The Bodyguard
A delicious scent wafted toward me: soft buttery bread.
I could almost taste it. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, my hair flopping over my shoulders in a thick mess.
The sight before me brought a choked laugh to my throat.
Dayyan sat on the long cushioned toshak in the center of the chamber, an assortment of food laid out before him on the low table.
He leaned back, sipping tea from a cup that appeared far too dainty for his hand.
The murderous executioner of the North drinking tea so nonchalantly was a sight to behold.
He was wearing black robes over his undershirt that did little to conceal the expanse of his muscled chest. I had been pressed against that chest the night before . . . I glanced away with heated cheeks. He leaned forward, resting a hand on his knee as he reached for the teapot.
“Light or strong?”
I blinked. He paused with expectance, his fingers gripped around a pot as he held it over an empty glass. He pinned me with the icy look I was growing accustomed to.
“Strong.”
I stood from the bed, recalling that I was in my nightdress.
It was modest enough, with sleeves that went to my wrists, and the trim ended above my bare feet, but I still shuddered.
It exposed my form in a way the looser palace dresses didn’t.
I crossed my arms and rubbed my hands over my sleeves as I took hesitant steps forward.
Dayyan didn’t spare me a glance on my entire trek toward him, much to my relief.
His firm hands maneuvered the teapot with what seemed like years of experience.
Or perhaps years of loneliness. I sat down, keeping my gaze on the chai and the vapor steaming above it.
He shifted, retrieving a water pot and pouring it over his cup.
He preferred his tea light. I watched the water dilute the dark leaves.
“The intruder left no signs behind,” he began. “Care to tell me what happened last night?”
I had a recollection of the dark silhouette.
The weapon at my throat. I reached for my glass instead of answering and inhaled the scent of the spices.
I bolstered my courage and lifted my head.
Dayyan’s stare was pointed. His lips rested in a thin line, and disheveled hair brushed over his shoulders.
His gaze was on the cloth bandaging my neck, and it narrowed the longer he stared.
“It happened so swiftly.”
“Did you notice a birthmark or something that can help us identify the trespasser?”
I pictured the candle flaming against the assassin’s skin. “I burned their wrist.”
His brows lifted momentarily before he nodded. “That’s a good start.” He waited for more, and when I said nothing further, he asked, “Did you see his face?”
“His?”
“Esana said you were speaking of a man.”
My fingers tightened around the glass, heedless of the fiery sensation probing my skin.
“I couldn’t make out any features. I’m not sure if it was a man. I—” I couldn’t confide my fears to him. Fears that couldn’t even become reality in this palace. The terror that haunted my dreams was far from here, living freely in the South.
Tea splashed over the rim of the glass and onto my hand.
I gasped, dropping it. It clattered onto the table, and the hot chai spilled over the bread and honey.
I shot to my feet, and Dayyan stood as well, closing the distance between us.
I braced myself in preparation to retaliate if he struck.
His calluses brushed my hand instead. He lifted it, his thumb caressing my burning fingers as he examined them.
“It will blister. I shall call for Ustaad Saf.” He dropped my hand, moving for the door.
“Why are you doing this?”
He stopped with his broad back facing me.
“You. The merciless Northern prince. Shahzadeh Marge. The downfall of the South. And yet you have done nothing. Nothing to torture me. Nothing to punish me for my refusal to provide the location of the source of the roots. I want to know why.”
He turned slowly, and his brows lowered in a dangerous motion. His jaw flexed before he strode toward me. “What would you have me do, Shahdokht?”
His eyes raked over me, widening slightly as he took in my nightdress. I refused to cross my arms, although they itched to move. I wouldn’t bare my insecurity to this man. He cleared his throat, forcing his gaze to my face.
“Be satisfied I have given you a place in my chamber. You are safe here.”
“Why are you protecting me?” My voice shook slightly.
He stepped closer, his breath grazing my face. “You have no right to question me. Be grateful you still draw breath.”
“Because I am nothing more than your prisoner,” I stated, holding his gaze.
His eyes flicked over my features before returning to mine. “Yes.”
I nodded, my lips thinning. “And until I give you what you want, I will remain alive.”
I did not know the roots’ location of origin, but Dayyan and his father didn’t realize that. The moment I told them of my lack of knowledge or gave them a false location, they would know that I wasn’t the prophesized princess and kill me.
“Instead of assuming we are the ones threatening your life, think of your own people,” he said, low and harsh. “What would they do to protect this secret?”
“You think my people would kill me?”
“To keep the location concealed from us, there is no knowing what lengths they would go to.” A strand of dark hair shifted over his eye. He pulled something out of his robe—a long dagger encrusted with sparkling jewels.
“What is this?” I asked, wary.
“A symbol of your marriage.”
The blade worn around the waist signified protection against treacherous hands. It warned the bearer was taken.
“Why are you giving it to me?” I asked, my real question hidden beneath. Why are you giving me a weapon when you don’t trust me?
He closed the gap between us and wrapped the belt around my waist. His head lowered as he concentrated, his hair brushing my temple.
The strands were softer than I had expected.
He smoothed the silver belt in place. I examined it, noting the dangling coins hanging from it.
Dayyan tapped the curved dagger and looked up.
“If you fear harm, do not hesitate to use it.”
“Do not doubt it,” I replied.
His hands remained at my waist. Warmth from his fingers seeped through the fabric of my nightdress.
I waited for the familiar fright to overcome me at his proximity, the way it did when men came too close.
But it didn’t come. A strange sort of calm held me still, urged me closer, even.
Then a knock rapped on the door, breaking us apart.
Dayyan cracked the door, blocking out the person on the other side.
He turned to me. “Banu Atefeh wishes to continue your lessons. They will proceed here until the threat to your life is eliminated.”
I nodded, though I dreaded lessons with Banu Atefeh. Dayyan turned back to the door.
“We will need you for this lesson, Shahzadeh, if you have time to spare,” I heard her say.
“I do.”
“Good, shall we begin?”
The door opened farther, but Dayyan caught it. “The shahdokht and I will change to our daily attire.”
Banu Atefeh’s stutters were cut off when the door shut in her face. Dayyan turned to me. I noted he was doing his very best to keep his focus on my face.
“Well, Shahdokht, would you like to turn, or should I proceed with changing?”