The Wrath and the Dawn(74)

Shahrzad glanced back at him with a wavering smile.

“If it pleases our esteemed guests . . .” a sonorous voice echoed from above.

Every head in the room swiveled their way.

“The Caliph of Khorasan, Khalid Ibn al-Rashid . . . and the Calipha of Khorasan, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran.”

All eyes turned toward her, bodies twisting, necks craning for a better vantage point. From the edge of her gaze, she finally saw a pair of silver eyes flash to her face, glide over her resplendent form . . . then back to her hand, still interwoven in Khalid’s steady warmth.

Then the silver eyes vanished into the crowd.

Leaving behind panic.

Please. Not here. Do nothing. Say nothing.

She briefly recalled the skirmish in the souk a few weeks ago.

The drunken men with their piecemeal arms . . .

And the cloaked caliph with his deadly shamshir.

If you threaten Khalid, he’ll kill you, Tariq. Without a second thought.

Khalid strode onto the dais and took his place before the center stretch of tables. Shahrzad released his palm and sat to his right, her mind a jumbled mass of thoughts.

I can’t look for Tariq. I can’t do anything. It will only make matters worse.

What could he be planning?

“Is this seat available?” Jalal grinned down at Shahrzad.

She looked up, blinking hard. “That depends. Is it for you?”

He sat down next to her.

“I did not give you per—”

“Good evening, sayyidi,” Jalal said in a loud tone.

Shahrzad wrinkled her nose at Jalal.

“Don’t do that, my lady. You ruin your face when you do that,” he teased.

“Good evening, Jalal. And I disagree,” Khalid retorted under his breath.

Jalal laughed heartily. “My apologies, then. If you would permit me this indulgence in its place, sayyidi: I do believe every man here is currently reassessing his notion of beauty.”

Despina was right. He is such a consummate flirt.

“Stop it.” Shahrzad flushed, glaring at Jalal’s arrogant mien.

“Now, that . . . ruins nothing,” Jalal said.

“At last, we agree on something.” Khalid spoke to Jalal, though his eyes lingered on Shahrzad.

And Jalal leaned back into the cushions with a satisfied smile, his hands laced across his stomach.

“If it pleases our esteemed guests . . .” the announcer intoned once more.

Again, all heads turned to the set of open-armed staircases.

“The Sultan of Parthia, Salim Ali el-Sharif.”

When Jalal rose to his feet with a grumbled oath, Shahrzad placed her palms on the dais to follow suit.

But Khalid immediately reached his hand out to stop her.

Shahrzad met his gaze, and he shook his head very slightly, his eyes narrowing at the edges. His thumb trailed along the underside of her forearm, and the knot in her stomach pulled tight. Then he let go, his features blank once more.

As the sea of faces parted before them, Shahrzad took her first glimpse of the man who wished to lord over Khalid with accusations of illegitimacy. The uncle who had treated Khalid’s mother with such disdain.

The sultan who would do anything for the chance to gain a kingdom.

Salim Ali el-Sharif was an attractive man with a strong jaw, nicely greying hair, and a meticulous mustache. He was trim and appeared in good health, with a deceptively warm set of dark brown eyes. His charcoal-colored mantle was exquisitely embroidered at its collar and hem, and the scimitar at his hip had a burnished hilt of solid gold with an emerald the size of a child’s fist embedded in its base.

He strode onto the dais with the confidence of a man absent worry and took a seat in the empty space by Khalid.

At Salim’s arrival, the rest of the guests began filtering to the tables. Shahrzad finally dared to run her eyes across the room and was distressed to discover that Tariq was seated quite close, well within earshot. When their glances met, his handsome face eased into perilous familiarity—awash in the memory of stolen embraces—and Shahrzad immediately looked away.

Stop it! Please don’t do this, Tariq. If Khalid sees you looking at me . . . you don’t understand.

He notices everything.

And you are risking your life.

“Khalid-jan!” the Sultan of Parthia began in a spuriously pleasant voice, putting his wolfish white teeth on full display. “Are you not going to introduce me to your new wife?”