Jinni's Wish (Kingdom, #4)

Her maids in waiting, which meant this girl draped in lush pink silk could be none other than the princess. “What is it you desire, princess? Hmm? A pony? A rabbit? Sweets?”


Her dark eyes widened as she swallowed nervously. “Indeed, Djinn, I want nothing from you. My father has given me all that I need.”

Of that, Jinni had no doubt. The tiny maiden was covered in silk and draped in gold. She’d even strung gold threads through the length of her black hair, the gentle tinkling of anklets sounded as she moved. Even the silk looked as if it’d been woven, not by mortal hands, but by the gods themselves. There was a luminescent quality to the fabric, as if morning dew sparkling upon fine moth silk thread.

“Then why are you here, girl?”

She puffed out her bird chest. “My name is, Aria. And I came to you because you look lonely.”

The twittering continued behind them unabated. Jinni could hardly refrain from rolling his eyes. “I am not lonely. I am master of all, I’ve no time for loneliness. Now get along, child, before I decide to turn you into a toad.”

The laughter stopped, and the maidens hissed and trembled at the perceived threat they’d heard their tiny mistress receive. But Aria did not shake, she quirked a brow. So adult like in her response that for a split second, a ghost of a smile graced his lips.

“Sometimes,” she continued in that small child-like voice, “when I’m lonely, I sit and look at the stars. I try to count them all, but I can’t,” she scrunched her nose, “I get muddled up around number one hundred fifty-seven and then lose track.”

“One hundred and fifty-seven?” He snorted. “That is an arbitrary number, is it not? Does it hold meaning for you?”

She shrugged. “Too hard to concentrate after that.”

“How could you possibly get bored, child?” his voice drawled, beginning to get bored himself. “You are surrounded by maidens to heed your beck and call, I’m sure there are children aplenty to play with.”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, but they only wish to play with me because of who my father is.”

“Aria,” the tallest maiden in the back called, her skin was honey rich and smooth, the fine strands of her hair plaited high upon her head. “Come now, leave the King’s Djinn alone.” She clapped her hands and Aria winced.

But then the smoothness was back. Only five, and already the girl had mastered the fa?ade of royalty. Gathering up the edges of her pink silk, she curtseyed gracefully. “I live in the tower, if you’re ever bored.”

With that, she was gone…





***





“You liked her,” Paz said, slowly lowering her hands.

The canvas which had once been a pristine white, was now a picture of a proud genie, wearing Eastern garb, cream colored vest open, exposing the long lean muscle of bronzed skin. The cream turban upon his head sat as regally as any crown.

Standing before him was a small child dressed in yards of pink fabric. Black braids entwined like snakes around the crown of her head.

The magic was Jinni’s, but Paz had painted the picture and the likeness was astonishing. From the gilt framed frescoes on the wall, to the jade veins cutting through the marble halls of King Abdullah’s palace.

Jinni cocked his head, studying the painting. It was so lifelike, that he wondered why he couldn’t smell the sweet scent of jasmine on the air, or the roasted haunch of lamb cooking for dinner. Shaking his head, he had to blink twice to recall he was not within the walls of the palace, but in a cold, sterile hospital that reeked of antiseptics and death.

For a moment it’d felt so real. He looked at Paz. “What you paint . . . it has a magic all its own.”

She smiled, water glistened in her cocoa rich eyes. “Thank you.”

Her skin was so pale, tinted with a light shade of blue, but coldly beautiful all the same.

“Yes, I liked the girl,” he admitted reluctantly, something he’d never spoken aloud to another.

Sad, haunting eyes roamed the length of his face. So beautiful, the thought came unbidden and he jerked. Instinct urging him to leave, to back off, that he’d sworn an oath to never allow himself the luxury of such thoughts. He clenched his jaw, wishing with all his soul that he’d feel the ache of teeth grinding on teeth.

Physical pain so much better than the metaphysical memory of it, physical pain fleeting, but still something you could sink your teeth into and forget all else, because it demanded complete attention. But without that distraction, all he had left was the guilt and it ate at him like a goblin gnawing on a thigh bone.

“You don’t sound happy about it,” she said softly, tracing the swirl of black color that was Aria’s hair.

He kept his eyes on the floor as he muttered, “I can’t be.”

After a long pause, he looked up at her, expecting to see curiosity staring back at him. Censure even, as if by divine will she knew the secret he hid. But she wasn’t looking at him.