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Her strides lengthened as she twisted her hair over one shoulder. She had not even bothered to change out of her clothes from earlier that day. Her mantle was strewn across the floor in a pile of discarded damask. The emerald sirwal trowsers and fitted top were not as comfortable as her nightclothes and shamla, but she could not be bothered with such things right now. Shahrzad yanked the band of brilliant green stones from her brow and heaved it across the room. Strands of hair tugged free along with the gems, and she swore a pained oath at her own stupidity before collapsing to the marble in a heap of irate misery.
Why did he treat me like that? He didn’t have to hurt me.
I—didn’t mean to hurt him.
All day, she had hidden these thoughts from Despina. Concealed these worries from the world. But now, alone in the desolate greys of her bedchamber, she could no longer hide these things from herself. Beyond the concerns she had for the way he had scorned her so coldly in front of everyone was the nagging truth he had done so because he felt betrayed. Because he felt wounded by her actions from the night before.
And she did not know how to fix it and return to his good graces.
She had tried today. Shahrzad had wanted to apologize. Had wanted to tell him she had not meant to take advantage of the situation. How, in hindsight, it appeared worse than she intended.
He must have thought she was in control.
Shahrzad laughed to herself bitterly as she leaned her forehead against the green silk on her knee.
Control?
The mere thought was ludicrous. How could he not know as much? And now he was punishing her for it. Like an angry boy denied access to a plaything.
How dare he?
In front of Despina. In front of Jalal. He had embarrassed her.
Treated her as though she were nothing.
As though she merited a silk cord at sunrise.
Her throat tightened in memory.
Shiva.
“How dare you!” she cried out to the darkness.
Two could play at this game. She, too, could rage at him like a small child deprived of sweets. And then, maybe, she would not feel quite as miserable and alone as she had all day. As broken.
As lost to him as she was.
Shahrzad pushed to her feet and adjusted the thin chain of gold around her waist. Dangling from its center was a series of emeralds and diamonds that matched the necklace at her throat and the bangles on her left wrist. She shook out her hair and made her way to the low table in the corner.
She lifted the lid from the tray and began eating some jewel rice and saffron chicken. In between bites of fresh herbs and cool yogurt, she drank tea and nibbled on pistachio cakes sweetened with honey. Everything was cold, and she chewed from habit rather than enjoyment, but she knew she would regret it later if she went to bed hungry as well as angry.
Halfway through her halfhearted meal, the doors to her chambers opened.
Shahrzad paused but did not turn around. Instead, she resumed eating. She poured herself another cup of lukewarm tea with the steady hand of feigned indifference.
Again, she felt his presence behind her. The same shift in the wind.
The same maddening glory.
Shahrzad tore into a piece of flatbread with vicious precision.
“Shahrzad?”
She ignored him, despite her heart’s sudden clamoring.
Khalid strode to the other side of the table and sat down on the cushions with soundless grace.
Still, Shahrzad did not look up from her tray. She was tearing the piece of flatbread into tiny bits she proceeded to pile in a heap before her.
“Shazi.”
“Don’t.”
He remained still, awaiting clarification.
“Don’t pretend with me.”
“I’m not pretending,” Khalid said quietly.
Shahrzad threw down the rest of the flatbread and met his gaze with stinging circumspection. His eyes were ringed in deep lines of fatigue. His jaw was set, and his posture was rigid.
He doesn’t look sorry for hurting me.
Something knifed in Shahrzad’s chest, behind her heart.
But he will be.
“Shahrzad—”
“You once lamented the fact that the characters in my stories place so much value on love.”
Khalid returned her penetrating stare in silence.
“Why is that?” she continued. “What is your aversion to the sentiment?”
His eyes flicked across her face before responding. “It’s not an aversion. It’s merely an observation. That word is used too often for my taste. So I attribute it to things, rather than to people.”
“Excuse me?”
Khalid exhaled carefully. “People fall in and out of love with the rising and setting of the sun. Rather like a boy who loves the color green one day, only to discover on the morrow that he truly prefers blue.”
Shahrzad laughed, and the sound was lemon to her wound. “So you intend to go through life never loving anyone? Just . . . things?”
“No. I’m looking for something more.”
“More than love?”
“Yes.”
“Is it not arrogant to think you deserve more, Khalid Ibn al-Rashid?”
“Is it so arrogant to want something that doesn’t change with the wind? That doesn’t crumble at the first sign of adversity?”
“You want something that doesn’t exist. A figment of your imagination.”
“No. I want someone who sees beneath the surface—someone who completes the balance. An equal.”
“And how will you know when you’ve found this elusive someone?” Shahrzad retorted.
“I suspect she will be like air. Like knowing how to breathe.” He regarded her with the stillness of a hawk as he said these words, and Shahrzad’s throat went dry.
“Poetry,” she whispered. “Not reality.”
“My mother used to say that a man who can’t appreciate poetry lacks a soul.”
“In that respect, I’m inclined to agree.”
“She was referring to my father,” he intoned drily. “A soulless man, if ever there was one. I’m told I resemble him greatly.”
Shahrzad studied the tiny mountain of bread before her.
I will not feel sorry for you. You do not deserve my pity.
Guarding herself against a rising tide of emotion, she looked up again, resolute in her next course of action. “I—”
“I hurt you today.” He spoke softly, in a voice of soothing water over scorched steel.
“It doesn’t matter.” Her cheeks flushed.
“It matters to me.”
Shahrzad exhaled in a huff of derision. “Then you shouldn’t have done it.”
“Yes.”
Shahrzad stared at the cut-glass angles of his profile. Even now, his handsome face gave no hint that her pain affected him in any way.
The boy of ice and stone . . .
Who dashed her heart against a jagged shore, only to walk away without so much as a glance.
I will not let him win. For Shiva’s sake.
For my sake.
I will learn the truth. Even if I have to destroy him to get it.
“Are you done?” she asked under her breath.
He paused. “Yes.”
“I have a story for you.”
“A new one?”
She nodded. “Would you like to hear it?”
Khalid inhaled cautiously and then leaned an elbow onto the cushions.
Shahrzad took another sip of cardamom tea and eased back against the pile of vibrant silk on her side.
“There was once a young girl named Tala. She was the daughter of a wealthy man who lost everything in a slew of poor business decisions, followed by the tragic death of a most-beloved wife. Mired in his grief, Tala’s father found solace in music and art and could often be found whiling away the hours with a paintbrush in one hand and his favorite santur in the other.”
Shahrzad brushed a curl of black hair off her face.
“At first, Tala tried to understand his need to distract himself from the heartbreak of his losses, but it became increasingly difficult to ignore what it all meant for their family. What it meant for Tala. Because, even though she loved her father dearly and believed in his goodness with every fiber of her being, she knew that he could not provide for them. That she could not trust him to sustain a life for Tala and her little brother.”