There it is. My greatest shame, laid bare. The truth lies between us like broken glass. Surely now he sees what I truly am: a betrayer, a monster, an enemy. Aladdin stares at me, his face softening.
“That wasn’t your fault,” he says. “Loving someone is never wrong. And like you said, it’s not a choice. It just happens, and we’re all helpless in its power.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that the consequences are disastrous. As the poets say, shake hands with a jinni, and you shake hands with death.”
“And what if you weren’t a jinni? What if you were free from their rules?”
I stare at him. His jaw tightens, his eyes steely with determination that frightens me to my core. A cloud drifts across the face of the crescent moon, and the courtyard darkens. Here and there, the grass is still bent where Aladdin and I danced just hours earlier. I drop my gaze and glare at it, shaking from head to toe.
“Don’t say it, Aladdin. Don’t you even think it.” Dread rises in me like a storm cloud, dark and menacing.
Aladdin moves closer. He takes my hands. His skin is warm and crackling with energy, setting me on fire.
“I have one wish left,” he murmurs. “And this one is for you.”
“No, Aladdin! Don’t speak it. Don’t make the Forbidden Wish. The cost—”
“Damn the cost. Zahra, I wish—”
I stop him with a kiss.
Because it is the first thing I think of to stop the terrible words. Because he fills me with light and hope and deep, deep fear. Because I have been longing to for days.
I feel shock splinter through him, his body going rigid. Then he relaxes, melting into me, stepping forward until I am caught between him and the wall, the torch crackling beside me. His hands slide down my back, over my hips and thighs, leaving a trail of fire. His heart beats fast enough for the both of us, its thunderous pulse echoing through me.
I bury my hands in his dark hair, fingers knotting around those thick locks. Desire pulls at my stomach, and I lean into him, lifting one leg and wrapping it around his waist. He lifts me, and my other leg coils around him, my skirts sliding up my thighs, my back pressed against the column.
His lips are soft and warm and gentle, underlined with barely restrained urgency. I cannot get enough of him. I pull his kurta over his head and let it fall on the floor. I press my hands against his bared chest, feel his heart against my palm, his lungs rising and falling. His shoulder is knotted with the scar from the arrow he took for me. He kisses me again, this time more strongly, and I run my hands down his jaw and neck, over his shoulders, the taut muscles of his back.
He turns, without letting me go or breaking our kiss, and we tumble onto the soft divan. Aladdin holds himself over me, his abdomen clenched and his hair hanging across his forehead. His lips wander downward, to my chin, to the curve of my jaw, to my neck.
My hands are ravenous, exploring the planes and angles of his body. His fingers find mine, and our hands knit together. He raises them over my head, pressing them into the pillow beneath my hair, as his kisses trace my collarbone, and then he sinks lower, parting the buttons of my dress and pressing his lips to my bare stomach.
I gasp and open my eyes wide, my borrowed body coursing with sensations I have never felt, never dared to feel, never thought I could feel.
“Aladdin,” I murmur. “We shouldn’t . . .”
“Sh.” He silences me with a kiss, and I lift my chin to meet him. A warm wind rushes through my body, stirring embers and setting them aflame. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to think about consequences. I only want Aladdin, everywhere.
I wish—
No. No, I can’t wish. The cost is too high for both of us.
“Stop,” I say, my voice laced with treacherous weakness.
He lifts his eyes to mine. “Why?”
“Stop,” I say more firmly.
I shove him off me and sit up, my face in my hands, my hair a curtain to shield me. Aladdin doesn’t move, just stares at me, still breathing heavily.
“Zahra? What’s wrong?”
“Everything!” I lift my head and burst to my feet. “You don’t understand. This can’t happen!”
“I’m sorry.” He rises to his knees, hands spread. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Please—”
“Leave me alone!” I run through the door and slam it behind me, then sag against it, half panting, half sobbing, in the empty hallway. How did I let this happen? How could I have been so weak?
“Zahra?” He stands on the other side of the door, his voice muffled. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not what you think it is,” I tell him. “You don’t feel anything for me. You’re just drawn to my power, to the wishes I’ve granted you.”
“No . . .” But his voice is uncertain.