The Wrath and the Dawn(93)

“What?” Shahrzad asked Jalal.

“The Fida’is. Hired mercenaries. Assassins.”

Shahrzad inhaled sharply, the questions massing at the top of her throat.

Jalal peered at her neck. “My God. You’re bleeding.” He shoved aside her hair.

Before she had a chance to react, she was lifted off her feet. Khalid dismissed her protests as he carried her away from the carnage, with Jalal and the Rajput following close behind. When they crossed the threshold, the lifeless bodies of the two Royal Guards positioned outside her door stared up at her with glassy eyes. Their throats were slashed to gaping maws. She stifled a gasp.

“They’re all dead,” Khalid said without looking at her. “Every guard in this corridor is dead.”

She tensed her grip around his neck as he continued down the hall. Once they rounded the corner, soldiers burst through the doors, led by General al-Khoury.

“Is she hurt?” the shahrban demanded in an urgent voice.

“I’m fine,” she replied, momentarily taken aback by his concern. “Really, I am.”

“She’s wounded,” Jalal clarified.

“It’s not bad,” Shahrzad countered. “Put me down. I can walk.”

Khalid ignored her.

“I can walk, Khalid.”

Again, he refused to look at her, much less respond.

They moved down the hallways with guards lighting their path, encircling them in a gleaming bastion of steel and torchfire. Deciding to cede this particular battle, Shahrzad leaned against Khalid, closing her eyes to the glare for an instant, and his hold on her tightened.

They turned down another, smaller corridor Shahrzad had never seen before. It was lined in stone with an arched ceiling of smooth alabaster. Soon they halted before a set of double doors made of polished ebony, hinged in bronze and iron.

“Guards are to stand post here and at the doors leading to my chamber until further notice,” Khalid commanded. “Be advised—if there is the slightest breach at either entrance, you will answer to me.”

A guard nodded briskly before pulling on one of the bronze handles. Khalid walked through the huge, ebony doorway with Shahrzad in his arms. He did not put her down. Instead, he crossed a pitch-black antechamber to another set of doors identical to the first. Once they passed this threshold, they entered a vast room with a vaulted ceiling lit in its center by a single lamp of latticed gold. Khalid set Shahrzad on the edge of a platformed bed covered in dull silk. Then he strode to an immense ebony cabinet positioned against the back wall, where he removed strips of spun linen and a small, round container before collecting a pitcher from atop his desk.

He knelt before Shahrzad and brushed her hair over her shoulder to look at the wound.

“I told you,” Shahrzad said. “It’s not bad. It can’t be much worse than a scratch.”

Khalid poured water from the pitcher onto a strip of linen. He lifted it to her neck and began cleaning the wound.

Shahrzad studied his face as he worked. The dark circles beneath his eyes were even more pronounced now. Lines of dried blood ran across his cheek and brow, marring his sun-bronzed skin. His features were set on edge, and he refused to meet her gaze. The angles of his profile remained obdurate. Unyielding. Like the edges of a rumpled scroll, demanding to be smoothed . . . or cast aside, once and for all.

When he dampened another piece of linen, Shahrzad placed her hand over his and removed the cloth from his grasp. She raised the strip to his face and wiped at the dark blood of his enemy.

Khalid’s tiger-eyes finally fell to hers. They roved across her in poignant silence as she washed away the remnants of death with steady, graceful fingers. Then he leaned forward, pressing his brow to hers, catching her hands in his. Stilling them both.

“I want to send you away. To a place where none of this can touch you,” he began.

Her heart shuddered, and she pulled back. “Send me away? As if I were a thing?”

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?”

“I meant that I cannot keep you safe. From anything.”

“And your answer to that is to send me away?” Shahrzad repeated in a dangerous whisper.

“My answer is not an answer. It is a willingness to do whatever it takes—even something as distasteful as sending you from my side.”

“And you expect me to obey? To go wherever you command?”

“I expect you to trust me.”