His eyes were intent, reminding her that he could read her as easily as a map.
She hurriedly tugged on a frown. “Concerned, mostly. The poor thing could hardly breathe.”
“I tend to have that effect on women.”
“Which women?” She tilted her head.
He smirked.
Skies, what a fool he’d think she was. Of course there were other women. He was the daama prince.
“Not this one,” she said, hoping the fluster on her face would come across as exasperation.
“Oh?” He turned and watched her, the teasing in his tone heating the room in a way the hearth never could. “Our little moment on Afya’s back said otherwise, but I do love a challenge.”
She glared, and the curve of his shoulders trembled with a laugh.
“Sleep well, Huntress. May your dreams be as delectable as mine.”
“No one says that.”
“No? I didn’t know you made a habit of sharing your bed with other men.”
She growled and climbed back beneath the covers, facing the opposite side. His voice was like warm honey down her tongue. His presence was a weight, making her mind meander through every story Yasmine had shared, her neck burning. The Jawarat was content and quiet. Dastard.
She wrenched her gaze to the window, to the heavy throb of the Lion’s darkness, and knew sleep would be hard to find this night.
CHAPTER 82
Nasir was heavy with exhaustion, yet he could think of nothing but the brush of color on her face, her presence beside him. The heat pooling lower and lower.
And the hesitation in her gaze, clouded by uncertainty.
He was a killer with a crown, a poison alluring enough to taste. To Kulsum, to the women whose gazes followed the Prince of Death down the corridors. Not to her.
I would rather know one intimately than a thousand ostensibly, he had wanted to say, but the words were too bold, more of an invitation than a proclamation.
He didn’t want to be another moment stolen from a thousand. He wanted every sunrise and every crescent moon. He wanted to be the reason for every rare blush, the cause of every breathless sigh.
He thought of that moment atop Afya’s back, its match on Sharr between the columns just before all broke loose. Was he only so bold when she was in need of a distraction? If he had not kissed her then, so full of anger and pain and sorrow, would she have shoved him off the horse?
“Take me with you tomorrow,” she said. “I’m not going to stay here while you’re killing the caliph.”
“Your wound—” Your mind.
“Is fine. Take me.”
Who was he to deny her anything? “Aren’t you afraid?”
“The one thing certain in life is death, isn’t it?” she asked, echoing his cruelty on Sharr. “I was stupid for thinking I could confront the Lion alone, but … if I’m going to die, I might as well die fighting for what I believe in. Our cause is just. We’re not fighting for land or governance. We’re ensuring a future for the people. Magic and a world worth living in.”
He marveled at her strength, at how she could open her mouth and give him direction, a compass lea
ding his path.
“It’s … what I’ve been doing since the day I first held a bow in my hands.”
“You won’t die,” he said after a silence.