The Bodyguard
I tried to stride delicately toward Banu Atefeh.
The sun had just risen, and yet lessons had begun at once.
I had seen little of Shahzadeh Dayyan for the past three days.
He was gone whenever I awoke and returned late in the night.
I wouldn’t even have known when he came if I hadn’t been unable to sleep myself.
The shadows of the nights weighed on me, as if the assassin would reemerge at any moment.
When Dayyan came, it instilled a sense of safety despite how much I despised the man.
He would protect me. Of that I was certain.
“Wrong, wrong, wrong.” Banu Atefeh shook her head as I came to a stop before her.
I held in a sigh and listened to her rebukes.
“A jawahar, especially one of your standing, walks with grace. Like so.”
She demonstrated for the hundredth time, sweeping her cardamom-tinged skirts back and strolling forward.
Her chin tilted at the perfect angle; her lips curled with a hint of arrogance and flirtation.
She walked to the end of the chamber and spun with the poise of a queen.
Her skirt flared around her. I fought to keep my eyebrows from jutting up and settled on crossing my arms across my chest.
“I believe we have had enough of that.” Her eyes cut over me, and she barked, “Posture.”
I dropped my hands to my sides and pushed my shoulders back.
“Better. But do something about those lips. You will scare away your shahzadeh with such a hideous expression.”
I forced my mouth into a semblance of a smile. Banu Atefeh’s brows drew together, showing displeasure with my attempt.
“Your dancing is well enough, I suppose. I will do my utmost to form you into a shahdokht worthy of the North. You must learn to attract your husband in order to conceive an heir.”
I breathed out, praying the Almighty would sustain me through these lessons.
After days of being cooped in Shahzadeh Dayyan’s chamber, the window overlooking the enormous area I had gathered was some sort of arena called to me more often than not.
I moved toward it. The wind brushing my skin was a taste of the freedom I longed for.
The grounds weren’t empty like usual. The circular stands were crowded with cheering people.
I edged nearer. A group of men were hauled toward the center of the arena.
My breath caught when I examined their torn uniforms. Southern soldiers.
And standing across from them, brandishing a shamshir, was Shahzadeh Dayyan.
“Ah,” Banu Atefeh said, joining me beside the window. “Shahzadeh Dayyan is demonstrating what happens to the enemy.”
“But they are prisoners,” I protested. “They surrendered. Why is he doing this?”
“Shahzadeh Bahir came up with the idea years ago. If a prisoner can defeat Shahzadeh Dayyan in combat, they are allowed to go free. Shahzadeh Bahir found the sudden energy this renewed in the prisoners to be quite the spectacle.”
I shook my head, watching him engage with the first prisoner. Dayyan beat him in moments, slaying him on the edge of his blade.
“None will defeat him,” I said in a horrified whisper.
“How refreshing to see your belief in your prince. It is true. Shahzadeh Dayyan has never been defeated. But this chance gives the prisoners hope and the will to fight. A show for the crowd and Shahzadeh Bahir, praise for Shahzadeh Dayyan, and an opportunity for the prisoners.” She took in my expression. “Genius, isn’t it?”
My eyes burned with tears of hate, blurring my view of Dayyan spearing the next prisoner through the chest. I stormed out of the chamber for the first time in days.
“It is Shahzadeh Dayyan’s order. You cannot leave!” Banu Atefeh called after me.
The guard standing before the door blocked my path. He took one look at the fury in my eyes and lowered his head before stepping aside. I unsheathed his shamshir and continued through the hall. Servants made way as I walked past, whispering behind their hands.
The cheers were deafening when I reached the entrance of the arena, seeing that two more prisoners had met death on Dayyan’s blade.
Blood coated the sand around the prince, shimmering a dark orange in the sun.
None had taken notice of me. Instead, they pumped fists in the air as they chanted for their murderous prince.
My vision went red. Shahzadeh Dayyan waved at the guards holding the prisoners, beckoning them to send the next forward.
It was a young boy, shaking and pale with fear.
My fingers tightened around the shamshir, and I stormed into the arena.
“Shahzadeh Dayyan!” I shouted.
The weight of hundreds of eyes blanketed me as all voices hushed and silence filled the space. Despite all the stares, my gaze didn’t leave Shahzadeh Dayyan, and I filled it with all the hatred I had carried for years. His turban hung slightly askew. Dark strands of hair stuck to his cheekbones.
“Stop this,” I hissed. My voice cracked. “Stop this oppression.”
His blue eyes were unreadable as they traced my features. “I cannot, Farani.”
My cousin’s name grated on my ears. The way he said it disturbed me, so gentle that a part of me wished he would say my true name instead.
“Do not call me that,” I spat. “And do not act as if you are forced to kill. You can stop this—this shedding of innocent blood. You’ve won the South. Is that not enough?”
“Not for him,” he responded, his attention drifting behind me.
I followed his gaze to the seats up high in the stands.
Shah Jihangir and Shahzadeh Bahir sat there surrounded by guards.
The bloodlust in their eyes was apparent.
I turned back to Dayyan. How dare he? How dare he look regretful when he was the one wielding the weapon?
When he was the one felling my people one by one?
“I challenge you!” I raised my voice, ensuring everyone heard. “I challenge you to a duel, Shahzadeh.”
His head tilted, curiosity lighting his features.
“If I defeat you, you will let the prisoners go free.”
“And if I defeat you? What then, hamsaram?” He stepped closer, stealing my space and breath. It was a term of endearment to refer to your other half. Your equal.
“Then I will owe you a favor.”
“A favor?” A gleam entered his gaze.
“One that will never be granted, as you will lose.”
“We shall see.”
Dayyan waved at the guards, and they pulled the prisoners away, giving me and the shahzadeh more ground to battle.
I gripped my shamshir in a tight fist, rolling my wrist to acclimate to the weight.
It was larger than the weapons I had trained to wield.
Silence held the onlookers in a tense grip as all eyes watched with anticipation while we circled each other. Dayyan pointed his shamshir toward me.
“Go on, Shahdokht, show your skill.”
I wouldn’t allow him to goad me into attacking first. He was larger and more powerful, but I was faster.
I had to find a way to get through his strikes.
We continued to circle each other until Dayyan closed the distance.
He swung his blade toward my head. I bent back, and the weapon sailed over my face.
I spun around, extending my leg to trip him, but he jumped over my sandal, flipping his shamshir in his hands and slicing downward.
I rolled away and regained my stance an instant later.
My chest heaved. Sand trickled from my dress.
The heavy skirt was caging my legs and limiting my movement.
Dayyan examined me, his weapon lifted as he awaited my next move.
I sliced my shamshir through the sides of my dress, freeing my trousered legs.
Gasps echoed around the arena at the display.
A spark lit in Dayyan’s eyes. I rose to my full height.
“Anything to say, Shahzadeh?” I said, inching closer.
He remained unfazed. “It is only fair for you to have the same level of movement as me. I won’t have you calling me a cheater after I best you.”
I huffed a laugh. “This match was never fair.”
If only he knew how much training I’d had.
How I could tell a person’s future action before they even moved by a shift in their eyes, a twitch in their lips, a switch in their posture.
And yet, Dayyan was unlike any opponent I had ever faced.
I couldn’t see through him. He was expressionless, emotionless, unpredictable.
“It was never fair,” he agreed.
Then he charged. This time, I met his blow with one of my own.
Our weapons clanged. Metal glided together; sparks matched the fire in our gazes.
He shoved me back, thrusting me into the sand.
I gasped when my palms hit the ground to break my fall.
He didn’t advance farther but waited for me to regain my bearings.
The crowd cheered for their prince, and ugly chants degrading the South erupted, which only infuriated me further.
Sitarey koochaki mahn.
Do not stop now.
My father’s voice washed over my senses, bringing me back to those days when I was chosen as Farani’s bodyguard, when he’d trained me to wield every weapon we had, until I could shoot an arrow as far as I could see and land it dead center, until I could throw a knife into the smallest of targets, until I had enough stamina to outlast the best of my uncle’s soldiers.
I would not submit to Shahzadeh Dayyan. I would not bow to my enemy.
I roared and rushed forward, a blast of strikes following.
My arms burned as Dayyan blocked each one.
Surprise latched onto his features as he retreated in rapid steps.
Sand shifted beneath us. He caught my wrist, twisting until I cried out.
My shamshir slipped from my fingers. He tugged me close, clasping my hand against his chest. His breath fanned my face.
“Surrender, Shahdokht.”
“Never,” I hissed back.
He shook his head in disbelief, that almost smile creasing the corners of his eyes.
I cut his amusement short with a knee to his groin.
He gasped, paling and stumbling back. I swung my leg out, kicking his shamshir from his hand.
The weapon went flying. I swept my foot behind his leg, knocking him off-balance.
He grabbed hold of me, yanking me down with him.
We tumbled into the sand, rolling as we each tried to gain the upper hand.
I landed on top and grinned down at him.
“Your chance to surrender, hamsaram.”
Dayyan’s gaze darted to his arms, pinned in place by my knees. I nicked his throat with the small blade in my hand, forcing his head up. His eyes widened a fraction.
“My knife,” he muttered, realizing I’d stolen it from the sheath in his robe.
Something like admiration overtook his features. I leaned down farther, a strand of hair slipping from my chadar onto my forehead. I fought the urge to brush it back and glared down at him.
“Surrender,” I repeated through gritted teeth.
He traced my features with that devastating stare, as if he were seeing the secret parts of me, unveiling my truths.
His eyes were a phantom caress on every part of my face.
Tracing my eyebrows, the slip of hair, my nose, all the way down to my lips.
My exhales were too loud, my heartbeat too fast, the silence of the arena louder with each passing moment.
“You are beautiful when you are determined,” he whispered.
Shock clutched me and my grip slackened.
That was all he needed. Dayyan shoved his arms up, one wrapping around my waist and the other throwing my armed hand from his throat.
A second later, I was pinned beneath him.
His knife was now in his palm. His turban had been lost amid our battle.
Long strands of dark hair curtained the world around me as he leaned in.
A dark purpose shadowed his eyes. Sweat beaded his brow, growing until it dropped onto my face.
I blinked, the saltiness of it stinging my skin.
I could feel my own perspiration coating my lower back, my neck, my arms.
“When they spoke of the Southern princess, they said she was worthy of a portrait. They never mentioned the fire burning in her eyes.” He dragged the knife over my cheek so softly it didn’t cut through my skin. He held the tip to my eye.
I glanced at the blurry edge of the blade, fear building in me.
“Such expressive eyes,” he murmured. “A frightened doe one moment and shining with all the rage of the sun the next.” He dragged the knife down. I closed my eyes, swallowing the fear coating my tongue. “This chin, lowered in surrender and then jutting out with the fury of a queen.”
My chest rose and fell, faster and faster. My lids squeezed together tightly, scarcely allowing a tear to slip free. The cold of the blade halted by my lips. “And these, downturned with incomprehensible sadness, then flattened with wrath, and rarely—so rarely—spread into a devastating smile.”
I didn’t dare open my eyes. I couldn’t meet his cold gaze. But that didn’t stop me from seeing him in other ways. The warmth of his breath. The heat of his skin. The coarseness of his grip pinning my hands above my head. I suddenly realized I had stopped struggling.
“Which are you, Princess?” His low tone sent shivers over me. “The broken prisoner or the unyielding warrior?”
My eyes flashed open. He was staring down at me with wonder, as if he truly wanted to know the answer.
“You do not know who I am.”
“Perhaps not. But I do know you owe me a favor.”
I gasped in outrage. Cheers rang around the arena as Dayyan pulled me up. I had failed my people. I glanced at the prisoners. Their faces were downcast. A pang settled in my chest.
“As a token of appreciation for my bride’s merit, I will allow the prisoners to go free.”
I spun toward him. He didn’t meet my questioning gaze. His entire focus centered on his father and brother. The stillness in the arena was deafening. But then a wave of applause spilled out.
“Long live Shahzadeh Dayyan! Long live Shahzadeh Dayyan!”
He nodded at the guards to unshackle the prisoners. I couldn’t believe he was doing this.
“Why?” I asked when he finally looked at me.
“Is it so hard to consider that I’m not the heartless monster you believe me to be?”
“You were murdering them before I came. And at the wedding. You were killing prisoners and taking women as slaves. What else am I supposed to believe?”
He tucked the strand of my hair back into my chadar. “Nothing is as it seems, hamsaram.”