The Forbidden Wish(45)

“I don’t see her,” says Aladdin. “Is she coming? What if she—”

“Sh. Look.”

At the far end of the throne room, atop a high double stair carved with winged men and horses, is a tall door of rich teak. It opens slowly, drawn by four servants, to reveal Caspida and her girls, who float into the hall. The princess wears a gown of pure, pale gold lined with crimson. Her hair, bound up in an elaborate swirl, is encased in a fine net of delicate gold chains, each dripping with tiny diamonds. Her hair is the night speckled with stars, but none brighter than her eyes, which sweep across the room. Across the backs of her hands, delicate red patterns worked in henna swirl and curl like smoke.

The court lets out an appreciative sigh, pausing to bow toward her. She descends the stair smoothly, her girls flanking her. Above them, Darian appears in the doorway, dressed in a tight red coat, topped with a gold turban. He waves regally before descending, his head high and his lips peeled back in a smile.

I lean over and nudge a poleaxed Aladdin, whose eyes are trained on the princess. “Hurry. Go ask her to dance before anyone else does!”

He nods dazedly and steps forward. I release a short breath, forcing myself to let him go alone. He is on his own now, and I can only hope he won’t make an utter fool of himself. Now if I can make my way to an exit, I can get back to searching for Zhian. The seconds slip away faster than ever, and my stomach twists with worry.

I turn around and nearly smack into a skinny noble with a thin mustache and bad breath.

“Will you dance with me, lady?” he asks. Then, leaning in, he whispers, “You can’t say no! Not tonight.”

I am trapped between him and one of the tall pillars, and I wince as his breath assaults me. He grabs my wrist tightly and tries to pull me toward the dance floor, when suddenly a hand closes on his arm and wrenches it away.

“The lady already promised me the next round,” says a voice.

I turn to see who has come thinking to rescue me—and freeze.

Darian’s smile is small and tight. He bows, but the gesture is mocking, his eyes brazenly studying my form through the gown.

“We haven’t met,” he says. “I am Prince Darian.”

The skinny man mumbles an apology and disappears. I start to turn away, but Darian smoothly steps in front of me, putting his wrist to mine and turning me into the dance. The crowd around us parts, giving us space to turn. I flush with annoyance. The gods are conspiring against me tonight.

“Your Highness, I am—”

“I know who you are,” says Darian. “You’re Zahra, Rahzad’s girl.” He turns sharply, and I mirror him, watching him from the corner of my eye.

“You’re very bold for a prince,” I tell him, whirling and meeting his wrist.

“You’re very pretty for a serving girl.”

I spot Aladdin then, not far away, settling into a dance with Caspida. He’s babbling at her, smiling too widely, and she’s more interested in watching Darian and me. Our gazes cross, and in her eyes is burning curiosity, but then we both turn away.

“What’s your master’s game, then?” Darian asks in a low tone.

We circle one another, wrists pressed together, his pulse racing with anger. He has seen Aladdin and Caspida dancing, and rage burns beneath his cool exterior.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my lord. I am just a servant.”

“Liar. You’re more than that. Caspida’s taken an interest in you, and you meet my eye without looking down. Frankly I don’t care who or what you really are—what I want to know is where your master gets off thinking he can cross me.”

I suppress a wince. I always was bad at passing myself off as a servant. Too impressed with yourself for your own good is what you often said, Habiba.

“How could he possibly threaten you?” I ask Darian.

“He doesn’t. He annoys me.”

“It’s a particular habit of his.” The music quickens and our steps match it, until we are whirling and turning at a dizzying speed.

Darian ceases talking to concentrate on the dance, but when the music slows again he says, “Caspida and I have been betrothed since birth. She loves me.”

“How could she not?” I drift closer to him, my skirts brushing his legs as we circle one another, then switch wrists. “You’re handsome and powerful. You’re what every little princess dreams of.”

His hand traces my waist and hip, hovering but not touching. “And what do little serving girls dream of?” he whispers.

With a smile I spin away from him, arms held in front of me, giving my skirts room to flare as I twirl. Then, before he can catch me, I slip into the crowd and leave him standing alone.

Caspida and Aladdin are still dancing, their steps stiff and formal, and Aladdin’s attempts to get her to laugh seem to be in vain. When he spies me watching, his eyebrows raise in a plea for help. I shrug and smile. Wish for it, thief, and I could make her beg for your love.

The diamonds in her hair reflect tiny pinpoints of light across his face, making him look bewitched. They are a beautiful pair, like lovers out of a story, brought together by destiny. I sigh and start to move away, but a voice stops me.

“You look like you swallowed a lemon.”

I turn to see Nessa at my side. She’s dressed in a two-piece gown of crimson that exposes her muscular stomach and the small gold ring piercing her navel. Her dreadlocks are worked into a braided knot on top of her head, their silver tips fanning out like a crown. I prickle with wariness at the sight of her, but she doesn’t seem to have brought her flute. A book of bound parchment is tucked under her arm.