Musa nodded. “I did not expect to win you over in a night. But—”
“Do not expect to win me over,” Khalid said coldly. “Ever.”
“Khalid-jan,” Shahrzad whispered. She tugged on his hand in silent censure.
Though he did not appear the least bit remorseful, Khalid squeezed her palm in acknowledgment.
Musa’s smile turned wistful. “I am so very sorry, little pahlang. For everything.”
Shahrzad felt Khalid’s body go rigid beside her.
Little pahlang. Little tiger.
“You do not have permission to call me that.” Khalid’s features were drawn and tight. “I am the Caliph of Khorasan to you. Nothing more.”
In that moment, everything about Khalid hearkened back to a time when Shahrzad had lived in fear of the dawn. When all she knew of him was a boy of ice and stone, who murdered his brides without cause or apology.
A time when all she had were stories fueled by hatred.
It pained her to see Khalid returning to this. A shell of what he was.
A shadow of what he could be.
Musa bowed, his fingers to his forehead. “A thousand apologies, sayyidi.”
Glaring at Khalid, Shahrzad shook off his grasp. “Musa-effendi, please do not—”
“I am not offended, my dearest star,” Musa replied. “I know why the young caliph despises me so. I did nothing when he begged for help. It has haunted me for many years.”
“There was nothing you could have done,” Shahrzad cried. “Had you tried to help, you likely would have been killed as well!”
“No.” Musa canted his mouth to one side. “When we are faced with our darkest fears, inaction is for the weak or the hopeless. There is always something to be said or done. Though words alone—”
“Are mere scratchings on a page,” Khalid finished, his voice even colder. “The power behind them lies with the person.”
Musa stood completely still. “You remember.” A careful smile broke across his face. “That gives me a great deal of comfort. Though I do not deserve it, I thank you.”
Khalid’s chest rose and fell in steady consideration. “And I . . . thank you. For all you have done for Shahrzad.”
Musa bowed again. “Sayyidi.” He turned his attention to her, his expression undisguised in its warmth. “Your impatient tutor waits for you in his usual spot, my lady.”
The creature waiting on the beach was most definitely not Artan Temujin.
It was easily five times as long as a man. And twice as thick. But these particulars did not give rise to Shahrzad’s distress. What alarmed her most was that it resembled a snake. Covered in darkly iridescent scales. Replete with a giant hood.
And . . . wings?
Shahrzad swallowed a strangled scream. Khalid drew his sword with a quick rasp.
“Where have you been?” Artan demanded, suddenly emerging from behind the slithering monstrosity.
“What the hell is that—thing?” Shahrzad tried not to yell. The creature coiled around itself while she spoke, a rainbow of colors torquing across its scales, its leathery wings gleaming in the moonlight.
“Who? Shesha?” Artan grinned with wicked humor. “He’s harmless.”
The snake bared its black fangs, as though it understood. And disagreed, rather wholeheartedly.
“He’s just a silly winged serpent.” Artan waved a flippant hand. “Who enjoys frightening people. And—like any good tyrant—much of his appearance is for show. He’s really very sweet . . . most of the time.”
Throughout this entire exchange, Khalid had not shifted position. His shamshir had stayed poised at his side, his body between Shahrzad and that of the snake—
His eyes trained on Artan.
Now, both the sword and its master turned toward the bald-headed boy, with unflinching intent.
Artan snorted. “I suppose this is the cursed husband?” He laughed to himself.
Did this fool not hear a word I said about Khalid’s temper?
Before Shahrzad could interject, Artan bounded over the serpent’s tail and onto the sand.
“You really are as humorless as she let on,” he continued, eyeing Khalid askance. “But there’s little I can do to remedy that.”
The second offense.
“Should I call you Khalid?” he pressed. “Because you’re not technically my king. No matter. I’m Artan Temujin, and—after much persuading—I’ve come to rescue you from your fate. But only after your wife begged me. On her knees, of course.” He snickered. “I do so prefer her when she grovels.”
It was not the barrage of taunts that sparked a reaction. It was the sight of Artan’s burned forearms that registered on Khalid’s face. Shahrzad winced when she saw it. Only someone who knew Khalid well would notice.
The slightest twinge beneath an eye. It appeared and disappeared in a flash of recognition.
In an instant of understanding.
Oh, God.
Then Artan made the lamentable decision to wink at Khalid. And clap him on the shoulder.
The final offense.
The shamshir flashed through the darkness toward Artan’s throat—
Stopping a hairsbreadth from its mark.