Chapter 21
Tariq’s boots echoed off the stone floor as he made his way down the wide corridor to collect Aisha for the Binding Feast. Kaidon walked beside him. The cool breeze had the tapestries on the walls stirring.
‘So, the princess was feeling better when you went to see her last night?’ Kaidon asked.
Tariq nodded. ‘Though she told me my mother came poking around.’
‘Of course she did.’
‘Aisha’s convinced both she and Jamil know.’
Kaidon looked at him. ‘The queen doesn’t miss much, and Jamil will follow her lead. Hopefully she eases up after the wedding.’
Tariq prayed he was right.
Kaidon fell back as they reached Aisha’s door, waiting for them across the corridor. Tariq knocked, and Maryam answered the door, bowing before moving aside. Aisha replaced her in the doorway, and Tariq forgot to breathe.
She wore a deep blue gown, with gold embroidery that climbed like vines along the bodice and sleeves.
The neckline was stitched with tiny beads that looked like stars.
A belt cinched her waist, highlighting her curves.
Her hair was intricately braided and interwoven with gold thread, and a small sapphire pendant rested at the hollow of her throat.
He needed to say something, but the words refused to come.
‘I can’t tell if that’s a good reaction or a bad one,’ Aisha said, scrutinising his face. ‘Maryam assured me this was the right choice.’
‘It’s… the right choice.’ Tariq cleared his throat and tried again. ‘You look…’ Come on, words. ‘Breathtaking.’
Light filled her face. ‘Thank you. Hopefully the queen doesn’t reprimand me for the gloves.’ She looked him over. ‘Avanid’s colours look good on you, by the way,’ she said, gesturing to his sky-blue tunic.
‘Had it made in your honour.’ He stepped forwards and offered his arm. ‘Shall we?’
Aisha took his arm, and they set off towards the feast hall.
‘Should we have a code phrase like last time?’ she asked.
He thought for a moment. ‘How about I check in with you by asking if you would like some more wine. If you’re fine, say no. If you need time to regroup, say yes, and we can regroup.’
‘Better make it a slow pour.’
‘That was the plan.’
She looked up at him. ‘But not so slow that it reflects badly on our relationship.’
The corners of his mouth lifted.
She faced forwards again. ‘It’s not work, you know.’
He gave her a questioning look.
‘Conversation with you.’ She moved closer. ‘It’s rather easy.’
He could almost hear Kaidon’s ears flapping behind them.
‘I agree,’ Tariq said. ‘So we just go in and talk like us.’
‘Like us,’ she echoed, like she was testing the phrase out.
Aisha brought her free hand up to rest atop the other one, moving closer still in the process. Gods, he loved the feel of her beside him. The world felt so much quieter.
They arrived at the grand double doors, and Aisha increased the distance between them slightly, one hand returning to her side. She pressed her painted lips together, then found a smile, aware that all eyes would be on her once those doors opened.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
She nodded.
Tariq gestured to the guard waiting to open the doors, and a moment later, they swung open.
Sounds of conversation, laughter, and clinking goblets spilled out into the corridor.
Dozens of nobles and foreign emissaries filled the space, gathered beneath the soaring arched ceilings draped with blue and yellow silk.
Long tables lined the sides of the hall, covered with platters of roasted meats, fruits, and stuffed pastries.
Tariq felt the collective gaze of the court shift the moment they stepped into view. Aisha’s head was high, her expression serene, but Tariq could feel the slight tension in her fingers where they rested against his arm. He made sure to keep pace with her and not scowl back at the staring nobility.
Conversation died, replaced by a heavy silence.
Some of the guests smiled at them as they passed by, while others just watched.
At the far end of the hall, his parents were seated on a dais.
His father wore green robes, his crown weighing down his frown.
Beside him, his mother was a picture of icy composure in a maroon gown.
Her unblinking gaze followed Aisha’s every move.
The pair approached the dais to kiss the hand of the king.
‘Please,’ King Hamza said, his voice carrying across the hall, ‘the evening is yours and yours alone. Demonstrate to all here why they should bless this union.’
Tariq inclined his head.
The queen rose then, apparently with something to say. ‘Let us see if you are a true match. The people of Gruisea know best.’
Jamil was seated at the table closest the dais, with Lilah and Safiya down from him. They all watched intently. Murmurs stirred, then settled when the music struck up.
Tariq extended a hand to Aisha, and she took it. When they came together, he whispered, ‘Should we get the dance out of the way?’
‘I practised, you know.’
He placed his palm to hers. ‘Not with me this time.’
‘No.’
Seeing that they were about to dance, the guests cleared space for them. Everyone stilled to watch. Tariq waited until Aisha met his gaze before taking the first step. He led, and she followed, skirts swirling around them as they moved.
It was going beautifully until her toe caught his boot. She overcorrected and almost tripped in the process. Tariq righted her before coming to an abrupt, graceless stop. They looked around, then at each other.
‘I added a variation,’ she said, trying to cover her embarrassment.
‘Shall I fall next? For symmetry?’
A smile spread across her face. ‘I can’t see any other way through it.’
He flicked his gaze towards their audience. ‘It might be too late for us. I saw Shariff Mazin utter a prayer.’
A laugh burst from Aisha, and she immediately slapped a hand over her mouth.
Tariq couldn’t help but laugh also. Her hand fell away when she saw him, and she allowed herself to join him properly.
The sound curled around him, warm and disarming.
This was his new favourite sight—Aisha forgetting herself and happy.
For a few seconds, the hall, the guests, his parents, all faded. There was only the two of them. Us. Aisha’s hand rested on his chest as she caught her breath. Once they had collected themselves, they resumed the dance.
When the music drew to a close, the guests applauded. It was likely pity applause, but Tariq didn’t mind. Everyone then moved to their seats to eat.
Aisha and Tariq sat at the raised table near the king and queen. A servant had already filled their goblets.
‘There goes our plan,’ Aisha whispered.
‘If you drink quickly, we’ll be fine.’
Aisha smiled as she removed her gloves.
Tariq reached for some flatbread, tearing it in half and placing a piece on her plate.
‘Too soon for the toast?’ Aisha joked quietly.
‘Just a little.’
The toast came at the end of the evening. Guests would be asked if they blessed the union, and hopefully the majority raised their cups. He glanced in the direction of his parents, who were watching them. ‘We’re at the whims of the king, I’m afraid.’
They both reached for the large spoon sitting on the tray of lamb at the same time.
Neither of them was paying attention to what they were doing, and Aisha’s hand landed on top of his.
Tariq heard her suck in a breath, and he looked up just as her eyes glazed over and her lips parted.
She was no longer looking at him or the hall but somewhere beyond all of it.
Not here. Not now.
He withdrew his hand carefully, making sure the movement wasn’t sudden or suspicious. He didn’t know whether to look at her or his food or away. Her mouth twitched. Then, like a wave receding, she blinked rapidly and came back to him.
Reaching under the table, he took a firm grip of her thigh and said, ‘Focus on me.’
She did, holding his gaze for dear life as she returned from wherever she had been. He wanted to reassure her, to provide reprieve from all the staring, but all he could do was hold her gaze and wait for her to steady.
‘How long?’ she asked, breaths coming fast.
He shook his head. ‘A few seconds. Everything’s fine. You’re doing great.’
She looked down at his tunic, and her eyebrows came together in confusion. ‘Did you say the tunic was made for this feast?’
He looked down at his clothes. ‘Yes.’
‘Oh.’
When he lifted his gaze, her expression frightened him. He leaned in. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’
She took a nervous look around and tried to relax her shoulders. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘I saw you,’ she said, looking back at him. ‘With Zahvik Barakat.’
It took him a moment to place the name. ‘Slevaborg’s sectarian?’
She nodded. ‘Wearing that tunic.’ She reached up to touch his hair. ‘Your hair at this exact length.’
He stared at her. ‘What are you saying?’
The doors to the hall swung open, and every head turned. Framed in golden torchlight stood a tall figure in a white thobe. As he stepped inside, he lowered his hood, steely eyes sweeping the hall.
‘That’s him,’ Aisha whispered. ‘The man who killed my mother.’