Malika

22 Eyes

Her eyes widen and her cheeks heat up before she glares at him. "It's raining. It was raining all the way from my home to the palace."

"So it's not my touch then?"

His hand travels lower and she flips her dagger again, the edge pressed to his throat again.

"We're not doing this, Adam."

"I had a bad day. I don't want to do anything but this." He tugs her down until his lips press to her neck, flicking his tongue over the skin before kissing it. "You were all I looked forward to. I waited. Let my patience be worth it."

She remains still, her hold on the dagger loosening but not letting it drop, allowing him as his nose drags along her jaw.

"Why did you have a bad day?" she asks, her anger lulled against her worry for him, and he pulls back.

"Let me light the fireplace. You really are cold." His gaze switch down to her dagger. "You might want to remove it, unless you want me to carry you in my arms so you can keep it at my throat."

"Tempting," she says, though let the dagger drop at his feet. "The woman might have welcomed herself before you could warm the chamber."

"I was out with Taha and returned only now. She walked in moments before you."

"And you wouldn't send her out?"

"Why would I when I knew you'd be here any second and perform the task better than me?"

"How considerate," she mocks and straightens away.

He chuckles in amusement and stands up. "Truthfully, I was curious," he admits, strolling towards the fireplace.

"What about?" Her tone sharpens and her eyes narrow. "Curious as to what show she was about to put on for you?"

"She might had daggers up her sleeves for all I know."

"Is that why you were sitting so leisurely before her?"

"Is that how you see it?"

The way he asks her the question makes Noura deter to reply. His voice has suddenly dropped and darkened. He crouches before the fireplace to light it. She remains standing on her spot, staring at him. He doesn't glance back at her.

"My father, Marwan Al Kurdiya, was a very callous man. Anyone you ask probably will not have any good graces to remember him in," he says, still busy with the logs, and the unexpected change in conversation confounds her. "When a man would be found guilty in his court, he'd allow him a chance to save his life. He'd take the culprit to an open area and let him run away. And while he'd run, away a good distance, my father would take his mark with a spear and throw it at him. The deal was that if he missed, the culprit's life would be spared. If not, he dies." The logs catch fire and his face glows against it. He gazes into it, forearms resting on his knees. "The truth was, he never missed his target. I cannot recall a single man from my memory who ever made it out alive. So it was always an end deal-- a death sentence for the culprit and a sport for my father."

Noura remains silent, watching him as his eyes absently stare into the fire, lost in the recollection of his past.

"When he was the governor of Qahira, one day there was a celebration at the palace. The women were all dressed up, the harem of my father bustling with colors and glitters. My mother, however, chose to wear a very simple dress that could easily had her paling in comparison to others. She didn't even wear her tiara. But one thing she always took pride in was her husband's love for her, despite him being known as a cold-hearted tyrant to the world."

The doors to the balcony are closed but she can still hear the rain rattling. It's falling stronger now. Somewhere there's a roar of thunder but it does nothing to break their trance.