Page 78 of Dalla's Royal Guards

Musad followed Raja’s quiet directions, maneuvering them to a stop a short distance from the helipad, and then he was out of the vehicle, opening her door before she could even reach for the handle.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

The moment she stepped out, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him. His breath was rough against her hair, his heartbeat thundering against her cheek.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him, listening to his heartbeat. The terror hadn’t passed. The adrenaline from their brush with death lingered like smoke.

Behind them, Nasser opened the hatch and retrieved their gear. Her longbow gleamed under the harsh lights, its polished curve still bearing faint scuffs from battles long past. The quiver followed, its dark fletching soft against his shoulder.

Raja released a low whistle when he saw the weapon. Her lips quirked in a strained, amused smile.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen a bow like that outside a museum,” he murmured, gaze flicking to her once again, curiosity sharpening.

“No doubt,” Nasser replied before he gave Raja a respectful nod. “Thank you—for everything. I’m sorry for the chaos we’ve brought.”

Raja snorted. “Please. This is nothing. Compared to Katie’s labor, today’s been… relatively peaceful.”

Dalla smiled faintly at the dry humor.

Musad spoke up, his arm still wrapped around her waist. “I need to speak with the pilot.”

Nasser nodded, adjusting the longbow in his hand. “I’ll store our gear.”

Dalla watched as Musad and Nasser walked side-by-side toward the helicopter. She released a deep sigh and wrapped her arms around her waist. Raja stood beside her, the silence between them stretching for a beat before he broke it.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded, shooting him a strained smile. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you for your assistance tonight.”

He looked at her then—not as a king, not as a soldier—but as a man watching something rare, something he couldn’t quite explain.

“You love them, don’t you?” he asked.

Her eyes softened, shimmering not with fear this time, but with something far deeper.

“Yes, I do,” she answered simply.

She lifted her chin and stared over at the helicopter, then back at him. “A friend once told me that I would know when I found mytrue love… that they would accept me as I was. That they would be my partner, and they would know my soul without me saying a word. Musad and Nasser do that.”

She released a low, shaky laugh. Raja’s head tilted slightly, listening. She lifted her hand and brushed it against her cheek.

“He also told me I’d bring danger to them… and that I’d be scared. That I’d fight it. He was right. I am terrified of losing them. And I hate how powerless I feel to stop it.”

Silence fell between them again. But this time, it felt… strained. Dalla shook her head and looked down. She didn’t know why she had shared the memory of that conversation so long ago with Raja.

“Dalla, we’re ready!”

The sound of Nasser’s voice—his warm baritone—wrapped around her, causing her to look up and turn. She started forward, but stopped when Raja gently grasped her arm with a firm hand. His strangely still expression startled her.

“Who was your friend?” he asked, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

She gave him a sad, haunted smile. “I knew him as Hakeem once… a very long time ago. But now… he calls himself Harlem.”

Raja’s fingers slipped away from her arm. She walked towards Musad as he strode up to her, his face a mirror of quiet concern. She grasped his hand when he held it out, smiling in reassurance at his questioning expression.

Behind her, she could feel Raja’s gaze burning into her back—frozen, stunned… and something darker.