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‘He,’ Khalil said neutrally, and with a dart of surprise she wondered if he was actually jealous.
‘Yes, he. But it wasn’t romantic, not remotely.’ She sighed. ‘It was stupid, really. I was stupid to trust him.’
‘So this man is why you don’t trust people?’
‘I’ve learned my lesson. But I trust you, Khalil.’
She heard his breath come out in a rush. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Do I need to remind you why you’re here in the first place, Elena? I kidnapped you.’
She heard genuine remorse in his voice and she reached out and touched his hand, her fingers skimming across his skin. ‘I know you did, Khalil, but I also understand why you did it.’
‘You’re justifying my actions to me?’ he asked with a wry laugh, and Elena managed a laugh back.
‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ she answered honestly. ‘And I don’t know what I’d do if you let me go right now. I don’t know how I’d feel.’
She held her breath, waiting for his reply, needing him to say something—but what?
‘I don’t know how I’d feel either,’ Khalil answered in a low voice, and that was enough. That was more than enough.
Whatever was happening between them, Khalil recognised it as well. Just as he’d said before, things were changing.
Things had changed.
‘The temperature is dropping,’ Khalil said after a moment. ‘Here.’ He handed her a blanket and Elena wrapped it around herself. The wind howled; the night air was cold and crisp as she huddled against the rock, trying to make herself comfortable.
After a moment she heard Khalil sigh. ‘Elena. Come here.’
‘Come—where?’
‘Here.’ He patted his lap. ‘You’re obviously cold and I know of only one way to warm you right now.’
Her cheeks heated as she thought of other ways he could warm her. Ways she’d never even experienced before. ‘But...’
‘You’ve been on my lap before,’ he reminded her.
Yes, and she’d enjoyed it far too much. Elena hesitated, torn between the fierce desire to be close to Khalil again and the ever-present need to keep herself safe. What could happen between them, after all? In two days she would return to Thallia, and without a husband. If she had any sense, she’d keep her distance from Khalil.
It seemed she didn’t have any sense. She scooted across the rock, hesitating in front of him, not quite sure actually how to get on his lap.
Khalil had no such hesitation. Without ceremony or any awkwardness at all he slid his arms around her waist and hauled her onto him. Once there, she found it amazingly easy to curl into him just as she’d done before, her legs lying across his, her cheek pressed against his chest.
‘Now that’s better,’ Khalil said, and his voice was a comforting rumble she could feel reverberate right through her. He stroked her hair, his fingers smoothing over the dark strands.
‘Sleep,’ he said, his voice a caress, and obediently she closed her eyes even though she knew she would be less likely to sleep warm and safe on Khalil’s lap than when she’d been huddling by herself in the cold.
She was too aware of everything: the solid strength of his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The warmth of him, his arms snuggled safely around her, and even the scent of him, a woodsy aftershave mingled with the smell of horse and leather.
He continued to stroke her hair, pulling her gently into his chest so she snuggled in even more deeply, her lips barely brushing the warm, bare skin of his throat. Never had anything felt so familiar. So right.
She slept.
And woke in the clutches of a nightmare.
She hadn’t had one of her old nightmares in a long time, mainly because she never slept deeply enough to have any dreams at all. Now lulled to sleep in the warmth and safety of Khalil’s arms, it came for her.
Smoke. Screams. Blood. Bombs. In her dreams it was always the same: a chaos of terror, bodies strewn over the floor, shattered glass cutting into her palms. And the worst part of all: the heavy weight of her father on her back, his body shielding hers from the explosion, the last words he ever spoke whispered into her ear along with his last breath.
‘For Thallia.’
‘Elena. Elena.’
She came to consciousness with Khalil’s hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently, and tears on her face. She drew a shuddering breath and felt panic clutch at her even though she was awake, for the darkness and the howling wind reminded her of that terrible night.
‘It was just a dream, Elena.’ She felt Khalil’s hands slide up to cup her face, his forehead pressing into hers as if he could imbue her with his warmth, his certainty. ‘Whatever it was, it was just a dream.’
She closed her eyes, willing her heart rate to slow, the terrible images that flashed through her mind in brutal replay to fade. ‘I know,’ she whispered after a long moment. ‘I know.’
The touch of his palm cradling her cheek felt achingly, painfully sweet. ‘What do you dream of, Elena?’ he whispered and her throat went tight, too tight to speak. He ran his thumb lightly over her lips. ‘What haunts you so?’
‘Memories,’ she managed, her voice choked, suffocated. She reached up to wipe the remnants of tears from her face. ‘Memories of when my parents died.’
Khalil’s hands stilled on her face. ‘You were there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t I know that?’
‘It was kept out of the press, out of respect for my family. That’s what I wanted. It was hard enough, dealing with what had happened, without everyone gawking at me.’
‘Yes.’ Khalil slid his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. ‘I can imagine it was. Do you want to talk about it?’
Amazingly, she did. Normally she never talked about her parents’ deaths to anyone. She didn’t even like remembering it. But, safe in Khalil’s arms, she felt the need to tell him her story. Share her pain.
‘You know they died in the bombing,’ Elena began slowly. ‘And as far as I know, my mother died instantly. But my father—my father and I were alive after the bomb went off.’
Khalil didn’t say anything, just held her close. After a moment Elena continued. ‘I can’t remember much after the first bomb went off. I was thrown across the room and I landed on my back. I must have been unconscious for a little while, because I remember waking up, feeling completely disorientated. And everything...’ She drew a shuddering breath. ‘Everything was madness. People screaming and crying. So much blood...’ She shook her head, closing her eyes as she pressed her face into the solid warmth of Khalil’s chest.
‘I crawled across the floor, looking for my parents. There was broken glass everywhere but I didn’t even feel it, although later I saw my hands were covered in blood. It was so strange, so surreal... I felt numb and yet utterly terrified. And then I found my mother...’ She stopped then, because she never let herself think about that moment even though sometimes she felt as if it never left her thoughts: her mother’s lifeless face, her mouth opened in a soundless scream, her staring eyes.
She’d turned from her mother’s body and had seen her father stumbling towards her, terror etched on every feature.
‘There was a second bomb,’ she told Khalil, her voice muffled against his chest. ‘My father knew somehow. Maybe he guessed, or saw something. But he ran towards me and threw his body over me as it went off. The last thing he said...’ Another deep, shuddering breath. ‘“For Thallia”,’ she quoted softly. ‘He said “For Thallia” because he was saving my life for our country, so I could be queen.’
Khalil was silent for a long moment, his arms snugged around her. ‘And you think that was the only reason he was saving your life,’ he surmised quietly. ‘For the monarchy, not for you. Not because you were his daughter. Because he loved you.’
His words, so softly and surely spoken, cut her to the heart, because she knew they were true and she was amazed that Khalil had been able to see that. Understand it.
‘I never knew what they felt,’ she whispered. ‘I hardly ever saw them, all through my childhood. They were devoted to Thallia, but they never spent time with me.’ She let out a shuddering breath. ‘And then they were gone in a single moment, and I didn’t know if I missed them because they were dead or because I never actually knew them in the first place.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Is that awful?’
‘No, it’s understandable.’
‘But it seems so ungrateful. My father gave his life for me.’
‘You’ve a right to your feelings, Elena. They loved you, but how were you to know it if they didn’t show it until they’d died?’
She pressed her face even harder against his chest, willing the tears that threatened to recede. She wasn’t even sure what she was crying for. Her parents’ deaths? The lack of relationship she’d had while they’d been alive? Or simply the swamping sense of loss she felt, as if she’d experienced it for ever?
Until Khalil.
She twisted to look up at him. ‘I’ve never told anyone all that.’
