“What have I told you, Emin?” I understand his concern. Truly, I do. It is early, an unusual time to venture from the palace.
The capital sleeps. It didn’t take long to slip from my rooms unnoticed and ready Zainab in the deserted stables. My mare stands calmly, tail lazily flicking at flies. Notus will not seek me out until seven—the time we agreed to depart. By then, I plan to be far from Ishmah’s gates. I don’t need an escort. What I need is freedom. Mirash is half a day’s journey northwest, and I’m perfectly capable of traveling alone. Once I reach our destination, I’ll wait for Notus at the entrance. Barring delays, we will return home by nightfall.
The young man’s lips quiver. A tuft of facial hair sprouts from his chin. “That I’m not to address you by your official title.”
“And?”
“And that you have the power to make my life very difficult if I do not obey.”
I have taught him well. “Excellent.” I add another coin onto the growing pile.
As Emin ogles the heap of gold, I glance over my shoulder, but the courtyard is deserted, nothing to interrupt the night sounds but the occasional whicker of a horse from the nearby stables. Tucked in the shadow of the palace walls, it is unlikely any guards completing their rounds will spot me.
“Emin?” He startles, and I gesture to the locked gate. “With haste, please.”
His eyes flicker toward the gold, and I stifle a huff of laughter. Of course. Payment first. As I reach for his hand, however, a larger, stronger hand swallows my wrist, halting the motion.
Emin’s eyes widen. My head whips around, and I am pinned. Two dark eyes glitter below a headscarf of flaming red. My heart leaps so forcefully I’m certain it has wedged itself inside my throat.
“If I recall,” Notus says quietly, with that leashed patience I have come to know, “we agreed to journey to Mirash together.” He regards me without blinking. “Have you changed your mind?”
We both know the answer to that question.
He shifts forward, his warmth bleeding through the frigid desert night. My skin tingles from his proximity, damn my traitorous body, but I remain in place, unwilling to give ground.
Emin glances between us in puzzlement. Right. Notus and I are supposed to be engaged. Foolishly in love.
Curling my hand into the ivory fabric smoothed across his chest, I peer at my betrothed through lowered lashes. The South Wind was not expecting this display of affection. Perhaps it’s petty of me, but I feel pleased by the power I hold over this immortal. Angling my head, I tap my cheek expectantly.
Notus glances at the young guard, who promptly gazes elsewhere, granting us a bit of privacy as the South Wind leans forward to brush a kiss against my cheek.
The spice of his breath overwhelms me. I can’t deny that a part of me wishes to shift my head and claim his mouth, as I’d wished to do after learning he had touched himself to thoughts of me in his bedroom.
“How did you know I would be here?” I demand.
“Because I know you,” he murmurs.
At this point, I can’t deny it. He understands my need for freedom. I understand his desire to share, and be known.
“How well?” I challenge, feeling suddenly bold.
He fights a smile. “You forgot your cloak.” As he passes it over, he says, “Check the pockets.”
I do so, pulling out two honey cakes wrapped in cloth, still warm.
Now it’s my turn to fight a smile. What an unexpectedly thoughtful gesture. He must have gone into the city earlier, knocked on Nadia’s door, and bought these for the journey.
Lifting my eyes, I ask Notus, “Did I ever tell you how I discovered Nadia’s bakery?” I swear we’ve drawn closer together.
He smooths a hand down my arm. “Remind me.”
Oh, gods. I press my hand to my forehead, soft laughter bubbling up at the memory. “Father forbid sweets after Fahim ate an entire plate of cookies in one sitting. It didn’t stop my brother. He simply snuck into the city and acquired them himself. When he brought me back one of these honey cakes, I demanded that he show me the bakery.” They were so mouthwatering, Ineededthem.
And so when I took Notus to the bakery for the first time, I was telling him without words what it meant to be able to experience joy without restrictions. After that, he would often bring me honey cakes, stashing them in my bedroom, the music room, the garden. It was our little game, our secret, a thread of our developing story. And I thought of him then as I do now.
Clearing my throat, I step back. The sky has begun to shed its gray pall.
“Open the gate,” I order Emin before my attention shifts to the South Wind. “Are you coming or not? We mustn’t delay.”
