He gave her a soft smile and tucked a curl behind her ear, but his eyes were filled with a grief she did not understand. He ran a hand through his hair.

She didn’t want him to go but knew he must.

“Rest well, princess,” he whispered.

And then he was gone.

After he left, she scrubbed her body raw. Even after the sun began to slant into the room, she couldn’t get his face out of her head. She was addicted to him, somehow.

She didn’t love him—she knew she didn’t. But she could grow to. She knew she should cut the thoughts and feelings at their inception before they manifested into something too deeply rooted to get rid of, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to butcher this sapling.

It was a soft, quiet thing; she felt a tenderness toward it, even if its thorns pricked her from time to time because, oh, did it smell so succulently sweet.

She could get drunk off just the scent.

Chapter Fourteen

When she finally awoke, just a few hours later, Durkhanai’s mind was spinning.

What had Palwasha-sahiba been doing out so late at night? Why had she run? Her mind was racing with questions and concerns, theories and secrets.

Then, it all gave way as she remembered was the man from the night prior: the slow and sickening feeling of losing control. Her whole body hurt and ached. Then her heart melted as she remembered what had come after, the exact comfort of safety that can only come after a sufficient dosage of fear.

Outside, the weather was stormy, on the verge of rain, and hazy, even though it was summer now. She felt a creeping feeling she didn't know how to describe. A haunting feeling.

Durkhanai had something to say but couldn’t taste the exact flavor of the words. When she opened her mouth, nothing came out, and maybe she knew what it was, deep down, but she didn’t have the courage to bring herself to speak.

Her head was pounding, but she busied herself with investigating.

If Palwasha-sahiba had done all this to gain Marghazar’s favor, there had to be some correspondence, some alliance papers, something.

And she knew where they would be.

Durkhanai grabbed a key and slipped into her passageways without another word.

The passageways were dark and cool as ever. It was refreshing; her skin felt too hot. She lifted a lantern for light and began the route she had memorized by heart, her hand trailing along the wall for guidance at every turn, ever corner. She had learned these passageways when she had first arrived at court—she knew every room, every entrance, every exit. The Badshah had made sure of it.

For if one got lost in here, there was no saving them.

A pebble skittered behind her.

Durkhanai turned, straining her ears to hear but—silence.