I was such a disappointment to everyone. Not male, so couldn’t be shoved into the roles in need of a steady supply of Aal Shalaans, and not the type of female they had in mind. The older I got, the more disgusted with me my mother and aunt became for not inheriting their refined genes, for manifesting the looks and temperament of the Neanderthal-like Aal Shalaans. I was ‘tainted’ by my Aal Shalaan blood, as my mother put it when she was trying to ‘cleanse’ me of its disadvantages. And though I cleaned up good when they had their way with me, when left to my own devices, I slipped back into my graceless, disgraceful self. Not that they gave up. They kept hoping that through constant pressure they’d prove the ancient proverb right.”
“Which proverb is that?”
“Ekfi’l edrah ala fommaha, tet’la el bent l’ommaha.”
“Set the cauldron on its face, after mother the girl takes.”
She whooped. “And it almost rhymes, too.”
He tutted. “Almost doesn’t count. Either it rhymes, or it’s lame. That was lame.”
Another man would have accepted her praise of his translation. He’d accept nothing he hadn’t fully earned. The self-made, self-sufficient entity that he was would care nothing about others’ approval, anyway.
She waved his dismissal away. “Details. It was good enough. And clever. Not to mention instantaneous.”
Not one to continue a subject he’d already dismissed, his gave her what felt like a mind and soul scan. “So your mother and aunt couldn’t ‘turn’ you.”
A chuckle overcame her. Yes, he was disparaging her family, but he did it deliciously, not to mention accurately. “Like vampires would, huh? Another spot-on analogy, sorry to admit. And nope. To their escalating frustration, I remained an inferior human with loads of abhorrent failings that made them break out in hives. The worst of it was the traits you had a demonstration of tonight.”
Was that teasing that simmered in the blackness of his eyes? Was it even possible?
“Being overriding and unstoppable?”
“Hah. They’d have a stroke if they heard anyone describe me as that. Their dissatisfaction with me was based on what they said formed the foundation of my character. In their words, a ‘total lack of discretion, insight and shrewdness and a genetic absence of poise, presence and influence.’“
Yep, she’d memorized the slurs. They’d been said in too many variations often enough.
His eyes told her he’d made a note of that fact. “It’s clear they didn’t know you well.”
Her lips relaxed, as did her heart. “Do you mind if I take that as a compliment?”
A perfectly formed hand—strength, skill and command wrapped in bronze and adorned by raven silk—waved her a knock yourself out. What she’d give to know those hands better.
She sighed. “Then I began to mess up their plans for me and was exposed to the full measure of their ruthlessness. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, their conspiracy to depose Uncle Atef and take over Zohayd was exposed. Not only didn’t I see any of it coming, when I was the closest anyone ever got to either of them, I never realized they were capable of such… malevolence. Guess they were right about my lack of insight and shrewdness.”
“You feel guilty that you didn’t realize what they were planning.”
As usual, he was right. “I felt almost responsible. It’s one of the main reasons I left Zohayd.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug. “And here I am.”
“Here you are.”
The words hung in the warm air like intoxicating incense. They sounded as if he was glad that she was.
Okay, so a man like Rashid—though there were no men like him—didn’t do ‘glad.’ But there’d been an emotion, as powerful as everything else about him, attached to those three words. Whatever it was, it warmed her, contented her.
Silence enveloped the gigantic space, enfolded them. She soaked up its peace and profundity. She couldn’t believe she’d shared with him things she hadn’t even told her best friends. How he’d listened, become involved, interested, letting her unburden herself, letting her come closer.
If only he’d reciprocate.
For now he was giving her what she’d never hoped to have. The pleasure of basking in his nearness and communion, the sense of being isolated with him in a world that contained no one but them. She felt sequestered from everything—the past, the future, existing in a sheer state of presence, in his presence.
Then poignancy passed from soul to senses, took hold… and wrenched. The need to smooth her hands down his scar, over that glorious head and shoulders and chest became an ache. But it was the expression on his half-turned face that had tenderness sweeping through her. It was as if he’d forgotten to put on his mask, as if he couldn’t hold it in place.
“What are you thinking?” she whispered.
The expression was gone. “Nothing.”
“I think it’s a fourth impossibility that your mind isn’t in high gear every single second you’re awake. I bet you’re thinking even when you’re asleep. It feels as if you’re perpetually observing, analyzing, concluding and deciding how to use each and every detail of what’s going on around you.”
Both eyebrows rose. But he only said, “And the first three impossibilities are?”
“You don’t know? But it’s a very common saying.”
“In Zohayd, I assume. Contrary to common belief, Azmahar was never an extension of Zohayd that splintered into oil-fueled if ill-fated autonomy. It wasn’t destined to return to the motherland’s bosom begging to be annexed back. Not until ex-king Nedal, that is.”
“Whoa. That’s a huge nerve you got exposed there. But sheathe your claws, Rashid. I, of all people, don’t subscribe to any of that. With said king being my uncle, I’m half-Azmaharian through the side of my family who’re responsible for Azmahar’s decline. I can do nothing about anyone’s actions or what they led to, but I’ve always loved Azmahar and am proud to call it my second home.”
His gaze stilled on her face.
Was that welcome news? Or was he only adjusting another misconception in that fathomless mind of his?
He finally exhaled. “You wouldn’t be faulted if you didn’t. Azmahar, as it stands today, doesn’t have much to it to love or to be proud of. It was mismanaged and misrepresented by its rulers and constrained and condescended to by its allies for decades. Most of its people have either forgotten what it is to be proud to be Azmaharian, or never learned it was possible to be so.”
That urge to touch him, hug him, almost overwhelmed her. “But not you. You’re Super Azmahar Man who’ll rectify all that, now that you’re a candidate for the throne.”
His expression changed as if a steel door had slammed shut. It made her realize how much he’d opened up. Another off-limits topic?
When he
