Rajasthani Moon by Lisabet Sarai

month—Jyaistha—the new moon passed without incident, so I figured the previous time was some anomaly. Obviously I should have been more careful. If I’d known…”
      Cecily read regret and embarrassment in Pratan’s features. She almost didn’t recognise him.
    “I’m so sorry I put you at risk, Amir-ji. If I’d changed during the ceremony—if I’d injured or killed some of your subjects—” The brigand dropped his battered face to his bandaged hands. Cecily experienced a flicker of sympathy, though she didn’t fully understand their conversation.
    “Never mind, brother. There’s no harm done. Though perhaps this should be your last new moon ceremony, until the curse is lifted…”
    “What curse?” The men had seemed to forget her presence, and she’d sensed she was acquiring useful information, but Cecily’s curiosity got the better of her wisdom.
    Pratan and Amir locked eyes. “Should I tell her?” the Rajah asked, no trace of a smile on his succulent lips.
    The royal brigand shrugged. “Why not? It’s scarcely a secret. Everyone else knows the story. Perhaps the clever Miss Harrowsmith will have some ideas about how I might change my fate.”
    Another extended look passed between them, intimate and full of pain. It was Amir who spoke next.
    “Pratan’s mother was a high-ranking courtesan, while mine was the queen—the Maharani. That’s why I’m officially the Rajah. My father loved them both. As the supreme ruler, he was entitled to bed as many women as he wanted. The queen, however, did not agree with this custom.
    “She came to my father from the land of the high snows. Daughter of a lord whose palace soared above the clouds, the princess Ziya was cultured, learned and exquisitely beautiful. She was also, unbeknownst to my father, a sorceress with considerable skill in the dark arts. Some say that she enchanted him to bend him to her will. Certainly, for many years, she was the only woman who could arouse his desire. Then, after I was born, he met Pratan’s mother and brought her to court to be his concubine.
    “Queen Ziya’s jealousy was icy as the peaks of her distant home. She pretended to welcome the newcomer, while practising her charms to weaken Lady Chameela’s hold on her husband. As Pratan’s mother grew pale and sickly, though, my father’s devotion to her only increased. Finally, my mother burst into their bedchamber with a poisoned dagger, determined to slay them both. As they coupled, she stabbed at my father’s labouring back—but the gods protected him and the knife slashed the sheets, which burst into evil-smelling flames.”
    Pratan rose from the bed to pace the carpeted tiles as he picked up the thread of the tale.
    “Maharani Ziya was condemned to death for her attempt on the Rajah’s life. The people say that when my father pronounced judgement upon her, there were tears in his eyes. On the pyre where she was burnt alive, she cursed my mother and me. ‘Your son shall be a rutting beast like his father,’ the witch cried as the fire licked at her perfect body. ‘And you, whore Chameela, will die without ever seeing his face.’”
    Cecily watched Pratan’s restless progress, back and forth in front of the bed. Dark emotion ravaged his handsome face. Clearly, he couldn’t continue. The tendrils of sympathy she’d felt earlier burst into full flower.
    Amir resumed the narration in the stead of his stricken sibling. “All she had predicted came to pass. Pratan’s mother expired in childbirth—weakened by loss of blood, she sank into unconsciousness and never awakened. My father sent both of us to England, to educate us but also in the hope that in that distant country, so far from my mother’s home, Pratan could escape his fate.”
    “A vain hope,” Pratan added. “My sixteenth birthday fell upon a full moon. That night I changed for the first time, from a mostly innocent youth to a fierce, lustful animal—an enormous wolf with just enough human in