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One of the carts moved away, and footsteps crunched along the sand. Her relief was quickly replaced by another fear: The carts were being halted for inspections. Of course they were—this was a palace. Zafira’s heart drummed loud enough that she wouldn’t be surprised if the drivers thought their sacks of flour had suddenly found a pulse.
Footsteps shuffled near, and she knew by the thud of boots that it was a guard. She screwed her eyes closed, pressing herself as low and flush against the side of the cart as she could.
“Yalla,” the guard droned. “It’s almost time for my break.”
Guards are lazy, Yasmine reassured her.
She closed her eyes even tighter, knowing that miles away in Thalj, her friend was livid with hurt and anger because Zafira had left without a word.
Something pushed against the wood—the guard leaning against the side of the cart. Something else rustled.
The burlap. Sweet snow. No, no, no. Gray light slipped into the cart as the cover was peeled back, bit by bit. She dug her toes beneath a sack of flour.
The guard paused.
Her limbs shook.
“Eh? Tell me again?”
She couldn’t make out the response over the roaring in her ears.
The guard broke out in laughter, the strangest guffaws making Zafira bite her tongue against a laugh of her own. Khara, did her brain not understand the danger she was in?
The burlap fell closed. The guard moved away, talking more animatedly than he had just moments ago, and Zafira’s exhale shuddered as the cart jostled forward again, at last rumbling to its final stop. The driver leaped down, tipping the cart with his weight.
And then, nothing.
What was she supposed to do now? She held her breath as the footsteps faded, reminding herself that she trusted her ears more than her eyes.
She lifted a smidge of the burlap and peered into the stall. No one was there. Drivers only drove. They didn’t unload goods. Which means the ones who do will come along next, oaf. At the count of three, she threw off the covering and leaped over the side of the cart. She fell with a sharp sting down her chest, knees jarring.
The stall was wide enough to park all three carts. The horses that had drawn them snorted tiredly, waiting to be untethered. The place hadn’t been cleaned in months, it seemed, and the dust collected from the morose expanse of sand doused in gray light behind her clung to the odds and ends piled against the far wall.
Immediately she knew she was not alone. She ducked her head lower, glancing beneath the cart to see if anyone was heading her way.
“Hello,” someone whispered.
She nearly screamed. Nasir clung to the bottom of the cart, dust in his hair and the keffiyah knotted around his neck. With a sheepish grin at her answering glare, he dropped and rolled out beside her as if he did this every daama day. She rubbed the backs of her knuckles across her chest, but before she could snap, he lifted them both to their feet and dragged her to a tiny alcove, hands around her shoulders as the drivers returned.
“Now what?” she whispered, suddenly aware of his touch. There wasn’t even enough room in the space to turn around and face him.
“Now,” he said smoothly, mouth feathering her ear, “we wait.”
She held still. Her body pulsed as she fought the desire to nestle back against him. Feel him against her.
“I wonder how we can pass the time,” he mused in that same low tone. For a moment, neither of them moved. Only the sound of their breathing filled the air. Then his hands left her arms and he brushed her messy hair away with a drag of his fingers. She shivered at the whisper of his breath on her skin before he pressed his lips to the hollow between her neck and shoulder.
The drivers, Zafira suddenly thought, could take as long as they wanted.
She let out a ragged wheeze and something inside her came alive. It tilted her head, granting him better access.
“The way you breathe drives me to insanity, fair gazelle.”
His daring did the same to her. His voice. The way his words slipped from his tongue, each one careful, each one beautiful. He had been a touch bolder since they’d begun stealthing about. He thrived on this, she realized. On the thrill of his missions.
A curl of darkness whispered along her skin, widening her hooded gaze. She almost startled, but held herself, knowing this was a part of him, one he had not yet conquered. Shadows grazed her wrist and slipped down the slope of her neck, tender and questioning, wholly unlike the Lion’s.
“Do you feel what they do?” she asked, lifting her palm. The dark wisps circled her
