The Rose and the Dagger (The Wrath and the Dawn)

No. He was not here to wreak revenge.

For revenge was trifling and hollow.

No. He was not here to retrieve his wife.

For his wife was not a thing to be retrieved.

No. He was not here to negotiate a truce.

For a truce suggested he wished to compromise.

The boy-king spurred his black al-Khamsa forward, its hooves kicking up a storm of dust and debris.

He was here to burn something to the ground.

But which of these two kings was the true villain of this story?

For a story was only as good as its villain.

But suffering had changed all that. For it was easy to be good and kind in times of plenty. The trying times were the moments that defined a man.

“Give me a meaningful love or a beautiful death!”

Alas, Omar was a greedy man.

He’d always hoped to have both.

Love was something that did much to change a person. It brought joy as it brought suffering, and in turn brought about those moments that defined one’s character.

Love gave life to the lifeless. It was the greatest of all living powers.

But, as with all things, love had a dark side to it.

Khalid’s chest rose and fell on a deep inhale. “I wish you would not be so stubborn.” He echoed her earlier words as his thumb grazed her cheek.

As his eyes rippled with unfettered emotion.

Shahrzad smiled. “Are you a genie or a fool?”

“A fool. As I’ve always been when it comes to you.”

“At least you can admit it.”

“At least twice.” One side of his mouth curled upward. “And only to you.”

Irsa finally understood.

Understood what it meant to feel at home wherever you were. To feel as though you belonged in any moment, at any place, in any time.

Because at that moment, with the press of Rahim’s lips to hers, with the touch of his tongue sending wildfire through her veins, she knew she would always be home here.

With this boy. In this moment. In this time.

And that her heart would never be lonely again.

When Rahim swallowed, the heavy knot in his throat rose and fell.

“May I kiss you?”

“Why are you asking permission?” Irsa murmured. “Doesn’t that—ruin the moment?”

“No.” He smiled, but its edges wavered with a deeper meaning. “Because it’s not just a kiss.”

“Why is that?”

“Because when I kiss you, I want yours to be the first . . . and last lips I ever kiss.”

Irsa wet her lower lip with the tip of her tongue, her throat suddenly dry. “Was there—something you wanted to tell me?”

He took in a breath through his nose. “There was . . . and yet there wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s just it.” Rahim sighed. “When I’m around you, you make me forget.”

“Forget?” Irritation began to gather at the bridge of her nose.

“At the same time you make me remember.”

“However does he survive, being surrounded at all times by such fools?”

“One stab at a time,” Khalid said quietly, sheathing his sword with a pointed snap.