Thirty-Seven

 

In between bites of food and congratulations from what seemed like every man and woman in the camp at becoming their new sheikh, Anahita tried to ask him how he'd managed to break the curse. Philemon heard the question, she was certain of it, but he was too busy thanking someone to answer it right away.

And then another interruption, and another, until she wanted to scream, if her throat still wasn't raw from last night.

Finally, the tide of humanity seemed to decide to give them a moment alone.

"How did you break the curse?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "I wish I knew. Perhaps it was you. I do not remember the witch's exact words when she first cursed me, but she definitely mentioned a princess's bed, and something about dusk or maybe dawn. If we find her, perhaps we can ask her. But in the meantime, I mean to enjoy being a man again. A man who will travel home with you, as soon as possible, if your word still holds true."

"It does," she said, stung. "But why do you need to travel with us now? As the Prince of Tasnim, and the sheikh of this place, surely you can command your people to come with you, or take you wherever you wish."

He leaned close so his breath tickled her ear. "I promised to take you to Tasnim, my home, and prove that I am its prince. The witch didn't just curse me – when she came, the water supply dried up, too. I must see it restored, even if it means hunting her down."

"I will help you," she said. Because if she could go to Tasnim...she could finally be free.

Philemon took her hand in his and kissed it. "And I will be grateful for any further assistance you wish to offer, Princess. For after seeing you break one curse, I have no doubt you will save my city as you have me."

Anahita wasn't sure about that, but another group of people came up to offer their congratulations, so she held her tongue.