A smile ghosted across his lips. “As do you, my queen.”
“We are not discussing my shortcomings.” She sniffed. “Promise me you won’t lose your temper until I finish talking?”
Again, he said nothing.
“Khalid?”
He dipped his head once in acknowledgment.
“I went to the Fire Temple to see Musa Zaragoza.”
Khalid stiffened. Already Shahrzad could see him assembling his objections, so she barreled forward before he could begin.
“I know you harbor bitterness toward him because of what happened with your mother. Of his . . . failure to come to her aid. But he wishes to help now. And he was the one who gave me both the knowledge and the means to travel here unseen.”
“I appreciate him helping you, Shahrzad. A great deal.”
But he didn’t sound as though he did. Save for the breath Khalid used to speak her name, the rest of his words were rote in tone. Cold and perfunctory.
Disappointed by his inability to forgive Musa, Shahrzad leveled a withering stare in his direction. Khalid met her—glare for glare—until he exhaled in defeat, giving her leave to continue.
“One of his students at the Fire Temple has a relative who professes to be a powerful sorceress. It’s possible she can offer us a way to undo the curse.”
Khalid’s response was immediate, his posture unyielding. “This kind of magic comes with a price. One I am not willing to pay.”
“Please.” Shahrzad sat up, her damp hair falling over one shoulder. “At least come with me and learn what that cost might be.”
“No.” His pronouncement was final.
But Shahrzad refused to be swayed. “Khalid—”
“I do not know these people; therefore, they cannot be trusted.”
“You said you trusted me.”
“I trust you implicitly. But it would be irresponsible of me to trust Musa Zaragoza or his so-called students with my life,” Khalid said cuttingly. “And I doubly do not trust them with yours.”
“Stop being so stubborn!” Her bare feet fell to the onyx floor. “Do not make me beg you. Because I won’t. I’ll merely lose my temper or cry. And I have always secretly despised those who cry to wheedle their objectives. But if you force me to do it, Khalid Ibn al-Rashid, I will. And I cry beautifully.” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips.
A corner of his mouth twitched. “You do not cry beautifully.”
“Liar!”
“I’m not lying.” He held her gaze. “I rarely lie.”
She’d long suspected this to be the case. Yet Shahrzad could not resist pressing Khalid further. “You’ve never lied to me?”
He paused. “Once.”
“Oh?” She peaked a slender brow. “And when was that?”
“In the souk. When you asked if I remembered my last dream. I said I did not.”
“And you did?”
Khalid nodded.
Shahrzad took a cautious breath, wondering if it would be wiser not to push the matter. “Will you tell me what your dream was about?”
“At the time, it was less a dream and more a recurring nightmare.” Khalid regarded her for a beat. “I dreamed of sleeping beside a girl in my chamber. I don’t remember her face. Nor do I remember anything about her. I only remember how I felt.”
“How did you feel?”
“As though I’d found peace.” His gaze grew even more intent.
Even more pointed.
“Oh.” Shahrzad looked away, toying with the sleeve of the borrowed qamis to conceal the flush in her cheeks.
That night at the souk, Khalid lied because he thought this dream was about me.
“The last time I had this dream was the night before you came to the palace,” he continued. “I remember it well because I woke suddenly, searching for something that . . . wasn’t there.” His eyes drifted to the alabaster wall; he was lost in thought.
Lost in a familiar wasteland. A wasteland Shahrzad hoped never to see again.
She walked toward him, resolve firming her steps.
“That peace you seek is here,” Shahrzad whispered. “Fight for it. I’ll fight for it with you. I’ll do whatever it takes.” Her hands clenched around her sleeves. “When I was in the desert, I woke each day and carried on with my life, but it wasn’t living; it was merely existing. I want to live. You are where I live.”
Khalid stared up at her, his features inscrutable—
His eyes inciting her heart to riot.
“I’ve missed the silence of you listening to me.” Shahrzad attempted a weak smile. “No one listens to me as you do.”
His expression turned quizzical.
“You don’t wait to speak,” she clarified. “You truly listen.”
“Only to you,” Khalid replied gently.
At that, Shahrzad reached a hand toward him. Stopped just before his brow, as if seeking permission. He bent forward, and her fingers sifted through the black silk of his hair. Khalid reached behind her knee, drawing her closer.
“Fight with me,” she said.
At his silence, Shahrzad tugged his hair back, forcing him to look her in the eye. “I want a life with those I love around me, safe and happy. What do you want?”
“To live . . . fiercely.”
“What else?”
“To taste every breath.” Khalid skimmed a hand down her leg. A frisson of heat shot up her spine.