The Bodyguard
Light feet pattered over the carpet. I snapped awake, glancing at the window to the light streaming inside.
Hours had elapsed, turning night to day.
How had I fallen asleep? The young princess, Delara, scanned the chamber, glancing over the made bed and untouched dinner before her eyes landed on me.
She approached, stopping before the toshak.
“Were you sleeping here?”
“I—”
“You were.” She nodded, observing my face and no doubt the marks cutting into my skin from the strange position I had succumbed to sleep in. “It must have been uncomfortable.”
A question lurked in her childish voice. I couldn’t tell her the truth: that I had stabbed her brother and waited for hours for his return to ensure he was alive.
“Anyway . . . You are joining me today!”
I pushed back the flyaway hairs poking out of my hastily made braid and sat up straight. “What for?”
Delara huffed. “An adventure, of course.”
“Your brother won’t allow me to step one foot out of this room. I am sorry, gulim.” My flower.
My voice trailed off when I noticed the pile of clothes tucked on the vanity.
I walked up to it, Delara’s arguments fading behind me.
I ran my fingers over the black garments.
The material was crisp with dried blood.
Dayyan must have come sometime in the night.
I fisted the garment. He would have seen me, then, waiting for him.
Why had I been concerned for him? He deserved what I’d done and more.
Footsteps rushed to me. I released the fabric and spun around. Delara grabbed my hand and pulled. A laugh burst from my chest as she dragged me into the hall. Her smile was wide, lighting up her entire face.
“At least tell me where we are going.”
“To the garden. Brother Zeki often trains Omid there.”
“Dayy—your brother will be angry if he learns I left.”
Delara placed her hands on her hips. “He cannot say anything. I commanded it.”
“He knows of your little plan to abduct me?”
“I told him.”
She continued pulling me along. Servants opened the silver doors ahead, and Delara laughed in delight as the sun burst over us, showering us with warmth.
She released my hand and spun in a circle before waving at me to follow her down a stone path.
I couldn’t help but smile at her evident joy.
Dayyan had been so concerned when she’d fallen ill at the breakfast; seeing the rosiness of her cheeks made me realize that I had also worried for her despite knowing her for so short a time.
I held my skirt so it wouldn’t drag. My bracelets clinked at the movement.
I reached the end of the stone path and found Delara shrieking at Omid, who was wrestling with Dayyan’s bodyguard.
“Get him, Omid! Use some strength!” she encouraged.
Zeki wrestled the boy a couple moments longer before feigning a loss of balance and tumbling to the ground.
Omid leaned over him, and Zeki raised his hands in surrender.
Delara cheered at the victory. Tinkling laughter drew my gaze to a narrow bench, where Shahdokht Bazmara sat watching the scene.
She covered her mouth to hide her laughter, but her eyes betrayed her glowing happiness.
I wasn’t the only one drawn by her laugh.
Zeki stared at her, his mouth going slack as if in a sudden daze.
Omid shoved him, and he startled, accepting the boy’s extended hand and rising to his feet.
“Another round,” Omid ordered.
Zeki scratched his head. “Now, Shahzadeh, I cannot tire you. You must attend your lessons. I can’t have your tutors reporting me for making you too weary to study.”
“You must have another match. Shahdokht Farani has come to watch,” Delara ordered.
All eyes shifted to me. Bazmara’s smile slipped, and Zeki’s brows drew together before he dipped his head into a nod.
“Shahdokht. I was under the impression you were confined to your chamber.”
“Shahzadeh Dayyan knows I am here. Not that it is any of your business.”
Zeki stuttered before nodding again. “I meant no offense. I just don’t want to be hanged if anything happens to his wife.”
“Hanged?”
“Perhaps tortured and then hanged.”
I moved toward the bench. Zeki thought Dayyan valued me to that extent. I had thought he wanted me for the purpose of giving the shah the location of the roots, and from the whispers I’d heard in the harem, some believed he needed the roots to cure his sister, but after the drawings . . .
The raw emotion in his eyes, the flitting papers, the veiled confession, the bloody wound.
“Shahdokht?”
I snapped to the present. Bazmara watched me with uncertainty.
I took a seat beside her. She was dressed in green.
The rich fabric was covered in a stunning design.
She tucked a square slip of cloth she’d been embroidering away, but not before I caught sight of the letters adorning both corners.
Omid began tussling with Zeki again while Delara cheered them on.
Bazmara was stiff beside me, no longer smiling.
“Your dress is beautiful.”
“Do you think so?” She had a proud tilt of her head as she looked at her dress.
“You made it,” I realized.
She nodded. “Yes. But only as a hobby. Something I do to pass the time.”
I touched the material. “This is far more than a simple hobby. You could sell dresses like this.”
Her lips thinned. “But I cannot.” She turned to face me on the bench.
“I am not sure how you lived in the South, but you must have faced the same restrictions I do. I am a shahdokht. My every movement is watched. Every action is calculated. I will remain in the harem until my father approves of my marriage to the man he chooses. That is my role. My skills as a dressmaker are meaningless.”
Tears burst into her eyes. Her fingers buried around the cloth at her side, and the tip of her thumb dug into the needle she’d been using. Blood welled.
“Bazmara,” I said cautiously.
She exclaimed at the sight of the blood and fisted the cloth over her thumb. The red drops stained the white fabric, tainting the hard work she’d done. She stared down at it with a defeated slump in her neck. “It is impossible.”
I followed her gaze when she looked up. Zeki was laughing with the children, his head tipped back.
I could see why Bazmara would fall for him.
Here, he wasn’t Dayyan’s bodyguard. He was his own person.
Something flickered in my mind as he played with the collar of his shirt and his hair blew in the air. The action was so familiar.
“Nothing is impossible,” I said.
“But it is.” Another tear slid down Bazmara’s cheek. “My father would never allow it.”
“Because he is a commoner?”
Her eyes shot to me before realization sank into them. She knew we were no longer speaking of dresses.
“Converse with your brother. He will help you. I am sure of it.”
“Bahir would kill me if he knew.”
“I meant Dayyan.”
Her brows shot up, and she wiped the tear from her face. “I would have, years ago. But he’s changed over the moons. Grown dark and withdrawn. He does everything Peder asks. He wouldn’t be able to help me.”
“He would,” I insisted.
“You believe it.” She sounded surprised. “Perhaps you are right. You are good for him. He looks better than I have seen him in so long. But please. You cannot tell him about . . .”
I nodded, squeezing her hand. “I promise.”
She mustered a sad smile, gripping my fingers in return. “If only he were a simple commoner, but he is a Southerner.”
My grip slackened. “Zeki?”
She nodded. I glanced at the bodyguard chasing the children around the garden. He did have Southern features: the darker skin and shorter frame. Though I’d noticed it before, I hadn’t thought much of it.
“Come, Bazmara! Zeki said he hid a dessert for us,” Delara called.
Bazmara gave me a pleading look. “Do not tell Dayyan about us.”
I nodded, feeling numb. She rushed off with the children. Zeki moved to follow them, but I shot to my feet and grabbed his arm, shoving him against a trellis. I unsheathed his knife and held it at his throat. His eyes went wide as he lifted his head to escape the curved angle of the blade.
“Shahdokht,” he gasped. “What are you doing?”
Rage boiled within me. “How could you?”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“How many of your own people have you slain?”
He swallowed, his throat bobbing close to the blade.
“Speak!”
We were alone in the garden. But Bazmara and the little ones would return soon. His eyes shifted to my hand.
“I know Shahdokht Farani has a birthmark on the inside of her wrist.”
But my wrist was bare. We stared at each other. My heart pounded.
“Contrary to what you have conjured in your mind about me, I have not killed a single Southerner,” he said, entirely serious. “Wounded, perhaps. But I’ve ensured the blood of my people would never be on my hands. Even if they turned their backs on me, I will not hurt them in return.”
I searched his dark gaze, unsure what to think.
“Shahzadeh Dayyan, the man you loathe and curse, is far better than those in the South. He took me in. He saved me. And in return, I will protect him. You screamed your hatred of him that day when your altizar was slain.” He leaned in.
“Dayyan stopped them from carving her. He had her buried. He gave your mount a resting place.”
I stilled at the revelation. Tears welled in my eyes.
“Delara!”
Screams filled the air. Zeki pushed my arm away and raced toward them. I followed him, stumbling to a halt when I saw the little princess in an unconscious heap on the ground. Bazmara clutched her sister’s head, and Omid held Delara’s hand, a brokenhearted pain evident in his features.