He did not waver.
Now Tariq understood Shahrzad’s plea from last night.
This was not a bored, dispassionate king who sent his wife to fight his battles.
This was definitely something more.
Something Tariq needed time to consider.
And time . . . to rip out his heart, in kind.
Tariq grinned, running his fingers through his hair.
“Are we not meeting here for the hunt?” he asked.
• • •
Khalid regarded Nasir al-Ziyad’s son with mounting irritation.
The boy’s explanation for his intrusion into the Grand Portico was absurd. His stupidity had nearly cost him his life.
Under normal circumstances, Khalid would not have reacted in such a manner, but Salim Ali el-Sharif was in Rey. Just this morning, he had stood in the open-air gallery of Khalid’s palace and made veiled threats against Shahrzad. Khalid had expected as much, but it did not affect him any less to bear witness to it.
Ignoring any threat from the Sultan of Parthia, no matter how inconsequential, had always proved to be unwise.
Khalid did not know who this foolish boy was or where his allegiances might lie. Yesterday, such matters were not of pressing import. Yesterday, the boy was but a mild nuisance. The only reason he had sparked Khalid’s interest at all was because of the way he’d looked at Shahrzad today. It was not in the manner most men appreciate a beautiful woman. Most men appreciated beauty with an emphasis on form.
The vast majority of Khalid’s guests were mindful of such behavior. The ones who didn’t were of note, but they had reputations to match—morally reprehensible men with lascivious eyes that latched on to anything in their general vicinity.
Tariq Imran al-Ziyad did not linger on Shahrzad with the eye of man appreciating form.
What Shahrzad had to say mattered to the boy. As did the thoughts behind her words.
Khalid walked beside Nasir al-Ziyad’s son down the stairs into the next tier of gardens as they made their way to the stables. His guards trailed close behind them.
“Please permit me to apologize again, sayyidi.” The boy adjusted his mankalah with another sheepish grin.
Khalid continued through the garden, glancing sideways at the boy.
“Rest assured, I’ve noted the difference between a portico and a promenade, sayyidi.”
“It would have served me better had you known that today,” Khalid muttered.
The boy laughed, and the sound was rich. An easy laugh that inspired others to take part. “Thank you for not cutting me to ribbons, sayyidi.”
“Thank the queen. Had I been alone, things might have gone differently.”
The boy’s assertive gait faltered a step. “May I congratulate you, sayyidi? The queen—you seem well suited to each other.”
An ever-increasing nuisance. Khalid halted and faced the boy.
He was half a hand taller than Khalid and broad in the shoulder. It needled Khalid to look up at such a fool. “Shahrzad is a difficult girl, and I am a monster. I suppose that makes for a good match.”
The boy’s pale eyes flared at Khalid’s words.
“You’re offended.” Khalid watched his features intently. “By which part?”
“By—all of it, sayyidi.”
The boy was not a gifted liar. The mild nuisance was now a full-blown concern.
When the boy attempted to crack the awkward silence with another charming smile, Khalid proceeded down the path.
“Are you married, Tariq Imran al-Ziyad?”
“No, sayyidi. But I plan on marrying soon.”
“Then you are engaged.”
“Yes, sayyidi. To a girl I’ve loved for many years.”
The boy appeared to be telling the truth.
“Which is why I congratulated you earlier. It is a great gift to find lasting love—one that gives for every bit it takes,” the boy stated with unusual conviction.
It was the first interesting thing the boy had contributed to their conversation. And it did not sit well with Khalid.
After a time, they approached the stables, and Jalal wandered out to greet them. His head slanted with puzzlement when he saw the foolish boy. Then he nodded with welcome and the boy smiled back.
“Again, sayyidi, I apologize for earlier. Please thank the queen on my behalf. It appears I owe her my life.” The boy bowed low before Khalid and sauntered toward the stables, his white rida’ trailing behind him.
“What happened?” Jalal asked once he was out of earshot.
Khalid did not respond.
“All is well with you and Shazi?” Jalal pressed.
Khalid continued staring after Nasir al-Ziyad’s son.
“Khalid?”
“Find out everything about Tariq Imran al-Ziyad. His family. Their associations. All of it.”
Jalal started to laugh.
“What’s so amusing?” Khalid demanded.
“Blood runs true. That boy has bothered me all day.”
A FLOATING CARPET AND A RISING TIDE
SHAHRZAD STOOD IN THE SMALL ROOM HOUSING all her garments. She watched Despina set aside parcel after parcel of wrapped silk in a wide assortment of colors.
“By Zeus, would you just pick one?” Shahrzad groaned, coiling her waves of black hair to one side.
“Be patient. I’m looking for something specific.”
“Then be specific about it, and I can help.”
Despina rose to her feet and stretched her arms above her head. She winced as she kneaded her left shoulder.
Shahrzad’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “How do you feel?”