The Bodyguard
We entered the city gates on the fourth day.
The familiar scents and sights sent a pang through my chest. Southerners lined the streets and bowed their heads as we rode through, but low curses erupted among the civilians when they caught sight of the Northern shahzada.
I looked ahead, seeing Farani’s stiff posture atop her mount.
She waved at the civilians, seemingly unperturbed by the jeers.
The high domes of the palace shot up into the sky, glowing like the sun itself.
I dismounted Wahe, and she ruffled her wings.
They sparkled under the sun. She outstretched them, and I knew they must feel stiff, as she hadn’t used them the entire trip.
But her wings would have carried me far faster than the others.
I caught Farani’s stare as her gaze slid from me to Wahe, a flicker of something darting across her face.
“I couldn’t help but admire your new altizar throughout the journey,” she called out, nearing me. “The Almighty has blessed you.”
She ran her hands over Wahe. The altizar shied away from her touch, and Farani flinched, her hand lowering to her side.
“You were always lucky with the horses.”
Without further comment, she walked toward the palace gates, urging us to follow along.
Stable hands led our horses away. Guards thrust open the doors for us.
The halls were sparser than I remembered.
Empty. A ghost of the former palace. Dayyan and Bahir walked side by side behind us.
I kept my pace quick but maintained a slight distance behind Farani as she led us to the throne room.
Malikeh Adalya didn’t even look up as our presence was announced.
She leaned to one side of Sultan Kasim’s throne, her head resting within her palm.
Sniffles permeated the room, which was shrouded by dark curtains, announcing the queen’s mourning.
Despite her disparaging words that had dug into me over the years, I sympathized with her.
Without my uncle, she must have been devastated.
She had never been one for politics or ruling but was rather a trophy on the sultan’s arm and quite content as that.
“Madar,” Farani called, forgoing courtesy titles. “I have returned and brought guests.”
The malikeh weakly raised her head, revealing bloodshot eyes that widened when they fell on the princes. She shot up, screaming, “Murderers! Get them out, get them out!”
After her impassioned command, she collapsed in a heap of golden skirts.
Servants rushed forth, collecting her and carrying her from the room.
Farani’s brow creased with worry and she followed them out, leaving us alone in sudden silence.
Bahir walked around the throne room, taking in every inch.
Dayyan stood in the center of the room, unmoving.
Before anyone could strike a conversation, Farani returned.
Her eyes were red and she sniffed. I moved toward her, worry building.
“Madar’s hysterical episodes are a common occurrence, I fear,” she said in a low tone. “The healers say she doesn’t have long.”
I touched her arm. “I am sorry, Farani.”
She nodded with a sad smile and then addressed the others. “Well then, let us move to the council room. We have much to discuss.”
We were soon situated around a ruby-red round table. Advisers filed in, and I recognized familiar faces.
“I have decided to propose an arrangement,” Farani started.
Bahir sat straighter. “What do you mean?”
“Between the North and South. A peace of sorts. We keep our land, and you keep yours.”
“There is no chance of us losing ours anyway,” Bahir said. “You will lead us to the roots. There is nothing further to be discussed. You cannot drag us on a merry chase and attempt to trick us.”
“This is no trick,” Farani responded, her tone even and eyes level with his. “I will show you the location of the roots, and we will share them equally. The same way we will the land. A thorough split once again.”
Bahir scoffed. “You are telling me to return a portion of the land to you? That dream will never be realized.”
“Bahir,” Dayyan said, silencing him. “Let her speak.”
I glanced at Dayyan, surprised he was willing to listen. He motioned for Farani to continue.
“Thank you, Shahzadeh Dayyan. What I propose is an end to this bloodbath.”
The door opened and my heart nearly stopped.
A large man filled the doorway. His features—ones burned into my memories and every nightmare—sank into view.
My tormenter, the man I despised more than anyone.
General Samir Murdar. The urge to cower coursed through me.
I exhaled, a weak attempt to control my erratic breathing.
“General Samir is a man I trust entirely. He supports my suggestion.”
The princes eyed him, and then Bahir said, “This is the man we allowed to scurry home after our victory.”
The general stiffened and strode toward the table. My breathing grew more fragmented. I could feel the blood pumping in my veins.
“Yildiz?” Eskender leaned toward me from his seat. “Are you all right?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, but even then, I could see him . . .
I stood up, my chair screeching back. All eyes fell on me, but I couldn’t meet any of them.
Eskender half stood, but my hand shot out, stilling him.
I rushed from the room without a backward glance and stepped onto the first balcony I encountered.
I bit back bile and leaned over the railing, taking in the desert wind.
A hand wrapped around my arm and wrenched me back. I smacked against a solid chest.
Dayyan stared down at me, eyes wide with . . . fear?
“You nearly fell.”
I followed his gaze to the railing and the city far, far below. The tiled grounds would be certain death to any who stumbled over the railing. Calloused fingers tugged my chin until I faced him. Sparks lit in his eyes.
“You are crying.”
The salty tears burning my cheeks gave me away. My shaking had yet to subside.
“What happened?” he demanded.
He persisted in asking me for the cause, the reason, the person behind my tears, but I couldn’t answer him. I feared if I told him the truth, the slight chance of peace proposed by Farani would evaporate. Dayyan would kill Samir. Of that, I had no doubt.
“Yildiz?”
“Just hold me,” I whispered.
He froze for only a moment before he reached out and tugged me into his arms, enfolding me in his warm embrace. I tucked my head beneath his chin and my lids shuttered closed. For an endless moment, I was safe. Cocooned in the arms of the man I loved.
Loved.
The word terrified me, even if only in my thoughts. He could never truly be mine as long as he was a slave to his father’s whim. Nevertheless, I held on, clutched him tighter, allowed that hope to live a little longer.
“Bahir is against the shahdokht’s suggestion. But I convinced him to think it over. We will decide in the morning.”
I nodded against him, listening to his heart beating and the comforting timbre of his voice. Time faded, leaving only warm feelings and the feathery touch of his breath. Until his hold slackened and he pulled away.
“I cannot,” he said, swallowing. His eyes were flecked with distress. “Do not ask this of me.” He couldn’t meet my questioning gaze as he uttered, “Being near you. It’s killing me.”
His words sank in, and the coldness plunged through me like a spear. “I was not aware my presence was so torturous.”
Regret pooled over his features.
“You do not need to explain how repulsed you feel,” I said, backing away. “It’s clear enough.”
“You will be my end, hamsaram.” His firm hand wrapped around my waist and yanked me toward him. And to my utter shock, the eldest son of the shah, Shahzadeh Dayyan, prince of death, kissed me.