What had he said? That his life was of value to the wali of Jardum—if that was so, he must have been close to the wali and her family.

Durkhanai looked at him again, this time considering him closely: the way the sun shone off his high cheekbones; the long, curled eyelashes; the plump, soft lips; the thicket of ebony curls. His height, his build. He looked like a warrior, face harsh and . . . sad.

He turned, catching her staring.

Her heartbeat spiked. Durkhanai averted her gaze.

Asfandyar slowed his pace. In a few steps, she was side-by-side with him. He regarded her with open curiosity, as if waiting for her to speak.

She shivered, then shivered again, suddenly bitten by the cold. Her fingers had numbed without her noticing, her nails turning a shade of lavender blue.

“May I, princess?” he said, voice low. She blinked in surprise.

He extended his hand. Something sharp turned in her stomach. He smiled in a manner meant to be courteous, but she saw the dare that glittered in his eyes. He didn't think she would allow him—it was uncouth—but she would not be intimidated.

“How uncharacteristically kind of you, ambassador.”

His eyes glittered, but he did not smile.

She placed her fingers delicately onto his forefinger, and his gaze caught on the family crest ring she always wore on her third finger. Sudden emotion ran through his eyes, but before she could read it, the mischief was back.

Strange.

His hand swallowed hers. Something volatile, something barbaric, ran through her as he ran a thumb over her fingers, his knuckles grazing ever so teasingly against the curve of her palm. Pleasure rose in her throat, but she swallowed it.

“Comforted?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

She smiled sweetly. “Not quite.”

He raised her fingers to his lips, then blew air into her hand. She couldn’t help the delicious warmth that ran through her, but two could play at this game.

She lifted her fingers until her nail grazed the smooth stretch of his bottom lip. His mouth parted, releasing a soft sound. Just as his lips closed into the whisper of a kiss, she swiftly pulled her hand away.

He looked stunned—starved.

“Shukria, ambassador,” she said, trying not to smile triumphantly. “I am most comforted now.”

She swore she almost heard him laugh, but he withheld, his lips in a downturned smile.

A draw, then.

They continued their walk, side by side, and admired the scenery. Below them, they could see a small lake, and the vertical folds of the mountains looked like the ruffles of an extravagant lengha. Higher, on the land, the roads looked like lightning bolts imprinted into the earth.

Durkhanai reminded herself to focus. She needed to make an ally out of him.

“You are quite the dancer,” she remarked. Men were easily placated with compliments. Asfandyar smiled.