The Bodyguard
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, rousing me.
I settled my cheek into a pillow as soft as clouds and tugged the covers over my shoulder.
Then I froze, memories assailing my senses, and shot upright.
Shahzadeh Dayyan was nowhere in sight. The blanket and pillow he’d used were folded on the low table.
I wondered when he’d left. He’d still been in the chamber when I had risen for the predawn prayer.
I exhaled, loosening my vise grip on the blanket, then frowned, glancing down at the material that had comforted me in its warm embrace.
I didn’t recall using it. I pushed it aside and hefted my legs over the bed, pulling the heavy skirts of my wedding gown with them.
My bare toes peeked at me from beneath the hem.
I spotted my sandals a short distance away.
Had I removed my sandals and grabbed the blanket in my sleep?
I rose, my dress pooling around my ankles.
The chamber was quite large but not as grand as the other parts of the palace I had seen.
A simple vanity was placed beside the window, with a chair tucked underneath and a brush atop the smooth surface.
A painting of a barren desert decorated a wall.
It was beautiful despite its solemness. The closer I looked, the lonelier I felt, as if the painter had aimed to drag the viewer further into their misery the more they stared.
I broke away, my bare feet brushing over the silk-knotted carpet.
Sapphire and silver threads weaved the carpet together in intricate designs.
I approached the window next and drew the curtains aside, allowing the sun to coat the room in a golden glow.
The chamber didn’t appear as ominous in the daylight.
Freedom was beyond the window, out in the rich sands of the desert, where I could be lost for eternity.
The damp thoughts pulled me from the window and its light, and I swiveled before coming to an abrupt halt. Shahzadeh Dayyan leaned against the doorframe, watching me with an inscrutable look. How long had he been there? I hadn’t even heard the door open.
“What are you doing?” I managed to say.
He pushed off the frame and shut the door fully before approaching. He was wearing a silver robe that wasn’t fully closed, baring a portion of his broad chest. I averted my gaze at once, focusing instead on the bottoms of his baggy trousers.
“There will be a grand breakfast in a few hours. I came to give you this.”
His voice was cold and rough as he threw a heavy garment at me.
I caught the material, blinking at the multitude of shiny gems dotting the dress.
I placed it over the vanity chair, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror.
My hair dangled around my face in a wild array.
My wide and uneasy brown eyes darted to the figure behind me.
I glanced down at the dress. The turquoise-and-silver fabric twined together in representation of the North.
The wedding dress I wore was a softer blue and glittering silver, but this .
. . I fisted the material. To wear this would be to betray my heritage. But I had no choice.
“Will you leave?” I dared to order the prince.
Shahzadeh Dayyan raised a brow. “This is my chamber.”
I remained steadfast, not moving an inch, and kept my eyes trained on the floor, not at all interested in seeing him in his underdressed state. “Then turn around.”
I heard a sharp exhale that almost sounded like a chuckle before he shifted. I glanced up. His back was facing me. He stepped toward the wall, pressing his arm to it, leaning forward, and resting his face against his sleeve, effectively blinding himself.
“Does this suffice?”
Was I imagining it, or had his tone carried a hint of sarcasm? I nodded and then realized he wouldn’t see my approval. I cleared my throat.
“It does.”
I removed my clothes as quickly as I could, grimacing at the sound of fabric sliding over my skin. I glanced at the prince, but Shahzadeh Dayyan hadn’t budged from his position.
“Do not worry,” he rumbled. “I am not the least bit interested in looking at you.”
The insulting words shouldn’t have been soothing—I didn’t trust him—and yet the slightest bit of comfort drifted over me, relaxing my hurried movements.
I reached for the new dress and pulled it up over my legs and past my hips.
I slid my arms through the silky-smooth sleeves, but that was as far as I got.
I huffed in frustration as I reached for the buttons lining the back of the dress to no avail.
Shahzadeh Dayyan’s back stiffened, and his head lifted.
“Everything all right?”
“Call Esana. My maid.”
“The maids have been ordered not to disturb us. We are newlyweds, after all.”
The implication burned my face. I couldn’t fasten the dress on my own, and I couldn’t walk out like this or put myself in the vulnerable position of asking the shahzadeh for assistance.
“What is it?” He sounded irritated, making me more adamant not to seek his aid.
And yet, what choice did I have? My shoulders slumped; my hands fisted.
“I need help to close the clasps,” I admitted.
He started to turn when I shrieked, “Stop!”
He froze.
“Keep your eyes closed.”
“And how do you expect me to assist you with my eyes closed?”
“Either that, or we will remain here until you summon Esana.”
He exhaled as though burdened with the greatest of tasks before nodding.
He stepped toward me, managing to move with grace despite being unable to see.
He neared the vanity. I didn’t feel as abashed examining him when his startling eyes were concealed.
His beard was short and a bit unruly. The tiny hairs dotting his neck begged for a trim.
His hair hung in unbrushed strands. I wondered if Zeki oversaw the prince’s appearance as well as his safety.
He needed to be replaced if that was the case.
A surge of satisfaction flowed through me as I noted his swollen lower lip.
My gaze traveled down, observing the fine hair on his exposed chest, and embarrassment burned my face.
“Have you taken a good look at what you’re shackled to?”
I sucked in a slight gasp. My eyes flicked back to his. But his lids remained clamped together. He took another step closer.
“Even the blind can feel your stare. It is as sharp as an arrow, Shahdokht.”
I stuttered, searching for a suitable reply, and settled on, “You can stop there.”
The shahzadeh was too close. If I lifted my hand, my fingers would graze his face. He reached out, and I turned, exposing my back to his searching grasp. He missed the buttons.
Get this over with, I told myself and reached back, clasping his wrist. We both stilled.
Warmth shot up my arm, startling me. I inhaled and guided his hand toward my back.
I watched him through the mirror. His lids were shuttered, thick lashes sweeping over high cheekbones.
When he finally grazed my back, I recoiled, moving forward and away from his unsettling touch.
“You are making this exceedingly difficult,” he said.
I noticed a subtle shake in his voice despite his confident posture. His throat bobbed as he reached out again. I allowed him to find me. It seemed to take hours. Every exhale was weary and full of tension.
Breathe, Yildiz. Breathe. There could have been thousands of buttons with the amount of time it took to tug them all closed. Every minute was torturous.
“I think I got them all.”
His breath brushed my neck. I spun to face him as he opened his eyes.
The brilliant blue irises took me in from the bottom of my dress to my face, slowly and—dare I say—with approval.
Since when did I start thinking of his eyes as brilliant?
I despised this man. He had brutally murdered my people.
Slayed and dismembered Barakat. Taken the Southerners as slaves and planned to rule the South in the North’s vicious hold.
No, he wasn’t brilliant, not in the least.
It was true that I was grateful—more than grateful—for his actions the night before.
He had kept his distance, much to my confusion.
Why had he gone through the effort of saving me from death’s hands?
Why had he tied his name to mine in a marriage the North would never forget and likely never forgive if not to take advantage of me?
Especially if he despised me as much as his comments suggested because of my Southern heritage.
It was a question I longed to ask but didn’t dare to.
While he hadn’t forced himself on me, he was my enemy. And I would do well to remember that.
“There is still time until the breakfast,” he said. “I will escort you to the harem.”
Horror gripped me at the thought of the long hallway of scheming women.
Though Shahzadeh Dayyan was dangerous, I felt safer in his presence than I did in the rest of the palace.
He extended his hand and I peered at the calluses marking the planes of his skin, toughened by the weapons he used to inflict pain on my people.
His hand might as well have been dripping with blood.
I ignored him and moved toward the mirror, pulling my chadar over my head.
The long fabric concealed my hair but left my face in plain view.
I took the edge of the chadar, pulling it over my chest and allowing it to hang on my opposite shoulder.
The shahzadeh didn’t attempt to touch me again and left me before the harem, where a maid approached me.
“The jawahar are awaiting you, Shahdokht,” she informed me with lowered eyes.
She walked on before I could speak, leading me into a large circular room.
A long toshak bordered the wall. Women reclined on it, sipping steaming chai from tiny glasses.
All heads swiveled toward me with demeaning stares.
An unbidden thought arose. Who was Delara?
Which beauty had made the handkerchief Shahzadeh Dayyan treasured so dearly?
My eyes grazed their ears, but much to my disappointment, none were adorned with the shimmering gold earrings the shahzadeh had purchased.
Mahnaz wore green today, the velvety fabric wrapped tight around her waist before flowing from her hips to brush the ground.
A thin veil hung over her straight locks of shiny hair. She sneered at me.
“Well, well. Look who’s joined us.”