The Wrath and the Dawn(33)

Yes, I do.

Shahrzad did not want to talk to Despina. She wanted her sister’s soothing voice and her father’s volume of poetry. She wanted Shiva’s bright smile and infectious laugh.

She wanted her own bed and a night when she could sleep without the fear of dawn.

And she wanted Tariq. She wanted to fall into his arms and feel the laughter rumble in his chest when she said something very wrong that sounded exactly right. Perhaps it was weakness, but she needed someone to take the weight off her shoulders for a moment. To ease the burden, as Tariq had done the day her mother died, when he’d found her sitting alone in the rose garden behind her house, crying.

That day, he’d held both her hands in his and said nothing. Just drawn her pain away, with the simple strength of his touch.

Tariq could do that again. He would gladly do that.

For her.

Despina was a stranger. A stranger she couldn’t trust in a world that just tried to kill her.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Despina.”

Despina nodded slowly and dragged the comb through Shahrzad’s hair. The tension against her neck hurt, but Shahrzad said nothing.

There was a knock at the door.

“May I open it?” Despina asked.

Shahrzad raised an indifferent shoulder, and Despina placed the comb in Shahrzad’s lap before she made her way to the double doors.

What can they do to me now?

When she looked past the threshold, her heart crashed into her stomach.

The Caliph of Khorasan shadowed her doorway.

Without a word, Despina exited the room, pulling the doors shut behind her.

Shahrzad stayed at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the comb in her lap, staring down her king.

As he drew closer, she saw the mark across his face where she’d struck him. It colored his skin a deeper bronze, with a tinge of purple at his jawbone. His eyes were drawn and tired, as though he had not slept in a long while. The knuckles along his right fist were red and raw.

He returned her scrutiny, taking in the bruises at her neck, the hollows beneath her eyes, and the wary posture of her spine.

“How is your arm?” His voice was even and characteristically low.

“It hurts.”

“A great deal?”

“I’m sure it won’t kill me.”

It was a pointed jab, and Shahrzad saw it strike a chord, his careful composure falling for an instant. He strode to the foot of the bed and sat beside her. She shifted uncomfortably at his proximity.

“Shahrzad—”

“What do you want?”

He paused. “To make amends for what I’ve done.”

Shahrzad expelled a caustic breath and looked him in the eye.

“You will never be able to make amends for what you’ve done.”

He studied her. “That may be the first truly honest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

She laughed bitterly. “I told you, you aren’t that gifted at reading people. I may have lied once or twice in my day, but I have never lied to you.”

It was the truth.

His chest rose and fell in steady consideration. Then he reached up and brushed aside her hair. With great care, he touched the slender column of her throat.

Unnerved by the obvious concern on his face, Shahrzad drew back.

“That hurts, too.” She pushed his hands away.

Flustered, she snatched the comb from her lap so she could finish untangling her hair— And grimaced with pain.

Her arm.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

“No. I do not.”

He sighed. “I—”

“If I need help, I’ll wait for Despina. In any case, I do not need your help.” When she moved to stand, he caught her waist and pulled her back against him.

“Please, Shahrzad.” He spoke into her still-damp hair. “Let me make amends.”

The hammering in her chest grew as he wrapped his other arm around her, holding her close.

Don’t.

“There are no excuses for what happened this morning. I want you to—”

“Where were you?” Shahrzad tried to control the tremor in her voice.

“Not where I should have been.”

“This morning and last night.”

His breath fanned on her skin as he bent toward her ear. “This morning, I was not where I should have been. Last night, I was not where I wanted to be.”