But we would rise again, and until we did, we had to do what was best for the people. That meant making this prisoner face justice.

“But,” my father continued, “this boy claims he was out hunting for moonstones and stumbled upon the caravan just as my guards arrived.”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, chiding myself for even thinking of giving the boy sympathy. It was unfortunate one of the ever-increasing sandstorms we’d been experiencing hadn’t wiped him out in the desert and saved us the trouble. He may look young, but he was clearly a Desert Boy through and through—using the same excuse they all gave when we caught them. And as the sun rose higher—and the temperature of my blood along with it—heat radiated from the sword sheathed at my side, begging to be unleashed. This boy was clearly trying to slip through our fingers so he could run straight back to our wells and bleed them dry, bleed us dry, make us so weak we were unable to fight back.

We couldn’t let that happen. As the future queen, I couldn’t let that happen.

“We should never have brought him to trial,” I turned and said to my father. When Rodric, my father’s captain of the guard, hadn’t been able to get the location of the other Desert Boys out of the kid, we should’ve kept him locked up. He would’ve broken eventually.

“Kateri,” my father snapped, bluntly cutting off my name as the crowd roared around us. “Control yourself and your tongue.” He pursed his thin lips—ones identical to mine—as he stared down at me.

His eyes said what his lips didn’t. Be in control or someone else will take control. He’d drilled that phrase into me as my fighting trainer over the years. But it’d been a while since he’d scolded me like that. I crossed my arms and sank back into my seat, pulling my long braid over my shoulder. I tugged at the loose tail, twining the dark strands between my calloused fingers.

I was in control of myself. One of my mother’s killers stood before me—was on the verge of escaping—and I hadn’t leapt into the arena to make him pay for his crimes. I ignored the fact this particular boy would have been too young to take part in the raid that killed my mother and baby brother. He was still a Desert Boy. Leading the illegal caravan into the city was the least of his crimes.

“While the desert offers no justice, I do,” my father said, turning back to address the boy. “Before you are two unmarked doors. Behind one is the cart of contraband goods, which will be yours to keep should you choose that door. Behind the other door is one of my pet tigers, which will be released into the arena within moments should that door be selected. The decision is yours, and yours alone. But fail to choose, and the tiger will be released.” He let his words float around the arena.