THE TRUE KING OF DAHAAR(81)

                Nodding at his mother and her aides, he had said any one of them was acceptable to him. He knew, in the back of his mind, that he was being more than cruel to the woman in question. None of this was her fault. But seeing them was all he could manage before his gut churned with a vicious force.

                None of them was the woman he wanted with every breath in him.

                They knew what they were getting into, he reassured himself, walking back into his bedchamber and dismissing his three assistants and two aides with one command.

                His physiotherapist lingered, a flash of anxiety on the younger man’s face. Azeez signaled for him to leave, too, even knowing that he couldn’t afford to miss any sessions, not the night before the public statement was going to be made by his father.

                He walked to the middle of the room and tried to move his hip joint in the way Nikhat had taught him.

                But instead of that, all he could see was her face. Her lush mouth pinched, her heart in her eyes, breaking, shattering, her body gathered into a tight mass as if she braced herself against him, against his cruel words.

                The chasm of yearning in his gut, it felt as wide open as ever and just as painful. He heard the door open behind him and barked an order at whoever dared to come inside after he had banished them all.

                Silence met his command. And then he felt it. The way the hairs on his neck stood up, the hint of evening breeze that reached his nostrils coated with jasmine…

                There was no jasmine in the courtyards of the Dahaaran palace.

                He turned around just as she reached him. Her arms wound around her midriff, her face turned up toward him, she was warmth, she was light, she was the most beautiful, the most courageous woman he had ever seen in the world.

                And his heart hurt to look at her and not reach for her.

                He stepped back from her, ruthlessly cutting away the thread of hope that flagged within. “Who do I have to punish for letting you in here?”

                She didn’t answer. Only continued to stare at him—hungrily, greedily, as if she owned him. And she did, she had done for so many years.

                “Nikhat?”

                Blinking, she met his gaze. “Zohra.”

                “Ah…of course. I have never met a more stubborn woman, except perhaps you. I have no idea how Ayaan puts up with her.” He turned away from her, her wind-kissed hair, the dark shadows under her eyes, challenging his very will. “Why are you here, Nikhat?”

                “Will you forgive me, Azeez?”

                * * *

                Nikhat shivered, wondering if she’d died a thousand little deaths in the few seconds that Azeez took to respond. When he turned around, there was no softening of the hard planes of his face, no fire in his empty gaze. He looked tired, drawn, as if he was made of ice and cold rather than the heat and blaze of the desert.

                And she realized, she had done this to him.

                There was no power in it, only shame. She had truly not been worthy of him until now. She shoved away the clamor of fear that said she had lost him forever, that voice of despair that threatened to pull her under. If she lost him now…

                Reaching into the pocket of her coat, she pulled out the box Ayaan had handed her just a few minutes ago, before he had enfolded her in a hug that sent tears to her eyes. She wished she felt half his confidence.