I could not control the grin spreading over my face. It was difficult to forget he was a prince, but with that came limitations. Among those: he did not think to prepare his own clothes before he went to bathe. Dihya, but he was beautiful. He’d spent so much time in the sun that his skin had darkened, and enough time training his stallion that the body I’d known had changed, if only a little. The strum of the loutar echoed in my head, and I felt—Dihya I felt such a need for him. The humor seemed to evaporate in half an instant and I found myself tracing his shape, the droplets of water caught at his throat, the way his eyes darkened when our gazes met.

“Amani,” he said darkly.

“Yes?”

“I am cold.”

I folded my hands in front of me. “That is hardly a question.”

“Do you know where the towels are?”

“I know where mine are kept, yes.”

“Please. Surely you will not allow me to suffer like this.”

“You will smell like jasmine,” I warned him.

“I am cold,” he repeated stubbornly and followed me into my bath chamber.

I drew a towel from a wooden chest, and when I turned around Idris was so close the skirts of my gown brushed his toes. We were both quiet as I draped it over his chest and shoulders, then raised on my toes to pat the ends of his hair dry. He watched me carefully, quietly, his eyes fixed on my face. I played a dangerous game, I knew. Fight or no fight, I recognized the way Idris watched me, for it was the way I watched him. And I felt the echo of it deep inside me, shivering over my skin.

His thumb traced the line of my throat—short one necklace—and I went perfectly still. “You gave it to her,” he said softly.

“She won it,” I replied.

“You did not have to part with it.”

I had no desire to reply to that. “Where are all the servants?” I asked instead.

“They have conspired,” he said. “Yousef—my valet—said I was being an unkind husband.”

My heart gave a lurch, but I managed to speak with some humor. “It is good, at least, that they’ve decided you are the villain.”

My hands had settled on his throat, with the towel keeping skin from skin. I had not been so close to him since the night he’d left. He laid his hands over mine and I froze. His head bent to mine, close enough that a droplet of water slid from a lock of his hair and onto my cheek. His lips were a hair’s breadth from mine, and for a moment I closed my eyes and didn’t think. Separation had not cooled my desire or my love. If anything it sat now like a dagger in my chest, twisting its way to my heart.