And these eyes were hers. From the moment he turned and saw her.
Shahrzad slowed her pace as she neared him, her fear fading into a strange sort of calm.
She attempted a smile.
He reached out his hand.
When she took it, she noticed a thick band of muted gold on the third finger of his right hand. Embossed on its surface were two crossed swords. Shahrzad ran her thumb over it.
“It’s my standard,” Khalid explained. “They’re—”
“Twin shamshirs.”
“Yes.”
She looked up, worried he would wonder how she knew.
But he was unfazed.
“The general told you I saw the tournament?” she asked flatly.
“Of course.” A corner of his lips twitched.
Shahrzad exhaled in a huff. “Of course.”
He laced his fingers through hers. “You look beautiful.”
“So do you.”
“Are you ready?”
“Are you?”
At this, Khalid smiled. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
“Thank you, Shazi. For standing at my side.”
She nodded, words failing her.
Then Khalid strode forward and the Rajput pushed open one of the huge doors. The warmth of Khalid’s hand led Shahrzad onto the upper landing of an immense two-way staircase shaped like open arms. For an instant, she hesitated, thinking they were supposed to go their separate ways, but Khalid grasped her palm tight and started down the stairs with Shahrzad beside him. Over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of blue damask trailing behind her like gently rolling waves across a sea of hewn marble.
When they paused at the base of the staircase, Shahrzad gasped in wonder for the second time that evening.
The royal audience hall of the palace at Rey was undoubtedly the largest room she had ever seen in her life. The floor was immense, alternating stones of black and white, patterned diagonally as far as the eye could see. Beautiful reliefs depicting human bulls charging into battle and winged women with long tresses flowing in the wind adorned the walls, which stretched high into the air. So high that Shahrzad had to lengthen her neck to see the very tops of the carved columns bearing the ponderous weight of the ceiling. Fashioned near the base of each of these columns were two-headed lions with iron torches protruding from their roaring mouths.
In the center of this vast space was a three-sided, raised dais with a series of low tables situated upon its surface. Sumptuous fabric and richly appointed cushions littered the dais with vibrant color and lush texture. Fresh rose petals and dried jessamine were strewn across the silk and fringed damask, perfuming the air with a sweetly intoxicating scent that beckoned to anyone who wandered by.
Their guests were milling about, awaiting their arrival.
Tariq.
The fear returned in a rush.
She could sense Khalid watching her. He squeezed her hand, offering his gentle reassurance in one simple gesture.
Shahrzad glanced back at him with a wavering smile.
“If it pleases our esteemed guests . . .” a sonorous voice echoed from above.
Every head in the room swiveled their way.
“The Caliph of Khorasan, Khalid Ibn al-Rashid . . . and the Calipha of Khorasan, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran.”
All eyes turned toward her, bodies twisting, necks craning for a better vantage point. From the edge of her gaze, she finally saw a pair of silver eyes flash to her face, glide over her resplendent form . . . then back to her hand, still interwoven in Khalid’s steady warmth.
Then the silver eyes vanished into the crowd.
Leaving behind panic.
Please. Not here. Do nothing. Say nothing.
She briefly recalled the skirmish in the souk a few weeks ago.
The drunken men with their piecemeal arms . . .
And the cloaked caliph with his deadly shamshir.
If you threaten Khalid, he’ll kill you, Tariq. Without a second thought.
Khalid strode onto the dais and took his place before the center stretch of tables. Shahrzad released his palm and sat to his right, her mind a jumbled mass of thoughts.
I can’t look for Tariq. I can’t do anything. It will only make matters worse.
What could he be planning?
“Is this seat available?” Jalal grinned down at Shahrzad.
She looked up, blinking hard. “That depends. Is it for you?”
He sat down next to her.
“I did not give you per—”
“Good evening, sayyidi,” Jalal said in a loud tone.
Shahrzad wrinkled her nose at Jalal.
“Don’t do that, my lady. You ruin your face when you do that,” he teased.
“Good evening, Jalal. And I disagree,” Khalid retorted under his breath.
Jalal laughed heartily. “My apologies, then. If you would permit me this indulgence in its place, sayyidi: I do believe every man here is currently reassessing his notion of beauty.”
Despina was right. He is such a consummate flirt.
“Stop it.” Shahrzad flushed, glaring at Jalal’s arrogant mien.
“Now, that . . . ruins nothing,” Jalal said.
“At last, we agree on something.” Khalid spoke to Jalal, though his eyes lingered on Shahrzad.
And Jalal leaned back into the cushions with a satisfied smile, his hands laced across his stomach.
“If it pleases our esteemed guests . . .” the announcer intoned once more.
Again, all heads turned to the set of open-armed staircases.
“The Sultan of Parthia, Salim Ali el-Sharif.”
When Jalal rose to his feet with a grumbled oath, Shahrzad placed her palms on the dais to follow suit.