Page 61 of Dalla's Royal Guards

Nasser tied off the end of the braid with a silk cord and kissed her shoulder. “There. Fit for war… or for later, when we unbraid it.”

She released a soft moan and rose, smoothing trembling hands along her thighs, trying to calm the storm brewing inside her.Between being in the same room with Nasser and Musad and her pending meeting with Harlem, she was truly a wreck.

She took a slow breath—and then startled again when Musad stepped in front of her.

He held her gaze with quiet intensity. “We’ll be close. Always.”

She rose and met his lips when he bent to kiss her. His kiss was firm, grounding. And lasted far too short a time.

She nodded, unable to speak. A warm handle slipped into her palm.

She looked down. Her fingers curled around the familiar bone handle of her seax. She let out a shaky breath.

“This is the blade that slew a thousand men,” Musad teased, securing it to her belt with practiced ease.

Her lips parted as Nasser rose from behind, pulling her gently against his body and kissing her neck. His voice was a whisper against her skin.

“We’ll always protect you.”

She turned when Nasser ran his hand up her arm and looked down as he attached the brooch where a hint of her breasts showed. She recognized it as the one she’d used to kill an assassin a dozen plus lifetimes ago.

She raised her hand and touched it reverently.

“It belonged to a man who wanted to erase a king. And it saved one instead,” she whispered.

Nasser tilted her chin, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that held lifetimes. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

Her breath caught.

She had no words. Only emotions—blazing, vast, and terrifying in their depth.

Musad’s voice gently cut through the silence. “It’s time.”

She nodded, took a deep breath, and straightened her shoulders. Nasser placed his hand on the small of her back as they exited. Once they were in the hallway, he threaded his fingers through hers as they walked to the lift. They traveled down the elevator in silence. The polished metal walls reflected their tension. As the numbers ticked past, Dalla swallowed thickly.

Dalla hesitated at the elevator’s threshold, her feet rooted to the floor.

What if it wasn’t him?

What if it was?

She swallowed hard, forcing her limbs to move. She gave a brief nod to Musad and Nasser—both hanging back, watching every corner of the floor.

She stepped out, crossing the open expanse.

On her left, the railing dropped to the lobby below. The second floor opened to a lush, modern space—a mezzanine balcony with glass railings that overlooked the elegant lobby below. Green wall panels of living plants climbed toward the ceiling. Plush chairs in vibrant hues dotted the lounge spaces. On one side, the doors to the conference rooms stood open and empty. On the other, a sleek sign pointed toward the café.

Inside the restaurant, families sat in clusters. Children squealed over desserts. Laughter bubbled in the air, blending with the aroma of roasted coffee and grilled meats.

The café was less formal than the restaurant downstairs. It was real. It was alive. And it made the moment feel surreal.

She paused at the threshold, heart thundering. Glancing over her shoulder, she sought a brief connection with Musad and Nasser before she turned back.

And then… she saw him.

In the far corner, seated at a table framed by floor-to-ceiling windows, sat a tall, striking, black man dressed in tailored charcoal slacks and a crisp white shirt. The only things that seemed different from their last meeting were his clothing and the setting. His eyes still held that intensity—the weight of centuries buried beneath a patient, knowing gaze.

Everything else disappeared.