One Night

Chapter Nine

Alara

The prince is standing at my door. Shirtless. From the way his hair is ruffled, it is clear that he did many things to that girl in the blue shawl.

"Because . . ." Zayen's eyes find mine, panic and uncertainty flashing like flares shooting into the night sky. "Because I wanted to marry her."

What? It takes everything to avoid reacting to that statement; to avoid screaming at the most unbelievably stupid excuse I have ever heard. Clearly he is not great at thinking on his feet.

"What?" the prince asks, echoing my thoughts. What if the prince backs off now, because he thinks that this guard wants me? What if this man just ruined everything? "Zayen, you're in love with this girl?"

Zayen. That's his name. Rough and powerful. It almost suits him.

He refuses to look at me. Good! He should be ashamed, because now the prince is not going to want me anymore. Maybe that was his plan, to let this backfire and then kick me out.

I take a deep breath. Or maybe he saved me from being exposed. Possibly being locked up for treason and left to rot in the underground prison with no windows or oxygen.

Because what would I have said? How would he know anything about my mother? I have a lot of practice being a thief, but not a liar.

But now I have lost.

Nawaz steps up closer to me, most likely ready to escort me out. His hand touches my arm, but his touch is gentle. "Do you feel the same way, Malaika? Do you love him?"

"No," I shake my head rapidly. "And . . . And my mother didn't like him anyways."

"Ouch." A laugh escapes Nawaz's lips, almost sounding like it is exactly what he wanted to hear. "Unrequited and rejected by her mother. I'm not surprised." His eyes seem to turn to slits when his gaze finds Zayen's.

Those words leave an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. I'm not surprised. Kicking someone who is down is never an attractive quality, no matter how much I want to want the prince.

My stomach growls, breaking the hollowed silence.

They both turn to me. Their burning gazes make me take a step back. I don't like coming off as vulnerable, especially not around two men who I do not know.

Suddenly, Nawaz's smile is back, creating a mask over whatever is hidden behind it.

The other girls must have left. I must be his last option. That must be the only reason why he is here, taking my hand and leading me towards the kitchen.

Zayen trails behind us, until Nawaz turns to him. "Leave."

"No." His jaw tightens. "Your khara got me in this position in the first place." His eyes flicker to mine. "And this clueless girl chooses food over safety. She chooses you over safety. So no, I won't leave."

But Nawaz barely acknowledges that Zayen has said a word as he steps into the kitchen.

This palace keeps leaving me in wonder. Having seen the lush gardens in the middle of the hallways, the wealthy attendees of the ma'duba handing gifts to the Hakeem, the gigantic library with more books than a person could read in two lifetimes—I was expecting the same of the kitchens. Excess. Grandiosity. But instead, the kitchen is small, nearly home-like, and filled with the smell of a mixed of spices.

A man in patterned purple pants and an oversized white shirt stands at the stove, a huge wooden spoon in his hands. My mouth immediately begins to water.