A WHISPER AND A CHALLENGE
A MOUNTAIN OF JEWELED SILK LAY BEFORE DESPINA. Resolute.
She studied her adversary, both hands propped on her hips. Then Despina sighed, long and loud.
Such carelessness.
“Anything with embroidery needs to be wrapped individually,” she directed to Ruha, the young servant girl at her shoulder. “If something snags, it won’t be on my head.” Her voice dropped as an afterthought. “Or my purse.”
Without hesitation, Ruha followed Despina’s command, reaching for the topmost garment with cautious hands. They worked alongside each other in silence, sorting the beautiful pieces of clothing, many of which had yet to be worn.
After a time, Ruha glanced at Despina from the corner of her eye. The younger girl seemed to hesitate, her mouth ajar as though caught mid-speech. Finally she faced Despina. “Have you seen the new queen yet?”
Despina considered her response before replying. Too much information would be foolish. Too little, unimpressive. She could afford to be neither. “Only at a distance. The new calipha brought her own servants to the palace.”
“But I thought you were to be her handmaiden.” The servant girl’s voice bordered on querulous.
Despina lifted a shoulder in dismissive fashion. “It appears I am to be the Guardian of the Garments, instead.”
“Once she meets you, the queen will undoubtedly change her mind. No one has your sense of style. Or your way with colors.”
“Or my care in storing garments, it would seem.” Though she was irritated, Despina sent a warm smile Ruha’s way. The two young women resumed their work.
Resumed their many contemplations.
It would be a lie to say the unspoken dismissal of Despina’s services didn’t smart. She’d only recently been elevated to the vaunted post of handmaiden to the queen; it had taken her years to achieve such standing. Years to move beyond a troubling past.
But the new Calipha of Khorasan was purportedly the quiet sort. And when Despina had last seen her—though it was but a brief instant—the lovely girl seemed . . . elsewhere. As though her mind lived amongst the clouds. As though the first hint of a storm would spin her into turmoil. Despina supposed it made sense the girl would not want a perfect stranger dressing her or attending to her needs. After all, the new queen had been raised in Rey; her servants were certainly close by.
Her name was Ava. That much they all knew and not much more. In their language, it meant “voice.” Strange that this slender sylph of a queen exhibited anything but. When she was in need of something, she sent her most trusted servants. Hushed conversations transpired in shadowed hallways. And all was handled in an equally discreet manner.
Perhaps a somewhat taciturn queen would suit the young caliph. After all, Khalid Ibn al-Rashid had always been a boy of few words.
So—despite the slight to her new position—Despina set about organizing the many garments strewn about the space. Even though it was clear she would not be in direct contact with the new calipha, Despina’s pride would not allow her to do anything less than perfect work.
Despina adjusted the thick band of silver resting above her left elbow. Huffing audibly, she bent to collect more fabric. Then—before she could thwart it—the tassels snagged on something. The tiny mirrors on the skirt’s embroidery caught on intricate blue fringe. An unmistakable rip echoed through the space.
Ruha whirled about, her eyes wide. Horrified.
Though her cheeks burned, Despina’s smile was one of punishing precision.
She glared at the skirt in question. “With all the power of the gods, I smite you,” Despina said. Unfolding the torn garment, she turned to squint into the light of a nearby taper.
“Can it be mended?”
“The seam is still intact. But I’m not quite certain it’s salvageable.” Her eyes flitted about the windowless space. The room was meant to keep away all signs of light. Faded colors were as problematic as rogue moths. Knowing the faint glow from the scented taper was not enough, Despina shouldered past the door, down the marbled corridor to where the rays of the afternoon sun reached their highest.
Again she unfurled the fabric. The thin silver silk glimmered as though it were fashioned from stardust. A breeze riffled past as Despina carefully straightened a gathering in the cursed snag. The mirrors along the hem flashed, tinkling together like tiny coins.
“That’s the loveliest sight I’ve seen all day.”
Behind her. A male voice with the warm resonance of laughter. Of unbridled merriment.
Or of blind privilege.
Despina glimpsed over a shoulder. And refrained from showing any reaction.
The voice belonged to the captain of the Royal Guard. The son of General Aref al-Khoury, the Shahrban of Rey.
Blind privilege, indeed.
Well, Despina supposed she was bound to encounter such an important young man in person. Especially now that she had been elevated in direct service to the queen.
This time, Despina turned toward him, her back straight and her stare unwavering.
As she’d always suspected even from a distance, he was in fact quite handsome.
Unforgivably so.
Broad-shouldered, trim-waisted. His cloak emblazoned with the royal seal. A wavy mop of dark hair. The kind that begged to be touched.
A smirk that begged to be slapped.
Despina had heard tales of him. The palace was rife with salacious talk. And the captain of the Royal Guard had quite the reputation. A notorious rake. One who’d broken many hearts. He could supposedly charm the skirts off a girl with nothing but sly words and flippant promises.
At the memory of such tales, Despina stifled a laugh.
Impossibly ridiculous. Removing clothing involved a great deal more than words.
At the very least, someone had to unravel something. A knot. A string.
A suggestion.
The captain of the guard sauntered closer, a palm resting on the bejeweled hilt of his scimitar. His grin bordered on obscene. Too knowing. Too assured.
Too arrogant.
“You must be hungry,” Despina said.
He stopped mid-step. “Pardon?”
“You said I was the loveliest sight you’d seen all day.” Despina angled a hip forward, her most winning smile displayed to full advantage. “Therefore, you must be hungry.”
“Interesting.” He angled his body in the same direction, almost on instinct. “I’ll play. Why do you suppose I’m hungry?”
“To me, the loveliest sight of all is food.”
A spark glinted in his eyes. “I suppose that would depend on what kind of food, would it not?” He walked closer, scrutinizing her features in the rays of shifting light. “For instance, when I look at you, I think perhaps a drizzle of honey”—his gaze lingered on her lips—“over fresh berries might compare.”
It was too much. Too much . . . everything. Though she knew she could play this rake’s game without balking, Despina burst into laughter, clutching her sides as the sound reverberated off the coffered ceilings. It was undoubtedly foolish to laugh at such an important young man. But she had not sought him out.
And funny trumped foolish, at all turns.
The captain of the guard’s eyes widened. His jaw dropped. But he recovered quickly. In no time at all, a redolent grin touched his mouth.
“I can’t say I’m used to that response.”
His voice rolled through the space. The smallest of shivers danced across her skin.
It was an unforgivably nice voice.
Despina smiled back at him, all but baring her teeth. “Perhaps you need a better adversary.”
“You think yourself better?”
“Than you?”
He nodded again, his grin arching up his face.
“In all ways,” Despina replied without pause.
Now it was his turn to laugh. The sound enveloped her, taking root in her stomach, its warmth curling beneath her skin.
He’s trouble. Stay away.
Despina returned to her task, straightening the torn seam as best she could.
Behind her, his footsteps drew near, crisp against the polished stone.
A whisper at her ear. “I find myself unconvinced, lovely girl.”
“Then—by all means—scurry away, ridiculous boy,” she retorted in airy tones.
Another rumble of laughter.
“I don’t run from challenges.”