The sound of his anguish spiraled up into a desert night, across a vast spread of tiny stars.
Through Shahrzad’s very skin.
Without a word, Shahrzad took his hand and led him into the desert, far beyond the enclave of tents. When she finally turned to face him, Tariq appeared to have aged a decade in a matter of moments.
They stared at each other across a small sea of glittering sand. Across years of friendship and trust, seemingly lost in an instant.
“Do you ever think about that night?” Tariq could not meet her eyes as he posed the quiet question.
For a time, she was unsure how to respond.
“You did the right thing,” Shahrzad said, studying the infinite grains as they slid around her toes. “I put you in an impossible situation. An inappropriate one.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
She lifted her gaze. “Yes. I’ve thought about it.”
He shifted from one foot to the other, this boy who was never awkward, hurting her heart with his uncommon awkwardness. “May I ask why you came to my room that night?”
Tariq deserved her honesty. For all those stolen kisses in shadowed corners. For all those years of unfailing love.
For starting a war to save her.
She held his gaze, though the ache in her chest made her want to run far and fast.
“Because I wanted to feel.”
“Shahrzad—”
“I wanted—no, needed—to feel something.” There was a gentle resolve to her words. “I thought that, if I lost myself in your arms, I might feel something again. Then I could mourn for Shiva and move on. But you were right to turn me away. I never resented you for it. Please believe me when I say that,” she finished in a soft tone.
Tariq was silent for a long while. She watched the pain in his eyes fade, replaced by bitter resignation. “I believe you. It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve resented myself almost every day since.” He took two steps toward her and stopped, hesitant.
Shahrzad sensed his indecision. Her fingers gripped the folds of Irsa’s shahmina.
He’s waiting for me to ask him why.
And he’s afraid of what will happen when I do.
Her toes curled within her sandals, grinding the silt against her skin. “Why have you resented yourself?”
Tariq pressed his lips into a thin line. The muscles in his neck leapt out as he swallowed hard. He appeared to be arranging his words before speaking, again so uncharacteristic of her first love.
Then his eyes found hers and held them, fierce in their conviction. “Because I know that, had I given us both what we wanted that night, you would be my wife now, instead of his.”
Her head snapped back, aghast. “Is—is that what you thought I was doing?” Shahrzad managed to sputter. “That I went to your room as the daughter of a poor librarian, planning to leave as the wife of a future emir?” She glared up at him, propping her arms akimbo. “It was not my intention to force you into marriage, you arrogant ass! Had I shared your bed that night, I would never have expected you to propose marriage the following day!”
“My God, is that what you think I’m saying?”
“What else am I supposed to think when—”
He shot forward, covering her mouth with his hand. Silently pleading for a stay of execution.
After a beat, Shahrzad nodded, though her indignation hummed through the air. Tariq removed his palm and she detected the faintest hint of amusement in his expression. A trace of the boy she’d always known. And greatly missed in the past few days.
With a deepening frown, Shahrzad seized the edges of Irsa’s shahmina and folded them across her chest. “Well, then, what did you mean to say?”
“I meant to say,” he began anew, “that if you’d stayed with me that night, I would have gone to see your father the next morning—”
She opened her mouth to protest, and he resumed his silent entreaty.
Then he stepped closer. “But it would not have been because I felt obligated to go,” Tariq said, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders, tentatively at first, then with a decisive weight. “It would have been because I did not want to wait a single day more . . . and it would have been wrong. My cousin had been murdered a fortnight before. My aunt had thrown herself from her balcony three days later. How could I go to your father—to my parents—and ask to marry you?”
His features had softened while he spoke, though his voice had lost none of its intensity. In that moment, Shahrzad was reminded of how all eyes managed to stray toward him in a room, unbidden. Of how he took up too much space and never seemed to notice.
His hands fell loose at his sides as he waited for her to collect her thoughts and speak.
When she did, it was her turn to feel awkward and at a loss. “I—would never have expected you to do such a thing.”
Again, a trace of amusement flashed across his face. “You continue to wound me, you awful girl. Because I know. Had I spent a single night with you, I would never have wished for us to be parted from that day forward.”
Shahrzad wanted to stop him from speaking further. From saying anything he might regret.