The Wrath and the Dawn(103)
She opened her eyes.
He rested his brow against hers. “Just one boy and one girl.”
Shahrzad forced a pained smile. “If that is the case, there is little else I would ask of heaven.”
Khalid pulled her back against the cushion and wrapped his arms around her. She pressed her cheek to his chest.
And they held each other in stillness until a silver dawn broke across the horizon.
OBLIVION
KHALID STUDIED THE PLANS LAID OUT ON THE DESK before him.
The new system of aqueducts directing freshwater from a nearby lake into the city’s underground cisterns would be a costly, time-consuming endeavor. His advisors had counseled against such an undertaking for these and a slew of other reasons.
Understandable.
As they were not concerned about an impending drought.
Khalid ran his hand across the parchment, scanning the carefully wrought lines and meticulous lettering of Rey’s brightest scholars and engineers.
Such great minds at his disposal. Such vast intelligence at his fingertips.
He was the Caliph of Khorasan. The supposed King of Kings. He commanded a renowned force of soldiers and, for twelve years, he’d trained with some of the best warriors in the kingdom. Twelve years spent honing his craft to become one of the finest swordsmen in Rey. Many considered him a sound strategist as well.
Yet, with all these seeming attributes, he was still powerless to protect what mattered— His people.
His queen.
He could not reconcile the two. Not without a sacrifice beyond the scope of consideration.
Khalid reflected on the consequences of such selfish behavior. How his unwillingness to consider the life of one girl against so many others would be construed. Would be judged.
Many young girls had already given their lives to this curse. Had died because of Khalid’s failure to notice the profound suffering in his first wife. His failure to care.
What right had he to decide whose life was more valuable? Who was he, after all?
A boy-king of eighteen. A cold, unfeeling bastard.
A monster.
He closed his eyes. His hands curled into fists above the parchment.
He would not let the whims of one grief-stricken lunatic dictate his actions any longer.
He would decide. Even if it was abominably selfish. Even if he was judged and punished for it, into eternity.
He would never be a man who failed to care again. He would fight to protect what mattered to him, at all cost.
Save the one thing that mattered most.
Khalid signed the decree to begin construction on the new system of aqueducts. He set it aside and proceeded to the next order of business. As he reviewed the document, the doors to the alcove swung open without a word of warning, and his cousin burst through the entrance.
Khalid’s eyebrows rose at this brash display. When his uncle followed a moment later, wearing an expression even more grim than usual, Khalid inhaled and leaned back against the cushions.
The look on Jalal’s face was . . . unsettling.
“I assume this is important.” Khalid focused his attention on his cousin.
When Jalal said nothing, Khalid sat up.
“Sayyidi—” his uncle began.
“There must be an explanation.” Jalal’s voice faltered as his knuckles clenched white around the battered scroll in his left palm.
“Jalal-jan—”
“Please, Father,” Jalal rasped over his shoulder. “Let me speak!”
Khalid stood up. “What are you talking about?”
“Promise me you’ll give her a chance to explain. I’ve never known you to break your word. Promise me.”
“Give him the report.” His uncle edged closer to Jalal with a weary, yet determined set to his jaw.
“Not until he promises.” Jalal’s insistence bordered on manic.
Khalid strode from behind his desk, his posture rigid. “I am not promising anything until you tell me what this is about.”
Jalal hesitated.
“Captain al-Khoury?”
“Shazi . . . and that boy.” It was a broken whisper.
An icy fist wrapped around Khalid’s throat. Yet he reached out a steady hand. “Give me the report.”
“Promise me, Khalid.”
“I’m not certain why you think I owe you a promise on her behalf.” His voice was unwavering, despite the chilling vise.
“Then promise her.”