The Wrath and the Dawn(108)

“I . . . don’t know.” For the first time, the proud, haughty set to Despina’s posture faltered. Her shoulders sagged, and she moved to the foot of Shahrzad’s bed to lean against the platform. Without a word, Shahrzad sat down on the white marble beside her.

“Anyway, he can’t marry me,” Despina said in a soft, defeated tone. “I’m—a handmaiden. He’s the cousin of the caliph. One day, he will become the next shahrban. His father married a princess of Khorasan. He has to marry someone from a good family. Not a handmaiden from Thebes.”

“Even if he loves her?”

Despina closed her cerulean eyes. “Even if he loves her.”

“I think that’s absurd. Have you discussed it with him?”

She shook her head. “He thinks I don’t love him. I’ve said as much.”

“Despina!” Shahrzad glared at her handmaiden.

“It’s easier that way. If he believes this is just a passing fancy, it will be far simpler for us both to carry on with our lives after the fact.”

“Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you lie to him?”

“I believe when you truly love someone, you want what’s best for that person.”

“I find that not only absurd, but arrogant, as well.”

“And I find that amusing, coming from someone as arrogant as you.”

“I’m arrogant?” Shahrzad sputtered. “I’m not the one assuming to know what’s best for a grown man without consulting him first.”

Despina smiled sadly.

Shahrzad nudged Despina’s shoulder with her own. “I understand how difficult it is, putting your heart in someone else’s hands. But, if you don’t, how will you ever truly know a person?”

Despina drew her knees to her chest. “His father will despise me. Everyone will think I trapped him into marriage. That I’m a scheming whore.”

“I will personally beat senseless the first person to speak ill of you.”

Despina arched a dubious brow.

“Don’t sneer at me. I may be small, but, when pushed, I can strike out with a surprising amount of force.” Shahrzad sniffed. “If you don’t believe me, ask Jalal.”

“You struck Jalal?” Despina frowned.

Shahrzad shook her head, a smile playing at the edges of her lips.

“Khalid.”

“What?” Despina gasped. “You . . . struck the caliph?”

“Across the face.”

Despina’s hand shot to her mouth, and a bubble of laughter burst from her lips.

The two girls remained seated on the floor talking and laughing until a knock at the entrance brought them to their feet. The double doors swung open, and Khalid walked across the threshold with Jalal at his side. A contingent of guards remained in the hall. The shahrban waited patiently amongst them.

As always, Khalid moved with an air of imperious grace. His dark rida’ was fastened over an elaborate silver and gold cuirass. The hilt of his shamshir was looped through a black tikka sash slung across his narrow hips. He looked menacing and unapproachable—a thousand years, a thousand lives, a thousand tales away.

But Shahrzad knew better.

She met him in the center of the chamber.

His eyes were warm. Her heart soared at the sight.

Despina bowed to Khalid and proceeded without pause toward her small room by the entrance . . . where Jalal stood against the wall, the portrait of casual ease.

It was a vain attempt at indifference, on both their parts.

For Shahrzad bore silent witness to the truth. It was only for an instant, and they never glanced at each other. Yet, she wondered how anyone could miss it—the subtle shift in Jalal’s shoulders, and the telltale tilt to Despina’s head.

Shahrzad smiled knowingly.

Khalid waited until the door leading to Despina’s chamber sealed shut.

“Did you sleep well?” His low voice brought to mind memories of whispered words in the dark.

“I did.”

“I’m glad.”

“Thank you for the gifts. They were perfect.”

“Then they were fitting.”

She quirked a slender brow at him, and a corner of his mouth rose.

“I have something else for you,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Give me your hand.”

“Does it matter which one?”