Irsa was nowhere to be found. Shahrzad would not even look at him. She had not gazed his way even once.
His elder daughter had eyes only for the boy-king.
When everyone stood from the table to leave, Jahandar rose to his feet as well. He watched the caliph’s guards follow the sultan and his generals from the tent. Then all who remained began to move about, disregarding Jahandar’s presence.
Just as before. Just as always.
Then, as Shahrzad and the caliph drew near, Jahandar leapt at the chance to speak. Leapt at the chance to act. And be noticed.
“Where,” he began, his voice wavering, “where is the book?”
“Is that truly all you care about, Baba?” Shahrzad asked softly.
“N-no.”
Her face pulled tight. “Why have you not asked after Irsa?”
“Does Irsa have need of me?”
Shahrzad glanced away. But not before Jahandar saw the expression of pain on her face. The caliph stepped closer. He regarded Jahandar through steady, piercing eyes. The look all but shriveled him.
Jahandar resented it. For though this boy was his king, he was still a boy.
A boy who had taken so much from him. Had taken everything from him.
“Your book is no more,” the caliph said in a cold tone.
“What?” Jahandar whispered.
“It is gone. Destroyed.”
The very air around Jahandar stilled. Turned hot. “How?”
“I destroyed it myself.”
Jahandar clasped his hands before him, the blood rising in his neck. “Why?”
The caliph stared at him once more in silent censure.
Then turned away.
Judging him. Dismissing him. As so many had always done.
As all would continue to do. Because of this boy. This boy who had no right to do such a thing. This boy who had taken so much from Jahandar.
His daughter. His book.
His respect.
Anger spewed from Jahandar in a blistering torrent. In a hot flood of rage. Without thinking, he reached for the dagger at Shahrzad’s waist. Immediately the caliph stepped between them to push her aside, but Jahandar was not trying to hurt his daughter. Never his daughter.
Jahandar raised the dagger high.
The caliph lifted his arm to deflect the blow. Shouts of alarm rang out from the guards.
Oblivious to all, Jahandar slashed downward with vicious precision. The blade sliced across the caliph’s face as he tried to shove Jahandar away.
But the dagger found its final mark.
In the heart of the Caliph of Khorasan.
THE DAGGER
KHALID HAD OFTEN THOUGHT HOW HE WOULD MEET his end. He’d often wished he’d been given the choice to die before Ava’s father. To die instead of foisting his curse on his people.
But this?
He had not foreseen this. Not at the hands of Jahandar al-Khayzuran.
For an instant, Khalid’s gaze locked on Shahrzad’s father.
His murderer.
But Khalid did not have time for hatred. Did not have time for retribution.
His eyes met Shahrzad’s.
No. In the end, there is only time for love.
Khalid staggered to the ground, shock rippling through his body in waves of hot and cold.
The room fell silent.
Pain coursed through Khalid’s chest. An ache without end. He knew the wound was mortal. His vision shimmered, then cleared as hot blood trickled beside him. He heard Jalal slam Shazi’s father to the floor and kick the dagger free from Jahandar’s grasp.
The tent went still. Not a sound could be heard.
Khalid gripped Shazi’s hands, his touch strong.
Fading.
“No.” Shahrzad began to scream. She clutched his weakening body lying on the ground before her. Watched the blood flow from his chest.
Watched as Khalid gasped for breath, his mouth filling with blood.
The last thing he saw was her face.
In the end, there was only love.
So much more than he deserved.
THE POWER TO LOVE
HIS ELDER DAUGHTER’S SCREAMS BECAME SOBS.
No one else around them moved. The princess of Parthia’s hands were clasped over her mouth, her blue eyes wavering with unshed tears. Her younger sister had buried her face in her shoulder to stifle her cries.
Yet no one looked Jahandar’s way. No one even uttered a word in his direction. Not his daughter. Not even the shahrban. Not a single word of hate or fury or retribution.
All were lost in the sight before them.
And Jahandar did not feel different. Did not feel any better for having done what he had done.
Instead, Jahandar slowly came undone at the sight of his proud daughter breaking before him. She had never broken before. Not when her mother had died. Not when she’d had to take control of their home when Jahandar had been lost to grief. Not even when Shiva had been taken to the palace.
Not once had Shahrzad faltered.
But now, she was breaking. Jahandar saw it. Saw her shimmering eyes. Heard her mournful sobs, each louder than the next.
His heart missed a beat. Then crashed through his chest on a rampage.
Jahandar could not stand the sight of his daughter breaking. For he’d never meant to hurt her.
Not Shahrzad. Never her.