Nasir was heavy with exhaustion, yet he could think of nothing but the brush of color on her face, her presence beside him. The heat pooling lower and lower.
And the hesitation in her gaze, clouded by uncertainty.
He was a killer with a crown, a poison alluring enough to taste. To Kulsum, to the women whose gazes followed the Prince of Death down the corridors. Not to her.
I would rather know one intimately than a thousand ostensibly, he had wanted to say, but the words were too bold, more of an invitation than a proclamation.
He didn’t want to be another moment stolen from a thousand. He wanted every sunrise and every crescent moon. He wanted to be the reason for every rare blush, the cause of every breathless sigh.
He thought of that moment atop Afya’s back, its match on Sharr between the columns just before all broke loose. Was he only so bold when she was in need of a distraction? If he had not kissed her then, so full of anger and pain and sorrow, would she have shoved him off the horse?
“Take me with you tomorrow,” she said. “I’m not going to stay here while you’re killing the caliph.”
“Your wound—” Your mind.
“Is fine. Take me.”
Who was he to deny her anything? “Aren’t you afraid?”
“The one thing certain in life is death, isn’t it?” she asked, echoing his cruelty on Sharr. “I was stupid for thinking I could confront the Lion alone, but … if I’m going to die, I might as well die fighting for what I believe in. Our cause is just. We’re
not fighting for land or governance. We’re ensuring a future for the people. Magic and a world worth living in.”
He marveled at her strength, at how she could open her mouth and give him direction, a compass leading his path.
“It’s … what I’ve been doing since the day I first held a bow in my hands.”
“You won’t die,” he said after a silence.
“Why not?” She didn’t know that he wasn’t teasing, not then.
Because he was aware of every rise and fall of her chest, of her even exhales feathering the air, and the vast distance between them. She was a beacon in the darkness. A wild rose that bloomed over death.
Laa, she was the reason death had become significant to him.
And he would not let it take her.
“All those women,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. “You had to have some semblance of confidence.”
Her tone was inquisitive, curious, daama clueless. Fair gazelle, the things I could teach you. The sheets rustled as she turned to look at his back, and he screwed his jaw tight. Despite his shirt, he felt the presence of each scar as if it were being carved afresh.
She continued, oblivious. “Where did it all go?”
Please. Go. To. Sleep.
“I don’t know,” he lied, because she wasn’t another woman. She was Zafira, legendary and ethereal, pure-hearted and guileless. Lost and tethered to a book. “Where did you find the sudden confidence?”
Like a fool, Nasir wished this night could go on forever. The Lion, the darkness, Altair’s plans—he wished all of it could disappear, only for a moment.
“I stole yours.”
He heard the smirk in her voice, and it took every last drop of his resolve not to turn around and pull her into his arms.
