The Bodyguard
Whispers flitted to my ears, but I blocked them out as I retrieved a book Banu Atefeh required me to read.
A cool breeze rushed in from the window, ruffling the curtains.
I glanced out at the dwindling sunset. It was growing late.
I returned to my book, attempting to focus on the looping words, but much to my frustration, I couldn’t comprehend a single one.
The muffled giggles were too distracting.
I peeked over the rim of the book, spying three meddlesome figures cuddled together on the long cushioned toshak.
Shahzadeh Dayyan sat in the middle, his siblings snuggled up on either side of him.
His mouth was tilted in a smile—not the subtle almost smile, but a warm real one.
His stiff posture was gone. Instead, he rested back on the cushion, his turban absent and robes loosened.
Shahzadeh Omid and Shahdokht Delara were staring with excited eyes at the parchment he was scribbling across.
It was Delara’s first time out of the healing chamber in days.
Her features were pallid, and a sweaty sheen coated her skin.
But despite her obvious fatigue, she watched her brother work with unconcealed joy.
“Daaay!” Omid elongated his brother’s name. “That doesn’t look right.”
Shahzadeh Dayyan chuckled—a warm sound that disturbed me for reasons I did not wish to delve into. “When I’m finished, it will.”
“Do me next!” Delara pleaded, her enormous hazel eyes capable of melting the stoniest of hearts.
“I will, jaanam.” He patted her curls, placing a kiss to the thick mass of her hair.
Jaanam. My life. I found myself mesmerized at the sight of such a caring Dayyan. My heart melted at the way he spoke to his siblings and the soft looks he bestowed upon them. The combination almost made me forget he was a dangerous murderer. Almost.
He glanced toward me, and I froze as our eyes locked. I broke away quickly, pretending to read. Where was their mother or caretaker? I couldn’t bear to watch them any longer. The more they giggled and whispered, the more they made me see the prince in a different light.
“Do her eyes next,” Omid ordered, pointing at the parchment.
“Those are a little tricky,” Dayyan muttered. “The emotions in them change so quickly.”
Who was he speaking about? I looked up, narrowing my eyes.
He smiled. “Ah, see, now they are fixated on me with wrath.”
Sweet childish laughter erupted from the young ones as they took in my expression.
Delara placed a hand over her mouth and said in a loud voice, “She’s angry.”
I snapped the book shut and slid off the bed. I walked toward them, placing my hands on my hips as I raised my brows. “What are you doing?”
The children hid their guilty faces behind the sleeves of their elder brother’s robes. Dayyan leaned forward, a glint in his gaze.
“He’s drawing you,” Delara blurted, her voice muffled behind Dayyan’s sleeve.
Omid seemed to recover some of his bravado, for he came forth. “Day lets us choose his muse.”
My jaw tensed. “Does he now?”
Delara also moved out from behind Dayyan, bobbing her head in an eager nod. “He’s drawn me before too! It looks strange in the beginning, but it always becomes beautiful.”
“There will be no end because Shahzadeh Dayyan will not be finishing my portrait.” The children pouted. I marched forward, standing above Dayyan. I extended my hand. “Give it to me.”
His face was expressionless. “I’m afraid I cannot.”
His siblings clambered off the toshak, their presence reminding me to keep calm.
It would not be good of me to distress them by stabbing their brother.
Dayyan clasped the parchment to his chest. I reached for it, but he stood, so close our faces almost brushed as he drew to his full height and towered over me.
He lifted the parchment higher. I jumped, my fingers grazing the edge and I stumbled against him, then growled as I attempted to retrieve it again.
Omid’s and Delara’s laughter rang behind us as the bizarre spectacle proceeded.
Dayyan retreated from my merciless assault until he’d backed up against the wall.
“I’m warning you,” I said, waving a finger. “You will dispose of that.”
A trickle of mirth made its way through me at the picture we must have presented.
A grown man and woman fighting over parchment.
And yet I couldn’t concede. He stared at my raised finger, one of his brows shooting up.
His arm remained high, making it impossible to retrieve the parchment—unless I got close enough to surprise him.
I closed the distance between us. His gaze had shifted from my finger to my face.
His head lowered, stealing the air between us.
I ignored the closeness, keeping my goal in sight.
His hand was lowering, the parchment nearing.
I reached for it with decisive caution and victory in sight.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
I froze at the low tone. Calloused fingers brushed my cheek. A warm trail followed their wake.
“In fact, I would move, or else I might see fit to claim my favor.”
His eyes ended their journey over my features, settling on my lips, leaving me no doubt what he wanted. My cheeks flamed.
“There are children present,” I said.
“Is that your only objection?” he replied, his nose brushing mine.
Far too many sensations overwhelmed me. I didn’t even want to try to dissect them. I stepped back, reclaiming the air the devious prince had stolen. Dayyan continued watching me, looking . . . disappointed?
“How about a competition?”
At the eager voice, we turned to the children. Delara had spoken, glancing between us.
“You against Day.”
“I will not be doing any more competitions with your brother.”
I already owed him one favor.
“A friendly contest, no victors,” Dayyan said.
“Yes! Yes! Please, Shahdokht Farani?”
The children peered up at me with pleading eyes, their round cheeks and bubbly countenances so charming I couldn’t find the heart to refuse.
I sighed. “Fine.”
They cheered, beaming at me.
A short while later, Dayyan and I sat across from each other, the table a barricade between us.
Delara was rooted at Dayyan’s side, humming with approval as he sketched.
Omid sat beside me, peering at my parchment.
He snorted when I drew a nose for Dayyan—one that resembled a block.
Farani was blessed with art, but sketching had never been a talent of mine.
Plenty of ooohs and aaahs drifted from Dayyan’s side as Delara squealed over whatever he was drawing.
But she had made the same noises when she’d drifted to me, so I assumed she was just a kind soul.
I scratched my quill over the oddly formed face, creating what I hoped would resemble stubble.
“Her lips next!” Delara exclaimed, stealing my attention.
I glanced up, seeing Dayyan peering at me. He stroked his chin.
“Heart-shaped lips,” he said out loud. “The perfect shade of pink.” He narrowed his eyes, leaning closer as if to examine them better. “They appear soft.”
The end of my quill snapped. I glared at him before assessing the damage done to my own portrait. Illustrated Dayyan now wore a dark scar across his cheekbone. I attempted to rub it away, which only worsened it. How do you even portray soft lips in a drawing?
“Keep your comments to yourself.”
“As you wish, hamsaram.”
Insufferable. I rolled my eyes and scratched a thick line of hair that tore through the parchment. I sat back, admiring my work. It resembled a person. When I looked up, Dayyan was staring at me.
“Are you prepared to reveal your masterpiece?”
“You go first.”
“The children will choose their favorite.”
“Fair enough.”
Delara and Omid shuffled in excitement as Dayyan stood and turned his parchment in the slowest fashion known to humanity. His focus remained on my face the entire time.
As soon as the portrait came into full view, my breath caught.
It was like looking into a mirror. Dayyan had captured my features in a frozen moment.
I took in every detail. My head was tilted downward the slightest bit, though my eyes peered upward.
They were round, possessing a hint of desperation and a noticeable tinge of anger.
My lips were drawn into the tiniest smile, one that declared triumph on whoever beheld the portrait.
My nose was accurately long. He’d even drawn the scar below my brow.
Such a tiny scar, barely visible, and yet he’d taken notice of it.
There was a gentle air about the Yildiz depicted in the drawing.
Determined, approachable, and yet she held the power of a queen.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and lifted my eyes to meet Dayyan’s expectant ones. Was this how he saw me? The children applauded, showering Dayyan with compliments. He gestured to me.
“Shahdokht, it is your turn.”
I hesitated. His truly was a masterpiece. Mine was utter rubbish beside his. I folded the parchment, planning to tuck it away, but he started toward me and snared it from my grasp.
“No!”
But it was too late. The edges of his mouth curled up, and his eyes danced as he examined the horrific drawing. I covered my face in humiliation before extending my hand.
“If you’ve taken your fill, I would like to dispose of it.”
“I’m afraid not. I shall cherish it dearly.”
I grumbled under my breath and snatched at it. He shoved it into his robes.
“Dayyan!” I grimaced, launching forward to reclaim the drawing.
My hand slipped through his robes and settled over the warm skin of his chest. Shahzadeh Dayyan had been branded into my mind as a heartless murderer.
Someone who could so callously kill without flinching and without a single ounce of remorse could not possibly have a heart.
But there it was, pumping fast and strong beneath my palm.
I was rooted to the sight of my hand partially hidden by his robes.
His fingers drifted up to settle over mine, pressing them to his thundering heart.
I glanced up, searching his face. All traces of his smile were gone.
The seriousness of his expression caused a strange flutter to erupt in my midsection.
“Say it again,” he whispered, hoarse and pleading.
His azure irises shimmered with warmth as he refused to let me slip away. My lips parted, and yet no sound emerged. The past minutes of our conversation had evaporated from my mind after touching his skin.
“My name,” he clarified. “You called me by my name for the first time.”
My chest constricted as alarm consumed me. How could my treacherous tongue have formed the cursed syllables that made up the name of my enemy? When had I begun thinking of him as simply Dayyan? When had the words shahzadeh and adversary faded?
I snatched my hand back as though he were a ruinous sandstorm. But I couldn’t escape entirely. His eyes wouldn’t release mine from their devastating hold. After a breathless moment, I looked down at the children, who were peering between us with odd looks.
I cleared my throat. “Why don’t you choose your favorite, little ones? So we don’t expend more of the shahzadeh’s precious time.”
I hoped Dayyan could hear how I clearly stressed his title. Delara proclaimed, “I loved Day’s drawing.”
“Me too,” Omid agreed.
I nodded, forcing a smile. Of course, that was the reasonable choice.
“But yours made me smile.” Delara beamed at me.
My heart warmed at her admission.
Omid nodded. “Me too.”
I laughed as he copied his sister. It was clear who was in charge.
“I think the shahdokht triumphed, then,” Dayyan proclaimed. I started to shake my head when he continued. “Something that makes you smile should be treasured.”
He watched me until I shifted, uncomfortable under his attention.
A knock sounded on the chamber door. Malikeh Madar Sanaz stepped inside after Dayyan bid her entrance.
She ushered her children from the room, narrowing her eyes at me and bestowing the perfected facade of a smile upon Dayyan.
As soon as the door closed, I retreated to the bed, slipped beneath the blankets, and dimmed all the candles on the bedside table but one.
Dayyan continued his work, sifting through documents on the toshak.
An hour later, he retrieved his pillow and blanket and splayed them across the floor.
After crafting what surely was an uncomfortable sleeping place, he lay down, holding his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling.
He’d done this for days. His back had to be screaming in pain.
I reminded myself that the entire situation was his fault.
He could have been at ease on his own soft cushioned bed if he hadn’t married me.
He could have slept like a king, and I could have been cold six feet underground like I always thought I would be.