JAVAN LOST TRACK of the hours as he bent over the crate in the supply room on the fifteenth level, his agony pouring out of him in broken prayers to Yl’ Haliq, who had allowed all this.
The headmaster’s death.
The impostor taking Javan’s place.
Javan’s imprisonment.
The corruption in Akram.
Meeting Sajda.
Losing Tarek.
Javan had been so sure of himself. So sure of the entire world when he stepped on the stage beside the headmaster to receive the sash he’d worked so hard for.
He was a prince, destined to rule. His father was a king full of honor and greatness, and Javan’s task was to live up to his example. Akram was the jewel of the desert—her people thriving in a just society. He’d thought everything was carved in stone. A destiny ordained by Yl’ Haliq himself.
But here he was.
On his knees in a dusty supply closet in Maqbara, surrounded by corruption and grief, praying though he no longer knew what to ask for.
He’d begged for deliverance, but he was still here.
He’d prayed that the injustice done to him would be made right, but instead he’d learned about the injustices that had been done to others. And here he knelt, broken by the truth that his father had failed. That pain was a way of life for so many of his people.
That pain was a way of life for Sajda.
He’d asked for mercy. For help.
He’d received silence.
Bending his head over his hands, he stopped praying. Stopped picking up every shard of grief, every splinter of anger to examine it anew. Instead, he went quiet, his heart aching as he let go of everything he wanted to demand. Ask. Beg.
For long moments, he stayed curved over the chest in the middle of the closet, silent and aching.
And then something shifted inside him.
A breath of peace. A soft whisper of comfort that didn’t take away the pain but somehow made it easier to endure. The gentle touch of Yl’ Haliq resting on Javan’s battered heart.
And in the stillness of his mind, an idea formed, crystallizing before he realized what was happening. He clenched his folded hands as hope, soft and fragile, unfurled in his chest and took root.
He was right where he was supposed to be.
He was meant to hurt the way his people hurt. To see the truth of Akram from their eyes.
Their grief was his to bear. Their injustices his to make right.
He was destined to lose what he’d thought was his so that he could gain something far more important—wisdom.
He was destined to learn how to fight for his kingdom. For his people.
And he was destined to meet Sajda.
As if she’d read his mind, she dropped out of the crack in the ceiling and stared at him with weary grief on her face.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice husky from crying.
“Praying and waiting for you.”
He got to his feet, moving stiffly, his knees protesting his hours on the hard stone floor.
“I was wrong,” he said.
“About what?”
“Everything.” He moved so that the crate was no longer lying between them. “I kept praying for deliverance. For escape. I was so consumed with the wrong done to me that I failed to stop and listen. To learn. But I’ve been listening, Sajda. And I know that I was always meant to be in Maqbara. I was meant to understand the corruption my uncle brought to Akram, the pain it causes my people, and the horrors that take place here in the name of sport.”
He moved closer. “And I was destined to meet you. I wouldn’t take back a second of my own pain if it meant that you and I would still be strangers. But my pain isn’t the most important thing to me. Yours is. I would do anything to take back the heartbreak you feel. Even if it meant I’d never get to be your friend in the first place.”
“Stop trying to make me love you.” She stood across from him, her body trembling, her eyes haunted.
Love.
The word hung in the air between them, bittersweet with its wounds and its wild possibilities.
Gently he asked, “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Yes.” She hurled the word at him, an accusation full of longing. “You protect me, you listen to me, you show me the stars, and make me feel things. Make me trust you. But I can’t trust you. I can’t want you. I can’t . . .”
His heart ached with every beat, an unfamiliar, delicate pain that felt like walking into a strange house and realizing he was home.
“Why not?” He breathed the words and held himself still so that she wouldn’t change the subject or brush him off. So that she wouldn’t run.
Her hands curled into fists, held tight by her sides. Tears slowly welled in her beautiful eyes and slipped down her cheek. “Because you’re going to leave.”
The pain in his heart thrummed through his entire body at the dark grief that lay beneath her words. Of course she thought he was going to leave her. Her mother had left—pocketed the wahda from selling her strange, powerful daughter and disappeared. The female prisoner she’d been friends with had died two years ago in the arena. And Tarek, the closest thing to a father she’d ever known, was gone. Love must feel like a double-edged sword to her.
“Sajda—”
“Everyone goes away.” Her voice shook, and the desperation on her face tore something inside him. “Everyone. You will too.”
The tears glittered on her skin like starlight as he moved closer. Close enough to feel the tiny thrill of her magic reaching for him. To feel the heat from her skin lingering on his. With one gentle finger, he lifted her chin and looked deep into her eyes.
“I’m not the kind of girl people keep,” she whispered.
“I’m not the kind of boy who leaves.” He held her gaze as he raised his other hand to lay it against her cheek, her skin damp from tears.
“But that’s what you want. It’s what you’ve been working toward all this time.”
“I find myself very conflicted about what I want,” he said quietly. “I have a responsibility to my kingdom. To my father. But I want you, Sajda.”
A tiny frown puckered her brow, and he smiled. “Don’t start arguing with me.”
“I’ll argue if I want to. You can’t just throw away everything—”
He kissed her, covering her mouth with his and swallowing the words he wasn’t ready to hear.
He already knew what she’d say. He had to leave. Had to win the competition and be restored as the heir to Akram’s crown of fire. And he couldn’t take her with him. The warden would never part with her—not for any price, he knew that. New laws banned the selling of child slaves in Akram, but it hadn’t freed those slaves who had already been purchased. And until he was established on the throne, he couldn’t use the power of the crown to give the warden her death sentence and free Sajda. Couldn’t change the laws to free the few slaves left in Akram and make sure others were spared the pain Sajda had faced.
She made a sound in the back of her throat and wrapped her arms around him, dragging him against her until nothing separated them. Her lips tingled, tiny bites of magic that pulled at him, seeking a way in.
He surrendered. Welcoming her magic into his mouth, into his blood where she could feel the heart of him. Where all that drove him—every fear, every doubt, every longing—would be hers for the taking.
It was like being scoured with lightning. He gasped and stumbled back, pressing one hand to his heart as it crashed against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her hand hovering over his chest as though she wanted to take back the lightning thrill of her magic as it blazed through him.
“I’m not.” He held himself steady as the blaze settled into a hum that prickled under his skin with a strange heat. “I wanted you to see for yourself. You don’t need words and promises. You need truth. And your magic can give you that. Tell me.” He swayed as her hand came to rest on the bare skin above his tunic, dragging the prickling heat through his blood and back into her.
She sucked in a little breath, her eyes gazing at something far away as she took what he’d offered and sifted through what her magic was showing her.
“Tell me,” he repeated quietly.
Her voice was soft and full of hesitant wonder. “You don’t want to leave Maqbara.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m here,” she whispered.
“And?”
“And you blame yourself for Tarek, which you shouldn’t. You’re afraid you can’t save your father. And you’re afraid that if you fail in the tasks Yl’ Haliq has given you, you’ll lose yourself. That you’ll be broken.” She flinched. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked at that.”
“I showed you willingly,” he said, though meeting her eyes with all his secrets laid bare took more courage than going into the arena on combat day.
They locked eyes for a long moment, and then he said, “What else did you see?”
Pink blossomed on her cheeks. “Nothing.”
He smiled. “Nothing?”
She shook her head, but she didn’t move away as he leaned in. Framing her face with his hands, he said, “You didn’t see that I want to sweep you out of this place and lay the world at your feet?”
The pulse in her temples sped up, and he pressed his lips to her forehead before saying, “You didn’t see that I think of you every hour of the day? That when I catch myself staring at your mouth, I lose track of everything except how much I want to kiss you?”
He traced his lips down the bridge of her nose. “Or maybe you saw how winning a single smile from you makes me feel like I’m already a king. How you inspire me to be better, and how until I met you, I never knew I needed a girl who would constantly challenge me on every level.”
“Javan—”
He moved to her mouth and hovered a breath away from kissing her. “You didn’t need to hear my promises. You needed to see the truth for yourself. And you have to know now that I will come back for you. That I will take you away from here and give you the stars and the wide-open spaces you long for.”
“I know.” Her voice shook.
“And you have to know why I will come back for you.”
Her lips trembled, but she didn’t speak.
Closing his eyes and praying that she would accept the truth she’d seen in him, he whispered, “Why am I coming back for you, Sajda?”
She was silent for seconds, moments, years, and every breath he took was agony as he waited for her to accept it—to accept him—or to walk away from the risk that once again her heart would be shattered.
Finally, in a voice full of wonder and peace, she said, “Because you love me.”