The Rogue Prince Of Persia -

But the truth was sharper.

The story had only just begun.

Cyrus smiled. It was not a kind smile. “Brother, when the vizier’s coup comes—and it will, on the third moon of next year—remember who warned you. Remember who you exiled for ‘unpredictability.’” The Rogue Prince of Persia

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.

That was his crime: he refused to walk the path the empire had paved for him. But the truth was sharper

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.

The King, old and tired, only sighed. “He unravels because he sees the knots before we tie them.” It was not a kind smile

She whispered “savior.”