Khalid turned his back on his cousin, crumpling the scroll in his palm.
And the portent of doom unleashed itself on his body, darkening everything in its path—
Destroying an already condemned soul.
• • •
Shahrzad stood at the railing of her balcony, staring up at a sea of winking stars across a soft indigo sky.
She could not bring herself to be alone in her room. Though no traces of carnage remained, it was too soon to lounge within its dimly lit confines, surrounded by the ghosts of skulking shadows.
Shahrzad sighed as she watched a beam of starlight dart across a corner of darkest blue.
She had spent the day wandering the gardens on her own, choosing to forgo Despina’s company in order to contemplate the many revelations of the night before without the distractions of the world around her.
Alas, the truth was not as enlightening as she had hoped.
Instead, it was desolate and ugly and cloaked in even more cruelty than she could have imagined.
Her best friend had been murdered for the sake of revenge—a disgusting, twisted revenge inflicted by a crazed man who had lost his child to an unfortunate turn of events. And he, in turn, had chosen to punish others for his pain.
He had punished Khalid for it.
And Khalid had punished the people of Rey.
Shahrzad took a deep breath.
Everything had spiraled down an endless black well because of one man’s torment.
She studied her hands against the cool stone railing.
That same desire for revenge had brought her to this palace. Had driven her to hate the boy-king she’d blamed for such suffering.
And now here she was, standing on an abyss.
Khalid was still responsible for Shiva’s death. He had given the order. He had sat at his desk and written a letter to Shiva’s family while a soldier cinched the air from her body with a silk cord. He had not stopped them from killing her, as he had with Shahrzad. He had allowed it to happen.
Nothing about the facts had changed.
Yet the picture looked different.
Because Shahrzad knew why. Even though it was horrifying and beyond the realm of possibility, a part of her understood that he’d had little choice.
And that one day, he might be forced to make the same decision about her.
The groan of the doors to her chamber drew her attention. Shahrzad tightened the laces of her shamla and spun from the balcony. She walked into the center of her room. Tapers of warmly scented ambergris were glowing in the corner.
Khalid stood before the entrance, his profile concealed in part by shadow.
She smiled hesitantly.
He remained as still as a statue.
Her brow furrowed. “Hello?” Her voice sounded strange, even to her—more of a question than a welcome.
“Hello.” It was severe and forbidding, hearkening back to a time when stories by lamplight were all they shared. All she could hope to share.
It threw Shahrzad against a wall of ice. “Is something wrong?”
He moved from the darkness toward her.
Something was definitely wrong.
But, though his features were cold and distant, his tiger-eyes rippled with pure emotion.
“Khalid?” Her pulse skipped a beat.
He exhaled with unremitting care. “How long?”
“What?”
He took another step toward her. “How long have you been in love with Tariq Imran al-Ziyad?”
A gasp escaped her before she could stop it. Her heart careened about in her chest, and she felt her knees start to give.
Lie. Lie to him.
The tiger-eyes continued haunting her . . . watching, waiting.
Knowing.
Afraid?
“Since the summer I turned twelve.” Her voice broke.
He clenched his fists and twisted back to the darkness.
“I can explain!” Shahrzad reached for him. “I—”
When he turned around, the words died on her lips.
In his right hand was a dagger.
She backed away in horror.
His gaze stayed fixed on the marble at her feet. “Behind the ebony chest in my room is a door with a large brass ring. The handle is unusual. You have to turn it three times to the right, two times to the left, and three more times to the right before it will open. The staircase leads to an underground passage that will take you directly to the stables. Take my horse. His name is Ardeshir.”
Shahrzad’s confusion overrode her panic. “I don’t—”
“Here.” He unsheathed the dagger and handed it to her.
She shook her head, continuing to back away.
“Take it.” He pressed the hilt into her palm.
“I don’t understand.”
“Vikram is waiting outside. He’ll take you to my chamber. No one will stop you. Take Ardeshir . . . and go.” Khalid spoke in a voice barely over a whisper.
Shahrzad clenched the hilt of the dagger, her brow lined, and her heart thundering in her chest—
And then Khalid sank to his knees before her.
“What—what are you doing?” she gasped. “I—”
“Shiva bin-Latief.” He said her name with the reverence of a prayer, his head bowed and his eyes closed in shameless deference.
All the air left Shahrzad’s body in a single rush of comprehension. She swayed unsteady on her feet before she fell to the floor with the dagger’s hilt clutched tight in her hand.
“Get up,” he said quietly.
Her chest heaved.
“Get up, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran. You kneel before no one. Least of all me.”