The Bodyguard
You must not fail your duty to the desert.
The words pounded in my skull, etching their mark into my soul. I could not escape it. My uncle’s gaze had probed me. He hadn’t waited for an answer, only acceptance. And then he’d dismissed me. My limbs felt numb, the motions unreal. My mind buzzed with uncertainty.
I stumbled out of the tent, surprised by the wetness affecting my vision. Chariva reached out to clasp my arm.
“Farmandeh?”
But that command title was no longer mine. Chariva glanced toward the battle in the distance. It loomed closer and closer as our army continued its retreat.
“There is no hope.” Chariva’s wide eyes revealed her fear.
I didn’t respond as I broke away, heading toward my horse.
I stroked Barakat’s muzzle. It would be a long time before I saw her again—if I ever did.
She needed to be far from here and away from the greedy hands of the Northerners.
I nodded at Chariva, and she slapped the rumps of the other mares.
Barakat sniffed, itching to follow as they rode off.
I brushed my fingers over her nose one last time, my heart wringing in my chest.
“Khudahafiz, dokhtarim.” Goodbye, my girl.
Barakat sensed my sadness, nipping at my chadar as she pressed closer.
I nudged her away, and she trotted off after the other horses.
I blinked back tears as her beautiful coat disappeared into the moving forms. I forced myself to focus on the task at hand and rushed to a far-back tent reserved for Farani.
The four others followed without question, though I sensed their worry with every step.
I entered Farani’s tent and clutched the table edge holding a large chest. Chariva gasped when I threw the chest open.
“What are you doing?”
“What my sultan commands,” I replied, pulling the folds of gold fabric forth.
“But the princess? Shahdokht Farani?”
“Gone.”
She continued asking questions, but my responses were blunt and short.
I dressed quickly, the others helping to clothe me in the heavy robes.
Their faces were somber, which made my stomach clench.
I didn’t want their pity. I stared at the dark brown clothes piled at my feet, representing years of servitude.
The years I had spent risking my life for my princess.
But now I would risk it for my people. Part of me was devastated and hurt that Farani had abandoned me to such a fate, while another was content that she was finally free.
I loved her too much to despise her for choosing freedom.
Chariva adjusted my chadar, pulling the veil across the bridge of my nose and then hooking on the connecting linked coins.
They clinked as I moved. She stepped back into the line the other women had formed.
Their pity had receded, and they now stared at me with impassive features.
Something had shifted. I wasn’t someone to follow, but rather someone to serve. The change unsettled me.
I leaned over, unsheathing a knife from my former apparel and slipping it into my sleeve.
The silver band around my thumb caught my eye.
I dragged it halfway off before pausing.
It was the sole possession I had from my father.
I had been awaiting his return from the battlefield, but only his ring had come back.
A scuffle sounded nearby. I slid the ring back into place and looked up.
Agonized shouts made me stiffen and sent a drum of panic through me that raised the hair on my arms. A soldier ducked inside, but he was wearing turquoise and silver.
Enemy colors. Another soldier entered behind him, and another.
“Kill all but the shahdokht,” the first man ordered.
I froze. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
We were supposed to sign the treaty. Me as a bride in exchange for the safety of the South.
But the soldiers drew their shamshirs. My girls reacted, battling the attackers.
I hesitated in stepping forward to join them; I knew my uncle would disapprove.
I had to play a new role now. The women continued to fight, giving their all, and spilled blood without hesitation.
Steel rang throughout the tent and then came a bloodcurdling scream.
My heart jumped to my throat. A shamshir speared Chariva through.
Then the first man who’d entered sneered and shoved her off his blade.
I gasped, pain lancing through my middle.
I couldn’t hold back any longer, not for any prince or sultan or order.
A soldier intercepted my path toward Chariva’s murderer, but I ducked under his arm, sliding my knife into my palm and swiping a clean stroke across his neck.
He slumped lifeless at my feet. I spun and located my target, only to find him already watching me.
He smiled, eyes scanning my dress. He knew who I was—or rather he thought he knew who I was.
I stormed forward, holding my knife tight in my blanched fingers.
His teeth flashed as his lips slit wider.
I flew at him, a scream ripping from my throat.
He avoided my blow and swung his shamshir toward me.
I bent beneath it at the last moment. He swiped again, and I pushed forward instead of retreating.
His eyes glimmered in surprise as I broke through his guard and pressed my knife to his neck.
“Well, well, Shahdokht.” His voice was coated with arrogance and the lilting accent of the Northerners.
A dark beard covered his harsh, angular jaw.
He had the sharp features of the North, his blue gaze the most striking—a startling azure, flecked with ice.
His towering height also signified his Northern roots.
My eyes caught on the royal insignia adorning his chest, indicating he was a prince.
I dug into his skin, blood frosting over my blade.
He hissed, narrow eyes wary as his smile slipped away.
I readied my hand to finish the monster, but a shout stalled me.
“Kill him and bid your father farewell.”
The command was sharp and gruff. I glanced toward the tent entrance and saw a man garbed in black holding my uncle in a gruesome grip, shamshir at his throat.
My lips parted, and I hesitated. It was my undoing.
My hostage disarmed me and locked me in his thick arms. I struggled, screaming my frustration.
“Take them out,” the prince muttered to the man gripping my uncle.
We were shoved from the tent. The royal handed me off to another soldier.
Despite my every attempt, I could not escape the tight grip of the enemy.
Light pooled on the horizon, the smallest glimpse of sun breaking forth to highlight the hundreds of our soldiers who’d been thrust to their knees.
I stumbled over the sand, my eyes burning with anger when I saw my uncle shoved to the forefront of his once-powerful army.
The prince stood before him, eyeing with satisfaction the sight of the great sultan defeated.
My uncle’s head lowered, his weary features tense with the imminent knowledge of his demise.
The man in black stood behind my uncle, shamshir trained at his neck.
“Kill them all,” the royal commanded.
I gasped. “No . . . No!”
He paid me no mind. “Come on.”
The man garbed in black spoke in a low tone, his hesitation clear, but whatever he said seemed to anger the prince, who proceeded to shout at his soldiers, which led to them lifting their shamshirs.
The curved weapons remained hanging in the sky, points glittering in the early-dawn light.
It was then that I knew they were waiting for the black-garbed man to approve of the prince’s order.
I frowned. Was he their general? The royal whispered something, and it seemed to convince the general because he lowered his hand, and the shamshirs followed.
Bodies thrashed headless in the sand. I screamed, my voice echoing across the desert.
My uncle—he was gone. The warriors—they were gone.
All gone. My fury gave me strength, and I broke free from my captor’s hold and rushed toward the royal.
Rage coursed through my veins. I was nearly there, so close and itching to gouge his eyes free of their sockets, when a strong arm heaved me back.
“I wouldn’t do that.” Lips brushed over the material covering my ear. It was the other man. The general.
Jagged pants escaped me, my desperation pooling over the edge. The general’s grip was the firmest. I couldn’t escape him unless I took him unawares.
The royal scanned me, and his upper lip curled as he neared.
Thick brows lowered over those icy eyes.
I waited for him to order my death, to call for my head.
They no longer had a need for peace. They had vanquished our army.
His hand rose and fiddled with the fabric covering my face.
The general’s hold on me stiffened. The cloth fell, and the royal smiled.
He ran a hand over my cheek, brushing away a tear.
“Beautiful.”
I spat, satisfied at the trail of saliva trickling down his face. He wiped it away, staring at his hand before meeting my eyes again. If I was to die, I would go down fighting.
“And vicious. I will have fun with you.”
“Don’t touch me, mar.”
His laugh sent repulsion through me. “Did they not teach you how to compliment in the palace?”
I didn’t respond. He looked over me at the general barricading me in his arms.
“We’ll bring her home as planned.” His gaze fell as he addressed me again. “I am Shahzadeh Bahir, your husband to be, as promised.”