely grateful for her husband’s quiet understanding.

  “No need,” she finally answered.

  Then she turned to Cambyses to embrace him in an impromptu hug.

  “You know I love you very much, don’t you, Cam?” she murmured into the crook of his neck.

  He smelled wonderful. Clean, spicy, with a hint of sweetness. He smelled like a delectable treat rather than a male she would ever be attracted to.

  Whereas, her nose still retained the scent of Dalair even now—male musk, desert heat, horse, leather and sweat. Just the memory itself made the core of her pulse with wanting.

  She was the world’s most shameful wife.

  “Of course, darling,” Cambyses replied, gently smoothing his hands over her hair and down her back.

  “As much as I love you,” he said. “You are my best friend. My help-mate. My lovely Kira.”

  “Do you ever wish…we were more?” she whispered.

  Cambyses deserved so much more than what she’d been able to give him.

  He squeezed her tight briefly before pressing a kiss to her temple.

  “I endeavor not to make wishes that don’t have a chance of coming true, my love,” he replied softly. “I am grateful for your companionship, dearest. Have I told you that lately? Don’t ever leave me.”

  He paused briefly before adding so low she almost didn’t hear, “Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I won’t leave you, Cam,” she promised, hugging him with all the un-wifely love in her heart.

  And yet, shortly thereafter, she broke that promise.

  In more ways than one.

  Chapter Ten

  Was it her imagination or were they losing altitude? It was hard to tell with the onset of night.

  About an hour ago they’d started gradually changing direction. It’d been so subtle, she didn’t notice at first, thought they were just circling around some adverse air currents or dangerous topographies. Now, they were headed directly due north instead of northeast.

  Or, at least, that was Sophia’s best guess. She’d never been great with directions. And now that the sun was down, given the lack of attention to where they were going, so concentrated was she on her inner battle for Dalair’s heart and soul, she completely lost track of where they could be.

  But they were definitely flying lower. At some point, they’d entered into mountainous territory, far away from the twinkles of city lights.

  She could barely see anything in the dark, but sometimes, she caught glimpses of treetops. They were flying over forests, she ascertained with a quick look down from her side window, the movement stretching her arm and pulling on the hand that was still gripping Dalair’s tightly.

  He flexed his fingers in response, holding onto her, and that gave her more hope than anything else he’d done over the past hour.

  She couldn’t see his expression despite the faint, eerie glow from the dashboard. It didn’t matter. She was certain he’d be wearing the same impenetrable mask he always wore.

  Even before his turning, Dalair had been closed off. He seldom showed how he felt, and even less verbalized his emotions. He’d always kept everything bottled inside. Not even Cambyses could get him to share much, despite the former’s relative verbosity.

  No. Dalair was a man of action. He proved his loyalty with fists and feet, blood and sweat. He defended, protected, fought, conquered.

  And he loved. Oh, how passionately he loved!

  With his hands, his lips, every part of his entire body. How he shook and trembled. Arched and undulated. How he thrust and held, clenched and released.

  She recalled the first night he’d returned, unexpected and unannounced, from the war. When he came to her in the blackness of night.

  She didn’t know his reasons at first; she only found out the morning after, and only by reading between the lines of what Cambyses told her. Once again, Dalair was tasked with impersonating his brother. In order to sire a son on the “cursed” foreign princess. To protect her from escalating popular resentment and political plots.

  He was Cambyses’ stand-in stud.

  That night, still ignorant of why he’d come to her, she simply didn’t care. By silent agreement, both of them had pretended that he was Cambyses instead. But she’d known within moments, on his scent alone, who was really in her bed.

  In her arms. And then, oh gods! Inside her body. Plowing through her tender flesh in time with the thundering beat of her heart…

  She’d always known.

  She’d told him the only way she knew how, the only way she could while still preserving their unspoken secret:

  “I love you, my prince.”

  He was the only one she’d ever said those words to. In her heart, Dalair had always been “her prince.” The one she’d bound her soul to the first time she tasted his mouth with her own.


  Presently, in the darkness of the helicopter, his grip on her hand became almost unbearably tight. His breathing belabored as her memories and thoughts flooded his mind through their Bond.

  Mercilessly, she pressed her advantage.

  I love you Dalair, she communicated silently.

  I always have. I always will. Cambyses loved you too in his own way.

  Do you know who he really is?

  He forgives us, you know. For betraying him the way we did. He knows we never meant to hurt him. Just as he knows that I will never love anyone but you.

  You are my Destiny.

  I choose you.

  Infinitesimally, he shook his head.

  It could have been an involuntary twitch, but she didn’t think so. Some part of him was still trying to fight the truth, stay in denial.

  She wouldn’t let him. It was time they reshaped Destiny together.

  He’s a prisoner of our enemy just like you, Dalair. Our wonderful Cam. His real name is Erebu. He chose it himself. Ere.

  You know him. You have always known him, deep down.

  Just as you have always known me.

  Please. You must fight the enemy’s poison. Come back to me. To us.

  Break through the hold our enemy has over you. I know you can. I know you’re in there—the ferocious Chief of Immortals. You’re stronger than that she-demon. You’re the strongest, bravest, best male I know.

  She tightened her grip on his hand until her fingers turned bloodlessly white.

  Your Pure soul is the strongest of all. More than the shell. Stronger than any external force.

  Please, Dalair.

  We need you. Erebu. Benji. The Dozen. The Balance.

  I need you.

  I love you.

  I choose you.

  Choose me too.

  Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou…

  Endlessly, her declaration resounded between their minds and hearts, growing louder and louder with each iteration. Like a thread from her heart to his, wrapping over and over around them in an intricate, unbreakable tapestry of feeling. Binding him to her with invisible yet invincible force.