The Wrath and the Dawn(95)
Again, she returned to nothing.
Yet there, in the warmth of his eyes, was everything.
“Then give me this.” Shahrzad stood on her toes and brought her mouth to his. When he did not respond, she curved her tongue against his lower lip, and his hands drew across her waist in a slow burn. She thought he would push her away, but he dragged her against him. Khalid kissed her, melding nothing to everything. Shahrzad wrapped both arms around his neck, and he backed her into the ebony door until she was braced up against it, each of their breaths matched, measure for measure, beat for beat.
“Khalid.” She gripped his shoulders as his lips brushed the delicate skin beneath her chin. Her heart was pounding so loud that she did not at first recognize the noise at the door.
“Sayyidi.”
“Khalid,” she repeated, catching his wrists.
He swore softly. Then he reached for the bronze handle.
“Yes.” His reply was low and irascible.
The guard bowed through the crack in the door.
“The shahrban wishes to speak with you. Captain al-Khoury may have determined how the intruders gained entry into the palace.”
Khalid nodded curtly as he shut the door. He ran his palm along the side of his jaw before turning to Shahrzad once more.
She was leaning against the ebony with her hands clasped behind her back.
“Go,” she said softly.
He paused in thoughtful scrutiny. “I—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay here.”
“Thank you.” As he reached for the handle again, he lingered and smiled to himself.
Her brows drew together. “What is it?”
“It’s a fitting punishment for a monster. To want something so much—to hold it in your arms—and know beyond a doubt you will never deserve it.” Khalid pulled open the door and stepped over the threshold without waiting for a response.
Shahrzad slid to the floor. The hands that had appeared steady against him now shook before her face. Proof that she was being equally punished for her own transgressions. Punished for desiring a monster.
She offered silent thanks to the stars that dealt in fate—for her monster did not seem to know how all reason had left her for the space of a breath.
How the guilt crashed down around her.
And how the questions burdened her soul.
“Someone who knows.”
A SHADE OF WHAT I FEEL
SHAHRZAD REMAINED IN THE WASTELAND OF HER thoughts, studying the prisms of light from the lamp of latticed gold. When she could no longer feel any sensation in the soles of her feet, she rose to a standing position. Her eyes wandered around the room, taking in her surroundings with the careful study of a predator to its prey.
The floor was constructed of black onyx, and the walls were hewn from the same smooth alabaster as the corridor leading to the entrance of the antechamber. All the furniture was built of ebony, crafted in harsh lines. Every surface was stark and unobstructed. The bed lacked the bold surfeit of cushions Shahrzad had grown accustomed to in her own bed—that familiar, lush vibrancy, yearning to be lounged upon.
Like its occupant, the room appeared cold and uninviting—unlikely to offer the slightest hint of clarity.
This chamber is like a prison, once removed.
She sighed to herself, and the sound susurrated back at her from the heights of the vaulted ceiling. Shahrzad paced around the perimeter of the room, her bare footsteps leaving imprints on the shining black onyx. Then, like a whisper of a suggestion, they vanished without a trace.
The single lamp in the chamber’s center looked eerie and forlorn. It failed to provide enough light, rendering its flickering shadows more baleful than beautiful against the cool white alabaster.
It was a sad place to call a refuge, with just as unyielding an aspect as its master.
The more Shahrzad gazed at the chamber, the more she realized, and the less she understood. Everything had a specific place in this room—a designated order to its existence. The only things out of place were she and the bloodstained strips of linen at the edge of the platformed bed. Any evidence of life—or lingering emotions—did not belong.
Shahrzad strode to the bed and discarded the bloodied linen. Then she gathered the unused strips, along with the small container of salve Khalid had removed from the ebony chest upon their arrival. Its immense cabinet door was still ajar. Shahrzad walked toward it with the clean linen and the tub of salve in her arms. She tugged on one of the bronze rings and peered inside. As with the room, its shelves were meticulous in their construction and organization. Two were lined with books in descending height order, and another was stacked with scrolls bound by wax seals. A shelf at eye level contained an assortment of jars in various shapes and sizes. The empty space for the container of salve was evident, and Shahrzad replaced it, along with the strips of unused linen, in their clearly demarcated positions.