The Rogue Prince Of Persia | LIMITED → |

Reza’s face hardened. “You threaten treason?”

“It also revealed your contempt.”

One night, after foiling an assassination attempt on his brother—an attempt he had foreseen three days prior, when the assassin was still just a farmer sharpening a borrowed knife—Cyrus stood on the eastern battlement. The Zagros Mountains bruised the horizon, purple and ancient. Reza found him there. The Rogue Prince of Persia

And somewhere in the darkness, Cyrus smiled. The threads of fate shivered. He pulled one.

He was not the heir. He was the spare, the splinter, the sand in the eye of destiny. His brother, Prince Reza, was the golden sun around whom the empire orbited. Strong, steady, beloved. The Rogue Prince? He was the eclipse. Reza’s face hardened

And that was the heart of it. The Rogue Prince wasn't a rebel for chaos. He was a rebel because he could not pretend the empire wasn't rotting from its gilded corners.

His name was Cyrus. And he could see the threads. Reza found him there

“I delayed your death,” Cyrus replied. “Not the same.”

The King, old and tired, only sighed. “He unravels because he sees the knots before we tie them.”

“I speak in truths. The court hates that.”