OBLIVION
KHALID STUDIED THE PLANS LAID OUT ON THE DESK before him.
The new system of aqueducts directing freshwater from a nearby lake into the city’s underground cisterns would be a costly, time-consuming endeavor. His advisors had counseled against such an undertaking for these and a slew of other
reasons.
Understandable.
As they were not concerned about an impending drought.
Khalid ran his hand across the parchment, scanning the carefully wrought lines and meticulous lettering of Rey’s brightest scholars and engineers.
Such great minds at his disposal. Such vast intelligence at his fingertips.
He was the Caliph of Khorasan. The supposed King of Kings. He commanded a renowned force of soldiers and, for twelve years, he’d trained with some of the best warriors in the kingdom. Twelve years spent honing his craft to become one of the finest swordsmen in Rey. Many considered him a sound strategist as well.
Yet, with all these seeming attributes, he was still powerless to protect what
mattered—
His people.
His queen.
He could not reconcile the two. Not without a sacrifice beyond the scope of consideration.
Khalid reflected on the consequences of such selfish behavior. How his unwillingness to consider the life of one girl against so many others would be construed. Would be judged.
Many young girls had already given their lives to this curse. Had died because of Khalid’s failure to notice the profound suffering in his first wife. His failure to care.
What right had he to decide whose life was more valuable? Who was he, after all?
A boy-king of eighteen. A cold, unfeeling bastard.
A monster.
He closed his eyes. His hands curled into fists above the parchment.
He would not let the whims of one grief-stricken lunatic dictate his actions any longer.
He would decide. Even if it was abominably selfish. Even if he was judged and punished for it, into eternity.
He would never be a man who failed to care again. He would fight to protect
what mattered to him, at all cost.
Save the one thing that mattered most.
Khalid signed the decree to begin construction on the new system of aqueducts. He set it aside and proceeded to the next order of business. As he reviewed the document, the doors to the alcove swung open without a word of warning, and his cousin burst through the entrance.
Khalid’s eyebrows rose at this brash display. When his uncle followed a moment later, wearing an expression even more grim than usual, Khalid inhaled and leaned back against the cushions.
The look on Jalal’s face was . . . unsettling.
“I assume this is important.” Khalid focused his attention on his cousin.
When Jalal said nothing, Khalid sat up.
“Sayyidi—” his uncle began.
“There must be an explanation.” Jalal’s voice faltered as his knuckles clenched white around the battered scroll in his left palm.
“Jalal-jan—”
“Please, Father,” Jalal rasped over his shoulder. “Let me speak!”
Khalid stood up. “What are you talking about?”
“Promise me you’ll give her a chance to explain. I’ve never known you to break your word. Promise me.”
“Give him the report.” His uncle edged closer to Jalal with a weary, yet determined set to his jaw.
“Not until he promises.” Jalal’s insistence bordered on manic.
Khalid strode from behind his desk, his posture rigid. “I am not promising anything until you tell me what this is about.”
Jalal hesitated.
“Captain al-Khoury?”
“Shazi . . . and that boy.” It was a broken whisper.
An icy fist wrapped around Khalid’s throat. Yet he reached out a steady hand.
“Give me the report.”
“Promise me, Khalid.”
“I’m not certain why you think I owe you a promise on her behalf.” His voice was unwavering, despite the chilling vise.
“Then promise her.”
“What I promise Shahrzad is none of your business. Give me the report.”
Jalal exhaled slowly before handing him the scroll. As Khalid unfurled it, a dark weight settled across his chest, like a portent of doom seeking lasting refuge.
He scanned the missive once. The words registered in a far corner of his mind. Khalid’s eyes drifted to the top of the parchment again.
And again.
“I’m sorry, Khalid-jan.” His uncle was kind. “So very sorry. Even I started to believe—wanted to believe—that she was something more.”
Jalal shook his head and moved toward Khalid. “She is. Please give her a
chance to explain.”
“Leave,” Khalid commanded quietly.
“Don’t let your fear and your distrust ruin this.”
His uncle took Jalal by the shoulder.
“She loves you!” Jalal continued, his tone heedless. “This is not what it seems. Maybe it began as something else, but I would bet my life on what it is now. She loves you. Please don’t fall to hate. You are not your father. You are so much more. She is so much more.”
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.”
“Khalid—”
“Do what you came to do. You owe me no explanation. I deserve none.”
Shahrzad released a choked sob, and Khalid grabbed her by the arms.
“Get up.” His tone was gentle but firm.
“I can’t.”
“You can. For Shiva. You are boundless. There is nothing you can’t do.”
“I can’t do this!”
“You can.”
“No.” She shook her head, staving off the tears.
“Do it. You owe me nothing. I am nothing.”
How can you say that? You are . . .
Shahrzad shook her head harder. Her grip on the dagger loosened.
“Shahrzad al-Khayzuran!” The muscles in his jaw constricted. “You are not weak. You are not indecisive. You are strong. Fierce. Capable beyond measure.”
She swallowed, steeling herself, searching for a thread of hate, for a dram of
rage, for . . . anything.
Shiva.
Khalid stayed resolute in his course. “I took her from you. Nothing I do, nothing I say will ever fix what I’ve done. If there has to be a choice between us, there isn’t one to make, joonam. Not for me.”
My everything.
Shahrzad rose to her knees and braced her palm against his chest.
“And you expect me to make this choice?” she demanded.
He nodded once, his eyes ablaze.
She curled her fingers into the front of his qamis. “You honestly expect me to breathe in a world without air?”
Khalid inhaled sharply as his hands tightened around her arms. “I expect you to be stronger than that.”
Shahrzad’s features softened. “But . . . there is nothing stronger than this.”
Her hold on the dagger was gone. It clattered to the floor. Shahrzad brought her palms to his chest. “Hate. Judgment. Retribution. As you said, revenge will never replace what I have lost. What you have lost. All we have is now. And our promise to make it better.”
She wound her fingers into his hair. “There is no one I would rather see the
sunrise with than you.”
Khalid closed his eyes. She could feel his heart racing. When he was able to meet her gaze again, he slid his hands to her face, brushing his thumb across her cheek with the warm caress of a summer breeze.
They knelt facing each other in silence. Studying each other. Truly seeing each other—without any pretense, without any masks, without any agenda. For the first time, Shahrzad allowed her eyes to linger on every facet of him without the fear of his sharp mind tearing through veils of gossamer and gold— And seeing the truth.
The small, barely noticeable scar by his left eye. The darkly hostile set to his brows. The pools of liquid amber beneath. The perfect furrow in the center of his lip.
When he caught her staring at his mouth, Khalid exhaled slowly. “Shazi—”
“Be with me tonight,” she breathed. “In all ways. Be mine.”
His eyes turned to fire. “I’ve always been yours.” He cupped her chin in his
palm. “As you’ve always been mine.”
She bristled and started to protest.
“Don’t.” He returned her biting glare.
“Your possessiveness . . . may present a problem.” She knotted her brows together.
The corners of his lips curled upward, ever so slightly.
Shahrzad took Khalid’s hand and led him to the bed. Though every part of her body remained acutely aware of the tall, solid presence behind her, she did not feel nervous. She felt calm. A remarkable sense of rightness.
He sat on the edge of the bed, and she stood before him.
Khalid leaned his brow against her stomach. “I won’t ask for forgiveness, but I am so very sorry,” he said, with the simple brevity she was learning to expect.
She pressed her lips into his soft, dark hair. “I know.”
He looked up, and she eased onto his lap, with a knee at either side of his waist. Khalid pulled the hem of his qamis over his head, and Shahrzad skimmed her palms across the lean planes of his chest. She paused at a faint line of white
along the length of his collarbone.
“Vikram,” he explained.
Her eyes narrowed. “The Rajput? He cut you?”
“Why?” It was almost teasing in tone. “Does it bother you?”
She wrinkled her nose.
Khalid drew her closer. “It happens, from time to time. He’s better than I am.”
“I don’t care. Don’t let him cut you again.”
“I’ll do my best.” He tilted her chin upward. “What about this?” His thumb ran along an old mark at the underside of her jaw, sending a shiver down her back.
“I fell off a wall when I was thirteen.”
“Why were you on a wall?”
“I was trying to prove I could climb it.”
“To whom?”
When she did not reply, Khalid tensed. “I see,” he muttered. “And the fool
just watched you fall?”
“I didn’t give him a choice.”
A smile ghosted across his lips. “Against all odds, I feel a drop of
sympathy . . . amidst a sea of hatred.”
“Khalid.” She shoved his chest.
“Shahrzad.” He caught her hand, his features abrupt in their intensity. “Is this really what you want?”
She stared at him, surprised to see a flicker of vulnerability on his face.
The mighty Caliph of Khorasan. The King of Kings.
Her beautiful monster.
Shahrzad leaned forward and took his lower lip between hers. She trapped his jaw between her palms and swept her tongue into sun-laved honey.
As he said, there was never a choice in the matter.
One of his hands slid to the small of her back, and she arched herself against him, molding her form to his. The laces of her shamla were tugged free, and cool air rushed across her body, followed by the welcome heat of his touch. The feel of his skin against hers.
When his lips moved to her throat—to rest with care beside the wound made by the Fida’i dagger—Shahrzad made a decision.
“I love you,” she said.
Khalid lifted his head to hers.
She placed a hand against his cheek. “Beyond words.”
His eyes still fixed on her face, he lowered her onto the cushions. Then he covered her hand with his, brushing his lips across her inner wrist.
“My soul sees its equal in you.”
All that was before her melted into amber and truth.
And, with a kiss, Shahrzad let herself fall.
For the boy who was an impossible, improbable study in contrasts. The boy who burned her life to cinder, only to remake of it a world unlike any she had ever known.
Tomorrow, she could worry about such a thing as loyalty. Tomorrow, she
could worry about the price of such betrayal.
Tonight, all that mattered was this.
Their hands threaded above her head. His low whisper in her ear.
Just one boy and one girl.
This.
Oblivion.
• • •
Shahrzad awoke to the scent of roses.
To the scent of home.
A golden sun streamed from between the carved wooden slats of the screens leading to her balcony. She winced at its light and rolled over.
On the silk cushion beside her head was a pale violet rose and a folded piece of parchment. She smiled to herself. Then she lifted the rose and brought it closer.
It was perfect. The circle of winding petals was flawless, and the color was the ideal balance of striking and subdued. Inhaling its heady fragrance, she reached for the piece of parchment and shifted onto her stomach.
Shazi, I prefer the color blue to any other. The scent of lilacs in your hair is a source of constant torment. I despise figs. Lastly, I will never forget, all the days of my life, the memories of last night— For nothing, not the sun, not the rain, not even the brightest star in the darkest sky, could begin to compare to the wonder of you.
Khalid
Shahrzad read the letter four times, committing his words to memory. Her smile grew wider with each reading, until it stretched far enough to cause her pain. Then she laughed like an imbecile and quickly chastised herself for it. She placed the rose and the parchment on the stool by her bed and reached to the
floor for her discarded shamla.
Where is Despina?
Tying her laces, she walked to the door of her handmaiden’s chamber and knocked. When no one answered, she twisted the handle and looked inside. It was dark and deserted. She frowned and turned back toward her chamber.
Her frown deepening, she proceeded to bathe and dress in a sleeveless linen qamis of vibrant scarlet with matching trowsers. Tiny seed pearls and embellishments of copper and gold were embroidered at the cuffs and along the hem.
As she finished tugging the ivory comb through the last of her strands, one of the double doors opened and slammed shut with a deafening bang.
Shahrzad jumped through the air with a strangled cry.
“Did you miss me?” Despina teased.
“Where were you all morning?” Shahrzad glowered at her handmaiden, snaking her still-damp hair over one shoulder.
Despina cocked her head to the side. “You must be joking, Brat Calipha. I would rather eat my fill of excrement than return to this chamber a moment too soon. Especially at the risk of incurring a king’s wrath.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Cease with the displays of false modesty. The entire palace knows about it.”
A feeling of warmth crept up Shahrzad’s neck. “Knows about what?”
Despina grinned. “The Caliph of Khorasan going into the gardens at dawn alone. And returning with a single rose.” She gestured toward the flower on the stool behind Shahrzad. “I think it’s safe to assume why.”
The heat bloomed onto Shahrzad’s face.
Despina groaned. “Are you going to deny it, then? How tedious.”
Shahrzad paused. “No. I’m not.” She lifted her chin.
“Thank the gods. I thought I would have to suffer through another odious
attempt at coyness.”
“You’re one to speak on such matters.”
“Excuse me?”
Shahrzad positioned her hands on her hips and peaked an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of her handmaiden. “Did you have a nice evening, Despina- jan?”
“Of course I did,” Despina said over her shoulder. “I slept quite well.”
“I’m happy to hear it. Have you finally mustered the courage to tell the man you love the truth?”
“The man I love? I think you may have hit your head. Perhaps too much unrestrained—”
“Now who’s being odiously coy? Honestly, it galls me how both of you continue to play these games and ignore your feelings. He needs to know that you care about him. And he should definitely know about his child. Maybe I can —”
“Shahrzad!” Despina spun around, her features contorted in horror. “You
can’t! You mustn’t!”
“Despina—”
“You don’t understand! He can’t know—anything.” Despina’s hands shook as she brought them to rest above her stomach.
Shahrzad shot her a gaze of bewilderment. “You’re right; I don’t understand.
He’s a good man. He must—love you. Does he not?”
“I . . . don’t know.” For the first time, the proud, haughty set to Despina’s posture faltered. Her shoulders sagged, and she moved to the foot of Shahrzad’s bed to lean against the platform. Without a word, Shahrzad sat down on the white marble beside her.
“Anyway, he can’t marry me,” Despina said in a soft, defeated tone. “I’m—a handmaiden. He’s the cousin of the caliph. One day, he will become the next shahrban. His father married a princess of Khorasan. He has to marry someone from a good family. Not a handmaiden from Thebes.”
“Even if he loves her?”
Despina closed her cerulean eyes. “Even if he loves her.”
“I think that’s absurd. Have you discussed it with him?”
She shook her head. “He thinks I don’t love him. I’ve said as much.”
“Despina!” Shahrzad glared at her handmaiden.
“It’s easier that way. If he believes this is just a passing fancy, it will be far simpler for us both to carry on with our lives after the fact.”
“Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you lie to him?”
“I believe when you truly love someone, you want what’s best for that person.”
“I find that not only absurd, but arrogant, as well.”
“And I find that amusing, coming from someone as arrogant as you.”
“I’m arrogant?” Shahrzad sputtered. “I’m not the one assuming to know what’s best for a grown man without consulting him first.”
Despina smiled sadly.
Shahrzad nudged Despina’s shoulder with her own. “I understand how difficult it is, putting your heart in someone else’s hands. But, if you don’t, how will you ever truly know a person?”
Despina drew her knees to her chest. “His father will despise me. Everyone will think I trapped him into marriage. That I’m a scheming whore.”
“I will personally beat senseless the first person to speak ill of you.”
Despina arched a dubious brow.
“Don’t sneer at me. I may be small, but, when pushed, I can strike out with a surprising amount of force.” Shahrzad sniffed. “If you don’t believe me, ask Jalal.”
“You struck Jalal?” Despina frowned.
Shahrzad shook her head, a smile playing at the edges of her lips.
“Khalid.”
“What?” Despina gasped. “You . . . struck the caliph?”
“Across the face.”
Despina’s hand shot to her mouth, and a bubble of laughter burst from her lips.
The two girls remained seated on the floor talking and laughing until a knock at the entrance brought them to their feet. The double doors swung open, and Khalid walked across the threshold with Jalal at his side. A contingent of guards remained in the hall. The shahrban waited patiently amongst them.
As always, Khalid moved with an air of imperious grace. His dark rida’ was fastened over an elaborate silver and gold cuirass. The hilt of his shamshir was looped through a black tikka sash slung across his narrow hips. He looked menacing and unapproachable—a thousand years, a thousand lives, a thousand
tales away.
But Shahrzad knew better.
She met him in the center of the chamber.
His eyes were warm. Her heart soared at the sight.
Despina bowed to Khalid and proceeded without pause toward her small room by the entrance . . . where Jalal stood against the wall, the portrait of casual ease.
It was a vain attempt at indifference, on both their parts.
For Shahrzad bore silent witness to the truth. It was only for an instant, and they never glanced at each other. Yet, she wondered how anyone could miss it— the subtle shift in Jalal’s shoulders, and the telltale tilt to Despina’s head.
Shahrzad smiled knowingly.
Khalid waited until the door leading to Despina’s chamber sealed shut.
“Did you sleep well?” His low voice brought to mind memories of whispered
words in the dark.
“I did.”
“I’m glad.”
“Thank you for the gifts. They were perfect.”
“Then they were fitting.”
She quirked a slender brow at him, and a corner of his mouth rose.
“I have something else for you,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Give me your hand.”
“Does it matter which one?”
He shook his head.
She held out her right hand, and he slid a band of muted gold onto its third
finger.
It was the mate to his.
Shahrzad ran her left thumb across the embossed standard of two crossed swords. The reigning al-Rashid standard.
Her standard.
As the Calipha of Khorasan.
“Do you mind wearing it? It’s—”
“The best gift of all.” She looked up to meet his gaze.
And he smiled a smile to shame the sun.
Behind him, the troop of guards stirred.
“Sayyidi?” Jalal interrupted with an apologetic glance at Shahrzad. “You
should leave soon.”
Khalid nodded once in acknowledgment.
“Where are you going?” Shahrzad asked, her forehead creasing.
“A small force is gathering at the border of Khorasan and Parthia under a new banner. The emirs in that region are nervous and wish to discuss strategy, should an altercation arise.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “How long will you be gone?”
“Two, maybe three weeks.”
“I see.” Shahrzad chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to remain silent.
His smile returned. “Two weeks, then.”
“Not three?”
“Not three.”
“Good.”
He regarded her with steady amusement. “Again, I’m glad.”
“I’d rather you be careful than glad. And return safe.” She dropped her voice.
“Or you’ll be met with a platter of figs.”
His eyes gleamed gold. “My queen.” He bowed with a hand to his brow
before shifting it over his heart.
Respect. And affection.
As he made his way toward the entrance, disappointment began eking a hole in Shahrzad’s spirits.
It was not the kind of good-bye she wanted.
“Khalid?”
He pivoted to face her.
She ran to him and grabbed the front of his rida’ to pull him down for a kiss.
He froze for a moment, then reached a hand behind her waist to pull her
closer.
The guards in the hall shuffled nervously, their swords and armor jangling together. Jalal’s soft laughter echoed from beside the double doors.
Shahrzad did not care.
For this was a kiss of definition. A kiss of understanding.
For a marriage absent pretense. And a love without design.
Khalid’s palm pressed against her back. “Ten days.”
Her grip on his cloak tightened. “Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
