The Bodyguard
When I thought of breakfast, I thought of the early mornings splitting bread with the women I had trained with, sisters in friendship and duty if not of blood. Sharing smiles and laughter and blessed food. But the North had a different opinion.
Silver splendor dangled about the room. Heavy curtains blocked off the light seeping in from the far-off windows.
Thick cushioned seats were positioned on a lifted platform ahead of us.
The shah sat on a lone cushion. His wazir was the nearest to him, sitting on a lower toshak and sipping chai.
Malikeh Madars Morvarid and Sanaz and their children filled the rest of the space in the circular setup, leaving two open spots.
More seating arrangements were on either side of the platform, laid out over embellished rugs.
Men of all ages sat at the lower settings.
Chatter had come to an abrupt halt as we entered, and all eyes swiveled to us.
Shah Jihangir watched us through a narrow gaze, his legs extended before him as he shifted on his cushion, propping his arm to adjust his new position. The shah plucked a grape, popped it into his mouth, and chewed as he evaluated us.
“My shah.” Shahzadeh Dayyan bowed his head and tapped his hand to his shamshir and then to his chest.
Shah Jihangir nodded before his attention slid to me, expectant.
My jaw clenched. I didn’t want to show obedience to this tyrant.
Every beat of my heart begged me to slip the knife in my sleeve free and swing it through his heart.
It was a perfect vision in my mind: The gasping faces of his family.
Malikeh Madar Morvarid and Sanaz with hands over their mouths and tears in their eyes.
Shahzadeh Bahir’s shock as I avenged the death of my uncle and countless soldiers with a plunge of my knife into his father’s chest. But I would die soon after.
Shahzadeh Dayyan would do his duty and eliminate the threat.
He tensed beside me. Perhaps he sensed my thoughts.
His fingers slipped over the hilt of his shamshir.
He would end me before I even took a step.
Guilt crashed through me as I took in the youthful features of the shah’s youngest children.
The boy and girl watched me with eager expressions.
Their elder sister, Bazmara, observed me the same way, though with far less obvious enthusiasm.
My mercy overtook my vengeance. I couldn’t bear to kill their father before their eyes.
I bowed my head. “My shah.”
All breaths exhaled almost at once as I pledged my allegiance to the North with two simple words.
“At last,” the shah said. “We thought you wouldn’t join us.”
A stutter of laughter rang out from one of the lower tables. I could feel the demeaning stares probing me. Bahir’s gaze slid to my clenched fist, and a smirk pulled at his mouth.
“It seems she took an objection to your approach, brother.” His eyes settled on Shahzadeh Dayyan’s wounded lower lip. “I told you to spend your time in the harem instead of the execution block. Perhaps you would have learned a few things about claiming women.”
More snickers rang about. Shahdokht Bazmara covered the young ones’ ears.
“Or perhaps she enjoyed it. After all, she isn’t the maiden princess we expected.”
I gritted my teeth at his disgusting insinuations. Shahzadeh Dayyan seemed to have turned to rock, unmovable, unbreakable, his stare resting on his brother with a dangerous gleam. Tension radiated between them. The shah barked a laugh.
“Although the jadugar made her claims, it appears her visions were false. Dayyan delivered the proof of it to me this morning.”
At the shah’s nod, Wazir Elmas snapped his fingers, and a servant rushed forth, extending the cloth stained with Shahzadeh Dayyan’s blood.
A hush clutched the room as everyone leaned forward, eager to see it.
I nearly evaporated with fury. I glanced at Shahzadeh Dayyan, seeing a muscle jump in his jaw. He was still staring at Bahir.
“It seems she was untouched after all,” Bahir said, liquid heat in his tone as he reached for the cloth to examine it closer. “Such a shame. I would have relished her.”
Humiliation filled a pit in my stomach. Shahzadeh Dayyan surged forward as if something had snapped within him.
He lifted Bahir by his collar and thrust him into a silver cushion.
Bahir’s ring-garbed hands shot into the air at the loss of balance.
His turban tumbled from his head. My blood pounded, hair rising on my arms as a knife appeared seemingly from nowhere and nicked Bahir’s throat.
Shahzadeh Dayyan peered down at his brother with wrath, thick brows lowered, chest heaving.
“Never, never speak of my wife in such a manner again,” he hissed. “Unless you want it to be your last words in this world.”
Bahir’s azure eyes were wide as he glanced at the others for support.
I heard murmurs and noticed several guards step forward, but the shah lifted a hand, freezing them in their tracks.
He watched the rivalry with what almost seemed to be satisfaction.
I frowned, unable to discern why he would be pleased by a battle between his sons.
“In fact, do not linger in the same halls as her. Do not even breathe the same air. If you see her, lower your gaze and walk away.” Shahzadeh Dayyan’s knife angled against his brother’s cheek, slicing through the perfect alignment of his beard. The severed hairs drifted to the cushion.
My heart thumped in a rapid lurch against my chest. I couldn’t be the cause of this.
If Bahir was injured because of me, who knew how they would retaliate against my people?
What was Shahzadeh Dayyan doing? Why was he defending me and preserving my honor?
Even as the questions raced through my mind, I couldn’t comprehend why a part of me, a small part, was thrilled at the sight of him angry on my behalf.
I had always been cast aside, berated. There to be a body shield.
It was the first time someone had stuck up for me. Someone other than myself.
Bahir sputtered, eyes darkening like thunderclouds as he caught my gaze over Shahzadeh Dayyan’s shoulder. Dayyan leaned in farther, blocking his view.
“Do you understand?”
A grunt of acceptance erupted from Bahir’s chest. Shahzadeh Dayyan released him, and Bahir sank into the cushion, staring up at the ceiling, his robes rumpled. Malikeh Madar Morvarid shot to her feet.
“Morvarid,” the shah snapped.
But she didn’t heed him. The malikeh madar rushed to Bahir’s side, assisting him in sitting up and smoothing his robes.
She turned a reproachful look toward Dayyan, though worry creased her brow.
Dayyan didn’t meet his mother’s stare. Instead, he strode toward me.
He grabbed my hand, our fingers interlocking, and led me to the open seats.
He sat on a cushion and with a firm grip on my hand forced me to sit beside him.
Bahir reached for his turban and yanked it onto his short, cropped hair before storming from the chamber.
Malikeh Madar Morvarid reached out, her mouth opening, but nothing emerged.
Titters accompanied his exit. A tense silence settled over the table.
Malikeh Morvarid’s face flattened into an unreadable expression as she glanced over at the onlookers.
She returned to her seat, though I could tell by the way her fingers dug into her palms that she was waging a war against herself to not act.
Malikeh Madar Sanaz’s head ducked down, but I noted the tiny smile growing on her face.
She must have despised Morvarid to be so pleased by the embarrassing scene.
Shah Jihangir continued eating, so slowly and precisely it was aggravating.
Dayyan leaned forward, reaching across to pat his younger siblings’ cheeks.
My heart twisted at the tender look crossing his features.
I hadn’t seen him bestow such a look onto anyone else.
Dayyan seemed to sense my gaze, and his face shifted back to an unreadable one. He nodded toward them.
“My brother and sister. Children of Malikeh Madar Sanaz.”
Sanaz pretended not to notice Dayyan mention her. Her chin tilted up; she was apparently too proud to even speak to me.
“Shahzadeh Omid.” Dayyan motioned to the boy.
Omid ducked his head, and though I could tell he was doing his utmost to appear serious and respectful, a rebellious smile threatened the corner of his lips.
His round cheeks and innocent eyes betrayed his youth.
He couldn’t be over seven years of age. I glanced at his sister, catching sight of the golden earrings dangling from the young girl’s ears.
She wore a beaming smile, her hazel irises large and round.
My heart stuttered at the pure joy emanating from her.
“And Shahdokht—”
“Delara,” I said before shooting Dayyan an accusatory look.
His mouth twitched as though fighting amusement before he nodded. “Delara.”
Delara’s eyes darted between us, her bubbling energy apparent. “I had this feeling in my chest when Day got married. My tutor told me it was envy.”
My brows shot up, and Shahdokht Bazmara’s mouth fell open at her little sister’s admission.
“Day spends little time with us as it is, and now you will steal all his attention.” Delara crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. Omid nodded his agreement.
“I promise not to take your brother’s attention from you,” I told them.
“But you are too pretty,” Delara said. “Look, he can’t stop staring at you.”
Dayyan choked on his tea and thumped his chest with a fist. Malikeh Madar Sanaz pinched Delara, and the girl quieted at once. My cheeks burned. Everywhere I looked, I found someone’s eyes upon me. Everyone seemed to consider Delara’s statement, evaluating us.
“I—thank you,” I said. It had been so long since I had spoken to children that I found myself at a loss. “You are very beautiful yourself.”