The Prince
I left her question unanswered and released her hand.
The other couples distanced themselves from us, leaving us in the center of a large circle.
The traditional melody brought back the night of our marriage.
I watched her retreat a pace and turn her back to me.
Her hands drifted above her head as they had then, twisting in enchanting arcs that pulled every eye.
My gaze slid past her to Zeki. He stood beside Bazmara, but his eyes were fastened on Farani—or whatever her name was—with a contemplative look.
I stamped my boot far harder than necessary in time with the drums.
Lilting voices tugged me from my glaring, and I refocused on her.
Her name should’ve been Chaos, because she had turned my world upside down.
I had been determined to avoid her, hoping that would lessen the sting of her lie.
Instead, it tortured me. The need to be near her, see her, touch her had been pure agony.
And that sizzling need had intensified at the sight of her speaking with Zeki.
They had stood too close and had a whispered conversation.
How bonded were they? He had been my dear friend for many years, but that no longer mattered—not when he was attempting to sidle close to my wife.
Shah Jihangir had tried to convince me our marriage was invalid since I had married her under a false name, but according to our laws, once we had witnesses and consummated the marriage, it was done. Everyone believed the last part thanks to the cloth I had provided.
My wife’s arms slashed through the air with hypnotic movements. I walked around her and grasped her hands. At the touch of her skin, something eased within me.
“Dayyan—”
“Shahzadeh,” I said.
Hurt darted across her face, so quickly I might have imagined it.
But I couldn’t allow her to call me so informally now.
I couldn’t allow that weakness. I unsheathed my shamshir and the other men echoed the movement.
I worked the blade in lightning-fast movements around her in a dance of steel.
She spun in furious circles, her dazzling black skirt mesmerizing as her pace increased.
Our speed lessened until I ended up before her, extending the blade to her.
I was struck by the memory of how I’d been uncertain if she would kill me with the weapon.
But there was a softness in her gaze now, far different from when her eyes had screamed hatred.
“Shahzadeh, you haven’t spoken to me in days.”
“What would we have spoken about? Your betrayal? Your lies?” I curled my lip, ensuring she would see how much I detested speaking with her. Even if it was pretense, I couldn’t allow her to believe my weakness for her remained.
Her fingers slid over the blade, grazing mine. I grimaced as I fought to ignore the feelings her touch brought to life. The blade slipped from my grasp into hers. She danced around me. The shamshir was an extension of her arm. It represented the shattered remains of our hearts.
“I was Farani’s bodyguard for years,” she said as she returned before me. “When she disappeared that day when you were victorious, Sultan Kasim ordered me to take her place.”
I pressed closer, my hand settling at her lower back as she swept past me.
That cursed rose scent brushed my nose. I tugged her back, and she twirled into my arms in tune with the other couples.
The sight of her at the entrance doors had glued me to the ground.
I had pretended to listen to Shahdokht Farani when she’d approached me, but my eyes were always watching her.
“I couldn’t reveal who I was. I would have been killed.”
Desperation coated her voice. Her words were truth. If they had known, Bahir and my father would have taken her life immediately. I had saved her on the wedding day out of sheer luck as it was.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you trust me?”
I could hear the hurt in my words and flinched, wishing she didn’t withdraw such emotions from me.
“I didn’t know you then. I wish I had told you. I am sorry.”
My knees hit the ground along with the other men’s, and I glanced up at her, but I couldn’t meet her penetrating stare.
Instead, my eyes flitted over her high cheekbones and full lips.
Thick brows and long nose. Features I had come to know better than my own.
My blade remained in her lethal grip as she danced around me again.
Her movements were so graceful they pained me to see—each wave of her hands and the curve of her wrists elongated by tinkling bracelets.
“An apology changes nothing, Farani.” Her false name slipped out before I could stop it, and I inwardly cursed. “You asked why I sought you out. I have no wish to speak further with you. I only want to know if you’ve heard of a woman named Yildiz.”
She stilled momentarily. “What do you want to know about her?”
“You know her,” I realized. “I made a promise to her father. Shahzadeh Kahraman. I need to find her and speak to her when I travel for the golden roots.”
“You’ve seen Shahzadeh Kahraman?” She faltered.
I rose to my full height earlier than required and placed my hands on her hips to steady her.
“Where did you see him?”
I looked away, my jaw tightening at the memory. I didn’t know how I would look this Yildiz in the face after confessing I’d killed her father, but I had to keep my word. I’d promised Shahzadeh Kahraman I would look out for his daughter.
“Tell me what you know of Yildiz,” I said instead.
“Perhaps it is best if you ask Shahdokht Farani.” Was that a trace of jealousy in her voice? “I am sure she will be happy to tell you all about her. Yildiz is her cousin, after all.”
I nodded. I had planned to do so, but using this was a plausible excuse for taking her away from Zeki.
My hands slid down, wrapping around hers.
She inhaled as my touch drifted over her.
“As soon as I return with the roots, I’m sending you back to the South.
You can return home, pretend none of this ever happened. ”
The thought of never seeing her again sent a surge of panic through me, but it had to be done. I couldn’t continue living through this torture, and I couldn’t protect her without risking my father’s wrath. Now that he saw her as nothing more than a bodyguard, she was worthless in his eyes.
“You want me to leave?” Though she said the words loud enough to be heard over the singing and drums, they sounded like a piercing whisper.
“That’s the best way forward.” I tugged her hands against my chest, my shamshir hilt encircled in both of our palms.
“Then why won’t you meet my eyes?”
The words stunned me. I glanced down into those warm sorrow-filled brown eyes that glowed like honey in the sun. With one blink, I was at her mercy. But I broke the connection and stared over her head, clearing my throat. “It’s over.”
The song had ended, but we didn’t move. Our hands lingered. Our hearts beat in time with each other’s. We stood so close that my nose would have brushed hers if I’d leaned down. And yet lands stood between us. My breath emerged ragged. I dared to meet her gaze again.
Tears filled her eyes now. She blinked, and one slipped free, trailing over her skin.
My chest clenched at the sight. I swallowed, my hands falling from hers.
The crowd clapped as the other couples drifted away until we stood alone on the floor.
I wanted nothing more than to take her in my arms and hide her away from the prying eyes and the harshness of the world she had endured, but I couldn’t.
I took a step back, and then another, creating distance between us.
“Yildiz,” she started.
I froze.
“My name is Yildiz.”