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Of course, the girl began to dance.
She moved like a snake, writhing across the black and white stones to the rising strains of the music. The curves of her body seemed inspired by the moon itself. Her hands and hips beckoned, beseeched . . . befuddled. She twisted and swayed in a ma
Altogether unfair.
As the girl made her mesmeric way to the center of the tables, Shahrzad tensed in awareness.
She’s—dancing for Khalid.
It was obvious. The girl’s eyes were locked on the Caliph of Khorasan, her dark irises a host of the forbidden. With each slow spin, her rich mane of hair coiled about her shoulders, and the gems at her stomach flashed in wild abandon.
When she smiled at Khalid as though they shared a lifetime of secrets, an ugly series of images flickered through Shahrzad’s mind—most of them begi
How could I be so childish? She’s just dancing.
It doesn’t matter. None of this matters.
Shahrzad took a deep breath and averted her gaze. When Jalal started to laugh, she glowered at him, the heat rising in her neck.
The brazen girl ended the dance a stone’s throw from the dais, her hands positioned above her head and her endless curls thrown into an alluring mass over one shoulder.
Wonderful. Now go home.
Instead, the girl sashayed toward them, her slender hips continuing to sway, even without music. She stopped right in front of Shahrzad.
Then she gri
“Hello, Khalid,” she said in a voice of silken sin.
Khalid exhaled carefully before lifting his tiger-eyes.
“Hello, Yasmine.”
• • •
Irritated would not be an apt word.
Distressed?
No. That wouldn’t be quite right, either.
Furious?
Shahrzad shook her head and smiled at the chattering nobleman before her, struggling to clear her mind so she could focus on their conversation.
Yasmine el-Sharif. The daughter of that hateful man.
As soon as Shahrzad had learned the beautiful girl’s identity—from Jalal, no less—she had smiled patiently through their formal introduction. Through the painfully obvious, lifelong co
Without Khalid.
She had been determined to carry on for a time without the Caliph of Khorasan at her side.
Without the so-called King of Kings and his many, many secrets.
And she had. But now she was . . . foundering.
He should have told me about Yasmine. I looked like a fool.
“Hello, Shahrzad. May I call you that?”
“What?” Shahrzad said, shaken from her trance.
Yasmine smiled, and it was so perfect that Shahrzad wanted to smear soot on her teeth.
“Of course,” Shahrzad responded, cursing her internal pettiness.
The nobleman whose name she had already forgotten beamed at Yasmine, his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets.
“Would you mind if I borrowed the calipha for a moment?” Yasmine fluttered her eyelashes at him with a skill Shahrzad could never hope to espouse.
He nodded vigorously, spittle flying from his lips in place of an actual response.
Yasmine took Shahrzad’s hand, pulling her into the shadows behind an immense stone column.
“You looked like you needed to be saved.”
“Thank you.” Shahrzad hid her suspicion under a warm smile.
Yasmine studied Shahrzad in the torchlight emanating from the roaring lion nearby.
“You are frustratingly pretty,” she pronounced.
“What?” The comment drew Shahrzad’s brows together.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be so beautiful.”
Shahrzad held firm to her smile. “Well, I wasn’t expecting you at all.”
Yasmine laughed airily, leaning against the polished marble with her hands behind her back. “You’re honest. It makes sense now. He adores honesty.”
“Forgive me, but I’m a bit dense. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“It makes sense why he chose you.” Yasmine’s long-lashed eyes were trained on Shahrzad.
Is she trying to be fu
“I’m quite certain you know he didn’t choose me.”
“You’re wrong. He did choose you. And he does not make such decisions lightly.” Yasmine pushed off the pillar and took a step toward Shahrzad. “Especially when he could have chosen a girl who wants nothing more than to love him.”
Shahrzad’s baser instincts drove her to strike back at Yasmine for the slight, but she refused to argue with the beautiful girl over a mercurial boy.
Especially a boy who kept his secrets closer than he kept his confidences.
“While I do appreciate you saving me from a rather tedious conversation, I think it’s time for me to rejoin my guests.” Shahrzad started to turn away.
“Do you love him?”
The question stopped Shahrzad in her tracks. “I believe that’s none of your business.”
“I disagree. You see, I’ve loved Khalid since we were children. And he deserves to be loved by someone who understands him.” Yasmine paused for a breath. “Even if it’s not me.”
Of all the things Shahrzad expected Yasmine to say, it was not this. She’d expected the girl to threaten her or engage in other such pettiness. But this admission proved Yasmine was not just a spoiled princess, denied her heart’s desire.
She actually cares about him.
Even though he’d shown her the same icy welcome he’d granted her father.
A strange feeling of pity began eclipsing Shahrzad’s irritation.
“You understand Khalid?” Shahrzad laughed in an effort to mask her growing unease. “If so, please enlighten me. I’d be most grateful.”
Yasmine smiled with an almost mincing kind of sympathy. “That depends. How willing are you to assist your enemy, Shahrzad?”
“Alas, your great failure of the evening is that I do not see an enemy, Princess of Parthia.” Shahrzad inclined her head in a brisk bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“What do you see, then?” Yasmine stepped into Shahrzad’s path, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement.
“I see a beautiful manipulator. A weaver of words.”
Yasmine nodded, her half smile swooping in a lazy arc. “It must be like looking in a mirror.”
She’s quick. And fearless.
“How very fortunate.” Shahrzad gri
Yasmine laughed, and for the first time, it sounded genuine. “What a shame, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran. A part of me thinks I could like you, were we to meet under a different sky, at a different time.”
“I’m surprisingly inclined to agree, Yasmine el-Sharif.” Shahrzad bowed deep, her fingertips brushing her forehead in a flourishing gesture. Then she turned on her heel to round the column . . .
And ran smack into the broad chest of a man.
She stumbled and almost fell to the floor, but a steadying hand reached for hers, saving her from certain humiliation. When Shahrzad faced her erstwhile rescuer, a pair of familiar silver-and-ash eyes stared down at her, shining with a fierce light.
Unmatched in their love.
Tariq. No. You can’t . . .
She tried to withdraw her hand, but he pressed something in her grasp.
A scrap of parchment.
Shahrzad wrapped her palm around it and pulled away.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome, my lady.” He smiled politely.
Concerned that others might see this strange interaction, Shahrzad stepped back and smoothed the fabric of her mantle, tucking the scrap of parchment beneath her thumb.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said casually, though her heart tripped in her chest with worry.
He shook his head, taking her lead. “I am Tariq Imran al-Ziyad of Taleqan, my lady.” Tariq bowed, touching his hand to his brow.