One Night

Chapter Eight

Zayen

The nerve of this woman. Kiss me. Why would I ever do such a reckless, unnecessary thing?

My response could have been nicer. I told her the truth, that I'd rather kiss the floor. If she was hurt by my words, by my rejection, she did not show it. In fact, she seemed happy that I stepped away.

I've never seen the point in kissing. Tongues have the most disgusting texture, and then I am expected to pretend to enjoy it?

What I said was the truth. I would much rather lick the floor of a souk than kiss anyone—especially her. It's a pointless expression of love and desire, that ultimately gains us nothing. A thousand kisses or none, this life still ends with death. There's no need for the unnecessary.

The girl I once kissed was beautiful. She was enticing. She had the curves of a goddess and the voice on an angel and yet her tongue was devastatingly human.

I paid a price for that kiss. Nothing will ever convince me to give up my heart for a kiss. Not again. Certainly not for a thief.

The dining hall that held hoards of people, all lining up to raise their status with the Hakeem, is now empty. Except for the girl in the red dress who has sat on the same cushion for over an hour, staring at her hands which are folded up in her lap. Her hair falls forward, soft curls brushing her hollow cheeks. She needs food.

I stop in front of her, and knock my foot against hers. Surprisingly, her shoes are below average, the soles almost peeling off. I didn't notice before.

She looks up, the surprise in her eyes dimming when she realises I am not who she wanted me to be. She brushes her curls away from her face, carefully tucking them behind her ears.

I am not the prince who disappeared upstairs with a girl in a blue shawl. Who would want a knight in shining armour when they could have a prince?

If she has been sitting here the entire time, it means that she watched the cleaning service neaten up the room. She must have put up quite the fight, because the pillow she is sitting on is the only one remaining. The Hakeem will not be happy.

"It's almost sad. You lose a man's attention and suddenly you do not know what to do with yourself." I hold my hand out to help her stand up.

She stands on her own, refusing to touch me, and ends up closer than she expected. Her head tilts up to watch me, her expression filled with irritation, hidden behind a wall of defence. "Shut up."

My chest shakes with unexpected laughter. I'm sure she does have some royal blood in here, distantly. She has the attitude of royalty. Maybe they will get along after all. "Don't tell me to shut up, sariq." I turn and walk to the door. "Regardless, you're going to follow me. Otherwise you can sit in this empty hall for the rest of the night."

The silence that follows is broken after a few seconds, by the sound of her shoes shifting against the floor.

Half of the castle is reserved for rooms. The majority of them are left empty, with the Hakeem and Nawaz on the second floor, and the guards shoved into the basement. The first floor is saved for visitors, which are rare save for women invited by Nawaz to stay the night. He would never let a woman into his room.

The palace was originally built without toilets, because sewage systems hadn't existed yet. People had to keep their waste in buckets.

If that were still the case, Nasir would not handle it well. There would be endless complaints. I know my bucket would go right on top of his head.

There are many options of rooms I could have given the thief, but I am going to give her the smallest room with a window that has no view. She deserves much less.

Stepping aside, I allow her through first. The room is still twice the size of mine. She will probably complain about it and ask for more, since she is in the palace.

Her eyes search the room and then stick to the bed. "This is mine?" she asks, her voice breaking ever so slightly.

"No, none of it is yours. But you will be here for however long the Hakeem let's you stay. Maybe a week. Then you—" I shut my mouth when I notice the shimmer in her eyes in the light of the dim lanterns. Tears.

Her eyes meet mine and she quickly shifts to look away, her head tilting up to the ceiling. I study the side profile of her face—the curve of her lips, the rosiness of her cheeks, her thick eyelashes that line her eyes. A sadness twists each of her features. 

As quick as it came, her emotion is gone and she is nodding. Her face hardens to stone, a feat I am impressed she can do. Not many people that I have met can handle their emotions so well. "This will do." Her chin lifts, her gaze defiantly meeting mine.

"You don't have to act around me, sariq. I know what you are."

"Oh really?" She folds her arms across her chest. Her lips press tightly together. "Tell me, then."

As much as I dislike her for coming her, for lying, and for getting me into trouble—which will mean more eyes on me and less possibility of going to see Saad and Aya—I can see why she is here. "Your life is not easy. Things are obviously hard. If you had money, if you had anything, you wouldn't resort to stealing or lying. That's the only reason I haven't said anything. Because life is not easy for everyone; not everyone was born in a palace with a throne awaiting them."

Her expression shifts into something I don't recognise, and for a moment I wish I could tell what thoughts are crossing her mind. I want to know how close I am to the truth.

Instead of denying it, she says, "That's why you gave me the bracelet."

"Of course it was. That's why I asked you what you're going to use it for. Where is your mother now? Did you—?"

Her eyes shift to the door and then back to me. She widens them to indicate someone is behind me, which silences me immediately.

"How do you know who her mother is?"

~~*~~

I think I got myself in trouble. So I fill the bath with bubbles.

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