Hugging herself, she hurried into the cold, solitary embrace of the shadows. Fearing the guards might hear Hassan’s shout and return her to the cell, she moved deeper into the nook, not ready to be forced back to that concrete coffin. The cold of it made her bones and joints ache for the warmth she found here. And she appreciated the fresh smell of the plants and trees.
“Nouri!” a voice barked into the quiet of her solitude.
Flinching at the sight of her guard, Asim, she noticed he had not yet located her behind the trees and shrubs. Yet, hiding would only incur more wrath and physical punishment. She shifted into the open.
Asim’s gaze rammed into her, and his mouth tightened. “Inside.”
Moving toward the voice, she trained her eyes on his boots as she reluctantly obeyed. Her slippered feet hit the marble floor of a long passage inside the palace. When he banked to the right, she faltered but didn’t slow. Why was he going that way? The dungeon lay in the opposite direction. She looked toward the other end where her cell waited.
“Now!” he snapped. “I do not have time to wait on you!”
That was literally all he had to do, but she dared not raise his ire. Only then realizing she’d stopped, she scurried to close the ten-foot gap between them. Followed him past—great mercies—the grand salon! Stunning and masculine, the décor reflected the king and his more modern tastes, lightly accented with historical flavor. Distinctive for the Central Kingdom, its opulence and luxury left her breathless. In Virginia, she had lived in wealth, but nothing like this. This was extravagance at its peak.
When he veered toward an arced staircase and started climbing the stairs, she had to force herself not to hesitate. What on earth was going on? She itched to ask where they were going, but the men in this palace did not tolerate “nagging.” Maybe he’d forgotten she was still with him and was inadvertently leading her to the wrong place. Asking if he’d made a mistake wouldn’t go over well. At the top, she tensed, dread coursing through her. Months they had beaten it into her that she should neither be seen nor heard. If she continued, surely someone would see her.
“Keep moving.” His growl was lazy but still loud this time.
Nerves had her skipping a step, but she nearly careened into him when he stopped at a door. Flicked it open. “In.”
Leighton faltered for only a second, fearing that look in his eyes. But that was all it took for him to smack the back of her head. “Now!”
She pitched herself across the threshold. Inside, she peripherally noticed the plush rug that padded her steps and relieved the ache in her knees and ankles. Amazing! Never thought she would so appreciate carpet, but here she was.
Behind her, the door closed with a thud. A definitive shunk sounded.
Not surprised they’d locked her in, she glanced back as if she needed confirmation. Yep, door locked and—shocker—no knob. Wondering what was going on, she glanced around the room, but knew better than to move. She’d made that mistake once before, and guards had manifested seemingly from the walls themselves to beat her into submission.
Fisting her hands, she waited. Wondered why he’d brought her up here. Whose room was this? But when her legs started tingling, she fisted her hands. Braved another look. Then a quiet call. “Hello?” She cringed at how loud her voice felt in this empty room, how it echoed over the marble floor of the bathroom to her right.
Slowly, she traced every shadow and cornice. Bathed in creams, golds, and powder blue, the room was simple compared to the lavish overkill throughout the palace. A queen bed dominated the open space and sat between dark, wood end tables with lamps. Flanking the bed, Middle Eastern scalloped arches set off a gilt floor-to-ceiling mirror on one side and an inset settee on the other. A chair sat nearby, almost within reach of her right hand. Beyond the bathroom door and shower within, there seemed to be a closet back there.
Whose room was this? Why am I here?
As the minutes fell away, so did restraint. Her imagination took over, working through what she’d change. Not much—the décor was tasteful and pretty, though…extravagant still. That mattress seemed as high as her waist.
Oh, the thought of sleeping on a real bed nearly tempted her across the room. It must be glorious. The pillows looked dreamily soft. Her aching body begged for a reprieve.
But she dared not.
Except, after what felt like hours, she did—well, not the bed. But she allowed herself the nearby chair because her legs were growing numb. The relief was acute as she perched on the edge, ear trained on the door and marble floor beyond—anxious for the clip of shoes on the marble—ready to bolt to her feet again when they returned.
Had Asim forgotten her? With the passing minutes, she began to sag. Yawned.
“Get up, girl!”
The smack across her face jolted Leighton awake. She shot upward, her legs tangling in the thick fog of sleep. She landed on all fours, but scrambled back to her feet with a hurried apology.
“You mongrel—what are you doing?” Hands on her hip, the woman seethed.
“Waiting, ma’am,” Leighton murmured, limbs trembling from the rude awakening.
“Waiting for what?”
“For…whoever stays in this room to come.”
The woman barked a laugh. “It’s your room, ya hamar!”
Leighton started. Her head came up—but she remembered herself and studied the carpet. “I think there is a mistake, ma’am.”
