THE TRUE KING OF DAHAAR(26)

                “There are none.”

                Her mental gears checked through the list of things she had to do so rapidly that it took her a few seconds to understand. “But then who—”

                “Once they realized I would be of no more use to them, the terrorist group left me in the desert to die and moved on with Ayaan, as far as I can figure. He was still valuable to them.” His voice was so low, so weighed down with whatever he felt, that it raised goose bumps on her skin. “I had already lost a lot of blood. The Mijab found me, and patched up my hip the best they could. Luckily for me, I was unconscious for most of it.”

                Shock removed the filter from her words. “But the Mijab are not even the most advanced tribe. It’s a miracle you’re still standing.”

                Instant regret raked through her.

                Because it wasn’t a miracle. She had never believed in them.

                Even having gone through everything he had, even weighed down by the bitterest self-loathing he seemed to be under, Azeez Al Sharif was too much a force of life to just wither away and die. The fact that he was still standing was a testament to the man’s sheer willpower and nothing else.

                “I like to think of it as my penance, rather.”

                “Penance?”

                “Death would have been—it still is—too easy a punishment.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if there was no doubt about what he said. “Living my life is the harder one.”

                Her throat felt raw, her entire body felt raw at the quiet resignation of his words, at the emptiness in them. “Why should you have to serve penance at all? Why didn’t you come back when you recovered a little?”

                This was the thing that hurt and confused Ayaan the most. And her, too. The very fact that Azeez Al Sharif had chosen to stay away from Dahaar, his family, it shook the very foundations of every truth she knew.

                He turned away from her, signaling an end to this conversation. “You’ll have to accompany me to the hammam.”

                Whatever she had been about to say misted away. Enjoying a minute of uncensored, unwise desire she felt for him without guilt and shame was one thing, accompanying Azeez Al Sharif to what was essentially a steam room was another.

                She had delivered babies, she had no false modesty or squeamishness left in her. But this was…him.

                He halted at the door. “Unless you think what I ask is beyond the bounds of propriety and want to call the whole thing off, Dr. Zakhari?”

                She fisted her hands, wanting to wipe the mockery off his face. He was constantly going to try to push her to leave. “There are servants to help you there, Azeez.”

                “Do you know that Ayaan had all the old servants, like Khaleef, people who have seen me as a baby, reassigned to work in this wing?”

                She frowned, remembering what her father had said. “Yes. I thought it a good security measure since you insist on not letting the people of Dahaar learn that you’re alive.”

                His mouth set into a bitter line. “These are the same people who carried me on their shoulders in the palace, taught me how to ride a bike, celebrated with me when my father announced me Crown Prince. These are people who have known me my entire life, Nikhat. And now, when they look at me, all I see is their pity. That pity…Ya Allah…” He sounded tortured, his shoulders shaking with the enormity of it. She wasn’t the only one who had loved him—the entire palace, all of Dahaar had worshipped their magnificent prince. “It haunts me day and night, jeers me for the mockery I have become. I hide from my parents and yet…there they are, silent witnesses to my inadequacy, to my guilt.”