“What would you have me do, Nikhat?”
The vulnerability in his words shook her, the trust in his dark gaze, how she wished she deserved it. She clutched his hands and tugged him toward her. She kissed his cheek, loving the raspy texture, holding him as if she never wanted to let go. “I think you have punished yourself enough. Your heart is your greatest gift, Azeez. But you won’t listen to me, will you?” She ran her fingers over his temple, tracing the strong lines of his cheekbones, loving him a little more in that moment.
How could she not?
“Tell Ayaan what you told me. Tell him why you want to leave, Azeez, the true reason. And if you still want to be punished, then accept whatever he decides for you as your sentence.”
She didn’t know if her answer angered him or affected him at all. He only stared at her for what felt like a long time before he turned around and left.
Nikhat reached for the wall behind her and crumpled against it. She felt as if she would shatter into a million pieces. Or maybe she already had and this was how it felt to fall apart.
Do you think I care whether it is he or I on the throne, whether it is my son or his son that will rule Dahaar next?
It felt as if the one decision that she had built her life around had suddenly morphed, changed shape into a question rather than a statement, and the foundations of her life were fracturing around it.
Even when she had ventured toward happiness again with Richard, she had only been hurt by his sudden change of heart that he wanted children. It had made her realize that she had been right about not wanting to give Azeez the choice between her love and the throne.
But now she was caught inside a hell of her own making, hating herself, pitying herself, questioning every decision she had ever made to arrive at this point in her life.
Because, as long as she had been confident that she had done the right thing, she had borne any amount of pain, soldiered on with her life even after losing everything that had been precious to her. But if Azeez hadn’t cared whether it was he or his brother who inherited the throne, or whose child was the heir…
She sank to the floor in a boneless heap, and wrapped her arms around herself.
The only thing she understood amidst all that, the one thing she knew was that she couldn’t bear to see him leave, she couldn’t even breathe at the thought of not seeing him again, of not feeling his rough hands on her, of not feeling his hard body shudder in her arms, of not seeing that gaze sear through her, owning her, claiming her.
She had fought tiny little battles all her life to be able to follow her own heart, to be able to make her own destiny, to have the right to do as she willed.
Now she felt all that strength unraveling. All she wanted was to give herself over, body and will, into his hands, and forget everything.
She would always love him, she realized with a shudder. And she was desperate enough to hold on to him for as long as she could.
* * *
The next morning, Azeez paced the length of his brother’s office, shocked at the difference in his own mind since he had been here only a few weeks ago.
The room still dealt a swift kick to his gut, but at least he could breathe after those first few moments, he could bear to stand inside.
His mind, however, would not let go of Nikhat’s words.
Cowardice, that was it. Every action of his, every decision he had made in the last few years was full of his own cowardice, his ego, his dented pride. He had hidden it all under guilt, called it penance.
But she was right.
How could he walk away now knowing everything he did?
Maybe if Ayaan hadn’t brought him back, maybe if he hadn’t seen how much Ayaan needed him, maybe if he hadn’t learned today that he was going to be an uncle…he felt divided in half, the unrelenting questions pounding through him.
Maybe he was not fit to rule Dahaar, but he could still be its servant, couldn’t he? He could serve his brother, he could shoulder some of his burden.
Where was the honor in walking away from the wreckage he had created?
He walked to the portrait of his family, and let the tears prick behind his eyes. Maybe he was not completely broken. It had taken him years to realize what his father had always taught him.
His father, Azeez and Ayaan—they had all been born with a purpose—to serve Dahaar and its people. And for years, embroiled in in his own guilt and inadequacy, he had forgotten that. He had forgotten what he was capable of, he had forgotten what it felt like to be the man he was destined to be.
“Azeez?”
He turned around and faced Ayaan. His copper gaze curious, his brother stared at him warily. “Is everything all right?”
Nodding, Azeez pointed to the file he had left on the table. “I have taken a look at the amendments to the treaty. What Zayed’s committee is suggesting is not completely disagreeable. If I were the new high sheikh of Zuran, my first act would be to restore all the rights his uncle signed away to their oil. My guess is that he needs this to happen so that he can thwart the High Council. Remember, in Zuran, the High Council has the final vote on everything, even electing the sheikh. If we back his victory now, we will have gained a powerful ally, we can use this to better tax treaties, even.”