No.
Shahrzad pushed away from him. “It isn’t your place. I’ve already spoken to Teymur. He won’t pursue the matter further.”
Tariq’s eyes flashed. “My place?”
“I’ve handled the matter, Tariq. Do nothing, as it would serve no purpose, save to shed more blood. And I’ve had enough of that.” She shouldered her way past him.
He cut her off, his jaw jutting forward, his fists at his sides. “Would you shackle the boy-king in such a manner?”
“Don’t compare yourself to Khalid. It’s childish and beneath you.”
Tariq winced, but stood his ground. “Answer me, Shazi. Would you tell him it wasn’t his place to rage against this boy for what he did to you?”
She paused. “Yes.”
“And he would listen to you?” His brows gathered in disbelief.
“He . . . would listen.”
Then do exactly as he pleased.
“You’re lying,” Tariq scoffed. “I don’t believe for a moment that butcher you call a husband would let that boy see another dawn after what he did to you.”
“What Khalid would do is none of your concern.” She was dangerously close to shouting. “And I’m finished discussing this incident and my butcher of a husband with you!” Shahrzad sliced a hand through the air with finality.
“So now you think it’s your place to control what happens in this camp?” Tariq said. “Is that why that sniveling boy was returned to his people, like a child to be scolded? Did you honestly think—”
“I honestly thought nothing would be served from shedding more blood. Teymur was taken to the Emir of Karaj’s tent to be dealt with accordingly. And it is my place to decide how to deal with this matter. It is not”—she jabbed a finger into his chest—“your place to dole out justice on my behalf!”
“Do you truly believe the emir will punish him for what he did today? He won’t. And now I have no idea where Teymur is. For I doubt that fiend was sent away to be dealt with, as you’d so like to believe. He’s gone and, with him, all sense of justice!” Tariq threw his arms wide, his face marred by exasperation. “Did you know Teymur was set to marry into the emir’s family? It’s possible the emir even put him up to the task.”
“You will not seek revenge on my behalf, Tariq Imran al-Ziyad. I forbid—”
He grabbed her by the shoulders. “I will do as I damned well please, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran!” His voice was raw in its torment. “I denied myself what I wanted once out of principle, and not a day goes by that I don’t regret that decision with every fiber of my being!”
The sound of his anguish spiraled up into a desert night, across a vast spread of tiny stars.
Through Shahrzad’s very skin.
Without a word, Shahrzad took his hand and led him into the desert, far beyond the enclave of tents. When she finally turned to face him, Tariq appeared to have aged a decade in a matter of moments.
They stared at each other across a small sea of glittering sand. Across years of friendship and trust, seemingly lost in an instant.
“Do you ever think about that night?” Tariq could not meet her eyes as he posed the quiet question.
For a time, she was unsure how to respond.
“You did the right thing,” Shahrzad said, studying the infinite grains as they slid around her toes. “I put you in an impossible situation. An inappropriate one.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
She lifted her gaze. “Yes. I’ve thought about it.”
He shifted from one foot to the other, this boy who was never awkward, hurting her heart with his uncommon awkwardness. “May I ask why you came to my room that night?”
Tariq deserved her honesty. For all those stolen kisses in shadowed corners. For all those years of unfailing love.
For starting a war to save her.
She held his gaze, though the ache in her chest made her want to run far and fast.
“Because I wanted to feel.”
“Shahrzad—”
“I wanted—no, needed—to feel something.” There was a gentle resolve to her words. “I thought that, if I lost myself in your arms, I might feel something again. Then I could mourn for Shiva and move on. But you were right to turn me away. I never resented you for it. Please believe me when I say that,” she finished in a soft tone.
Tariq was silent for a long while. She watched the pain in his eyes fade, replaced by bitter resignation. “I believe you. It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve resented myself almost every day since.” He took two steps toward her and stopped, hesitant.
Shahrzad sensed his indecision. Her fingers gripped the folds of Irsa’s shahmina.
He’s waiting for me to ask him why.
And he’s afraid of what will happen when I do.
Her toes curled within her sandals, grinding the silt against her skin. “Why have you resented yourself?”
Tariq pressed his lips into a thin line. The muscles in his neck leapt out as he swallowed hard. He appeared to be arranging his words before speaking, again so uncharacteristic of her first love.
Then his eyes found hers and held them, fierce in their conviction. “Because I know that, had I given us both what we wanted that night, you would be my wife now, instead of his.”
Her head snapped back, aghast. “Is—is that what you thought I was doing?” Shahrzad managed to sputter. “That I went to your room as the daughter of a poor librarian, planning to leave as the wife of a future emir?” She glared up at him, propping her arms akimbo. “It was not my intention to force you into marriage, you arrogant ass! Had I shared your bed that night, I would never have expected you to propose marriage the following day!”
“My God, is that what you think I’m saying?”
“What else am I supposed to think when—”
He shot forward, covering her mouth with his hand. Silently pleading for a stay of execution.
After a beat, Shahrzad nodded, though her indignation hummed through the air. Tariq removed his palm and she detected the faintest hint of amusement in his expression. A trace of the boy she’d always known. And greatly missed in the past few days.
With a deepening frown, Shahrzad seized the edges of Irsa’s shahmina and folded them across her chest. “Well, then, what did you mean to say?”
“I meant to say,” he began anew, “that if you’d stayed with me that night, I would have gone to see your father the next morning—”
She opened her mouth to protest, and he resumed his silent entreaty.
Then he stepped closer. “But it would not have been because I felt obligated to go,” Tariq said, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders, tentatively at first, then with a decisive weight. “It would have been because I did not want to wait a single day more . . . and it would have been wrong. My cousin had been murdered a fortnight before. My aunt had thrown herself from her balcony three days later. How could I go to your father—to my parents—and ask to marry you?”
His features had softened while he spoke, though his voice had lost none of its intensity. In that moment, Shahrzad was reminded of how all eyes managed to stray toward him in a room, unbidden. Of how he took up too much space and never seemed to notice.
His hands fell loose at his sides as he waited for her to collect her thoughts and speak.
When she did, it was her turn to feel awkward and at a loss. “I—would never have expected you to do such a thing.”
Again, a trace of amusement flashed across his face. “You continue to wound me, you awful girl. Because I know. Had I spent a single night with you, I would never have wished for us to be parted from that day forward.”
Shahrzad wanted to stop him from speaking further. From saying anything he might regret.
What can I do to spare him any more pain?
But Tariq took her by the chin, resolute in his course, tipping her gaze to his.
“Ever since the afternoon I watched you fall from the battlements at Taleqan, you’ve felt inevitable to me. That’s how much I love you.” His words were effortless. Just as always. “But you can no longer say the same about me, can you?”