MISBEGOTTEN OATHS

SHE WANTED TO LET GO OF HIS HAND. BUT SHE didn’t.

His touch burned her skin.

The shame. The betrayal.

The desire.

How could I waste such a perfect opportunity? Why did I hesitate?

She knew she was not to blame for the useless bow. Nonetheless, the self-recriminations could not be silenced.

The moment they stepped into the palace courtyard, Shahrzad tried to pull away.

Khalid merely tightened his grip.

A contingent of guards stood at the ready, prepared to receive the caliph upon his arrival. The Shahrban of Rey stared down at their interlaced fingers and turned his brown eyes to Shahrzad in pained accusation.

She returned nothing but defiance.

“Sayyidi.” He gave Khalid a mincing bow.

“General al-Khoury. It is late. I did not expect to see you until morning.”

The shahrban frowned. “My king’s whereabouts remained uncertain. As such, I cannot stand about idly, waiting for the dawn.”

Shahrzad almost laughed.

“Your vigilance is appreciated,” Khalid replied.

He grunted in response as his gaze shifted again to Shahrzad. “I’m sure it has been a taxing evening, sayyidi. I would be happy to escort the queen to her chamber.”

“That is not necessary. I will take her there myself. Then I would like to speak to you in the antechamber.”

The shahrban nodded. “I will await your arrival, sayyidi.”

Khalid continued down the darkened hallways with Shahrzad at his side, surrounded by their retinue of bodyguards. Here, in the palace’s coolly foreboding passages of marble and stone, she witnessed his features retreat to a place far in the distance. A place no one was permitted to follow.

The only inkling she had—the only hint she was still part of his reality—was her hand wound in his.

And she did not care for it at all.

It should not matter. He should not matter.

Again, she slackened her grasp. Once more, he simply reinforced his.

The Rajput was waiting outside her chamber. He nodded to Khalid with the brusqueness of a friend as one of the guards held open the doors.

As soon as they shut behind them, Khalid released her hand.

Shahrzad turned to him, uncertain. “Why does General al-Khoury dislike me?” she asked, point-blank.

Khalid’s gaze leveled to hers. “He sees a threat.”

“Why does he see a threat?”

“Because he doesn’t understand you.”

“Does he need to understand me? Because I don’t understand him.”

Khalid inhaled through his nose. “So are you ready to answer my questions, then?”

Very well. I, too, have questions.

“What questions?”

“I’ll answer your questions when you’re ready to answer mine.”

“Khalid—”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her brow. “Sleep well, Shazi.” His hand skimmed to her waist, as if seeking permission.

Shahrzad drew a quick breath.

This is madness. He makes me weak. He makes me forget.

I should push him away.

Yet she wanted so much to curve against him. To lose herself in honey and sunlight, and forget everything but the way it felt to be held in such a tantalizing trap of her own making.

“Thank you—for the adventure,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

He toyed with a smile. An invitation.

But the yoke of betrayal hung about her, weighing on her every action. Shaming her for even considering a moment in his arms, and insisting she not succumb once more to the wishes of a fickle heart.

How can I desire him? After he killed Shiva? After he killed so many young girls, without explanation?

What’s wrong with me?

As she stared up at him in obvious deliberation, he took away the choice, as quickly as he had offered it.

“Good night, Shahrzad.”

She exhaled, with the worst kind of relief.

“Good night, Khalid.”

Shahrzad watched the doors as they shut behind him.

If given another chance, would I take the shot? Can I do what needs to be done?

Her fists curled at her sides.

I may not be able to kill him outright, but I must do what needs to be done.

I will learn why he killed all his brides.

And I will punish him for it.

• • •

He stood outside her doors.

Torn.

It was a familiar stance for him of late.

He despised it.

Khalid ignored the Rajput’s knowing grin as he began his trek toward his chamber. As usual, the bodyguard’s sense of humor was ill-timed and ill-bred.

Each step Khalid took echoed down the corridors of shadow and stone. The callous granite and blue-veined agate of his palace had provided little but a refuge for the screams of ghosts.

A haven for nightmares . . .

Until Shahrzad.

A true plague of a girl. And yet a queen in every sense of the word.

His queen.

He left the soldiers outside the antechamber leading into his private rooms.

General al-Khoury was waiting for him, sitting before an ebony table with two bronze lamps casting halos of gold and a silver pot of tea glistening atop a low-burning flame.

The shahrban rose to his feet as Khalid entered the antechamber. “Sayyidi.”

“Please sit.” Khalid took position on the cushions directly opposite. “I apologize for the hour, but I have an important matter to discuss with you. As such, I’ll dispense with the formalities.”

“Of course, sayyidi.”

“The standing order regarding the queen—was I not clear before I left last week?”

The shahrban’s harried features grew even more agitated. “Sayyidi—”

“There will be no further attempts on her life.”

“But, sayyidi—”

“No. No more underhanded schemes. No more poisoned sugar. Furthermore, I will treat any effort to subvert this order as a direct attempt on my own life. Do you understand, General?”

“Sayyidi!”

“I asked you a question, General al-Khoury.”

The shahrban bristled for an instant. “And I cannot answer it.”

“Uncle Aref!”

Khalid’s uncharacteristic outburst hung about the space, lingering with the tension of many unspoken things.

“She will be your undoing.”

“That is my decision.”

“And so you would undermine all that has been done? No matter how unconscionable our actions have been, we are nearly at an end now. Please. I implore you. Reconsider this. She is just one girl. What is she to you? We cannot trust her, Khalid-jan. Has she told you why she volunteered? Has she confessed her motivations? Who is this child? I beg of you. You cannot withstand this. Do not allow this brazen young girl to become a source of ruination.”

Khalid gazed across the table at his uncle. “I’ve made my decision.”

The shahrban’s face faltered. “Please. If you—do you love her? Tell me you do not love this child, Khalid-jan.”

“It is not about love.”

“Then why? You do not have to take part in the matter. Merely step aside. Cease all contact with her, as you did that night, and I will handle the sunrise.”

“No. I tried, Uncle Aref. That morning . . .” Khalid winced in remembrance.

The shahrban’s eyes narrowed. “Yet you do not love her?”

“You’re aware of my thoughts on the matter.”

“Then what do you want from this insolent young girl, Khalid-jan?”

“Something more.”

“And what if the rains cease again?”

Khalid paused. “I will do what is right for the people of Rey.”

The shahrban heaved a world-weary sigh. “You will not be able to withstand it. Even now, I can see the toll it is taking on you.”

“Again. My decision.”

“And your enemies will celebrate as it destroys you from within, as well as from without.”

Khalid leaned forward and braced his forehead on his palms. “Then I trust you will see to it they never find out.” He spoke to the floor, his faith in his uncle implicit.

The shahrban nodded before placing his hands on the marble and pushing to his feet. As he looked back at the exhausted figure of his king, the shahrban’s features saddened once more.

“Sayyidi? Please forgive this last question. But I must know—is she worth this risk?”

Khalid raised his head, his eyes reflecting a fiery orange in the flickering lamplight. “In truth? I don’t know . . .”

The shahrban’s shoulders sagged.

“But I do know I can’t remember the last time I wanted something so much,” he finished in a quiet voice.

It was the careful smile Khalid offered his uncle that finally convinced the shahrban—the first real smile he had seen on his nephew’s face in years.

“Khalid-jan. I will protect your queen. For as long as I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Sayyidi.” The shahrban started to bow.

“General al-Khoury?”

“Yes?”

“Please send in the faqir after you leave.”

“Yes, sayyidi.”

“And, if I could ask one last thing . . .”

“Of course.”

“Have you made any progress in determining the whereabouts of the queen’s family?”

“No, sayyidi. We are still searching.”

Khalid raked his fingers through his black hair, tousling its smooth surface. “Continue the search. Be tireless in your efforts.”

“Yes, sayyidi.” With a hand to his brow, the shahrban exited the antechamber.

Khalid removed the dark rida’ from his shoulders and placed it in his lap. He knew it was likely Shahrzad had sent her family away or that they had fled voluntarily, leaving behind a store of unanswered questions. And he found the timing too coincidental for it to be unrelated to their marriage.

If he could find her family, perhaps he could obtain the answers he so desired.

But would he want these answers once they were within his grasp?

So many issues already plagued him.

He could ask her.

Ask her where she had sent her family. What she was hiding from him.

Why she insisted on tormenting him.

But the thought that she might lie to him—that those eyes, with their unpredictable onslaught of colors, flashing blue one instant and green the next, only to paint his world gold with the bright sound of her laughter—that those eyes might endeavor to conceal the truth, pained him more than he cared to admit.

Because he had lied to her only once.

He balled an edge of the dusty cloak in his fist and heaved it into the corner. His eyelids felt heavy, and his vision was starting to blur. Now the longer he gazed at things, the harder it was to focus. The pounding in his forehead was growing worse.

A knock at the door to the antechamber stirred him from his thoughts.

“Come in.”

A ghostly figure, garbed solely in white, cut through the darkness into the lamplight. His long beard trailed down his chest.

“Sayyidi.”

Khalid sighed.

“It is worse?” the faqir asked as he took in Khalid’s haggard mien.

“The same.”

“It appears worse, sayyidi.”

“Then it is good you are here.” Khalid’s eyes flashed in warning.

The faqir exhaled slowly. “I’ve told you. I cannot stave off the effects forever. I can only ensure it will not kill you. Eventually, the madness will ensue, sayyidi. You cannot fight it.”

“I understand.”

“Sayyidi, I must implore you. No matter how repugnant, stay the prior course. This option . . . will not end well.”

“Your counsel is noted. And appreciated,” Khalid said in a low tone.

The faqir nodded.

Khalid bowed his head. The faqir raised both his palms to Khalid’s temples, leaving just enough space for silk to pass, then closed his eyes. The air in the antechamber stilled. The flames in the lamps grew tall and lean. When the faqir’s eyes opened once more, they glowed with the light of a full moon. Between his hands, a warm red-orange fireburst spread up and around the entirety of Khalid’s brow. The circle pulsed yellow, then white, spiraling upward all the while, before it retracted back into the faqir’s clawed hands.

Once the magic had faded back to the realm of its origins, the faqir dropped his hands.

Khalid raised his head. The pounding was less profound, if still present, and his eyelids were not as heavy as before. “Thank you.”

“Soon there will come a time when I will not deserve such words, sayyidi.”

“You will always deserve such words, no matter what happens.”

The faqir’s frustration further marred his features. “Would that all of Khorasan could see the king I see, sayyidi.”

“They would not be much impressed. For I did bring all of this upon myself, did I not? And, as a consequence, they have had to endure the unthinkable.”

The faqir bowed with his fingertips to his brow, then floated to the door.

Before exiting, he turned. “How long should a man pay for his mistakes, sayyidi?”

Khalid did not hesitate.

“Until all debts are forgiven.”