Page 17 of Dalla’s Royal Guards (Second Chance #3)

Ten

“You did. Of course you did. I think the question Musad should’ve asked is why ?” Nasser grumbled.

Dalla turned to Nasser with a raised eyebrow at his grouchy tone.

His face was flushed and covered in streaks of sweat-dampened dirt.

His thick, black hair was peppered with dull gray particles of rock and sand.

His formerly pristine shirt and trousers were filthy, and there was a tear on his right sleeve.

Her lips twitched as he fingered the rip and shook his head ruefully, which caused more bits of sand to rain down from his tousled hair. There wasn’t much she could do about his clothing, but if the cave was still there and the shallow pool of water hadn’t dried up, he could refresh himself.

It had been centuries since she had last been here. The cave, and the treasures hidden inside, might no longer exist—or worse, the answers she was seeking might not be there.

Or someone may have found it and taken everything.

She thought about the man she had shared the cave with the last time she was here. It was after she’d left Pascal and Gerold. Her heart had been breaking, and she had sought solitude in the mountains where she’d first appeared.

On the way, she had come across the man in the desert, near death but awake enough to guide them to the cave. They had spent weeks there while they both healed in their own ways.

It wasn’t until centuries later, when she saw the man again, that she realized she wasn’t the only one cursed to such an existence.

The second time she’d seen him was when the world was on fire in a distant land.

She had recognized him when he turned to greet the group of weary, battle-hardened French soldiers under his command.

He had recognized her as well when he looked up and caught her staring at him in stunned disbelief, and his eyes had warned her to tread carefully. She had bided her time until she could speak to the man in private—and had been stunned by what she learned.

She shook her head. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. She needed to see if the cave—and the promise that had been given to her more than a century ago—still existed.

“Are you alright?”

She blinked and looked up into Nasser’s concerned eyes. She gave him a weak smile before she nodded. The men wanted answers, but first she needed to see if she had them.

“It shouldn’t be much farther,” she promised.

She stepped around Nasser and strode up to the narrow gap between the rock walls.

The natural footpath, worn down by weather and the mountain goats that roamed the region, seemed unchanged.

The damage to the beginning of the trail may have been done when construction crews were working on the highway.

She hoped the rockfall would have discouraged others from coming this way.

Half a mile up the path, it branched. To the unwary observer, the left fork appeared to end abruptly. The only way the cave could be seen was if the traveler walked to the end and looked under the large slab of rock that had sheared off from above a millennium ago.

The gravel-and-sand path crunched quietly beneath her boots as she walked the short distance toward the end of the passage.

The closer she got, the more intense the memories became.

A kaleidoscope of feelings, sights, and sounds washed over her.

With a shuddering breath, her hand drifted to her stomach, where a dull ache throbbed.

A phantom pressure bloomed—ghostly , sharp—in the spot where a blade had once buried deep.

The memory of her death here clung to her, heavy and suffocating.

“We’re here,” she murmured, not looking around.

She didn’t wait for the two men’s responses. Moving at a brisker pace, she walked to the end, turned, and ducked under the slab. The entrance was narrow, but widened after a few feet. She straightened. The interior was a good twenty degrees cooler.

Light filtered in from a natural crack above. The drip-drip-drip of water alerted her that the spring was still active. She walked along the rim of the cave, trailing her fingers along the rock as memories assailed her. It felt like a few short weeks since she had last been here.

Musad and Nasser followed her inside. Nasser released a low whistle. Her lips curved in response. She was discovering he was the more vocal of the two. She couldn’t help but wonder how vocal he would be?—

Stop it. You opened your heart once—and look what it cost you, she silently admonished.

“How did you find this place?” Nasser asked. His voice echoed in the cavernous space.

“A man named Hakeem showed me.”

She continued walking along the interior of the cave, absorbing the ancient story etched into the cool stone walls, feeling the rough texture under her fingertips.

The lines, once sharp and clear, were now softened by time, but in her mind, she still saw their brilliance as if it were the day she and Harlem had created them together. The colors shimmered in her memory.

“Who was Hakeem?” Musad asked.

His voice was closer. A shiver ran through her as the warmth of his breath washed over her skin and an intense wave of need hit her, a sudden craving to be held.

Her life had been a constant battle for so long.

She breathed deeply, trying to shove the emotion away.

She knew it was a reaction to being back here—where she had carved her life story into the stone.

“There are only five people who have ever known my story. Pascal, Gerold, you—” she paused and looked over her shoulder at Musad before glancing at Nasser and smiling, “—Nasser… and the man who led me to this cave. I didn’t know his name at first. When I asked, he only said he went by many, and we left it at that. I was… lost.”

Once again, her voice faded as she stopped in front of a petroglyph. She ran a fingertip over the image carved in stone. It was a symbol of two people on horseback. It was the day she’d met Hakeem.

“I knew my time here was ending. I escaped into the desert and came upon him. He had been wounded by a band of thieves. He told me about this cave, and we retreated to it. This place became a sanctuary for both of us for a short time. It gave us everything—shelter, water, food, and time to heal.”

“When were you last here?” Musad asked.

She swallowed and stepped to the left. Another image, this one not carved by her, was etched into the stone. It was her name and the date she died.

Nasser drew in a shocked breath and reached to touch the date. Their fingers touched. The longing to be held became overwhelming.

She threaded her fingers through his and leaned back against him. When he wrapped his other hand around her waist, she closed her eyes and savored the connection.

She felt grounded. Alive. Wanted.

“Hakeem… who I would later learn called himself Harlem… he left the morning before Pascal and Gerold found me. I’ve often suspected that he gave them directions.

That is one question I forgot to ask him, but I didn’t think about it when I saw him the last time.

It was a shock to discover I wasn’t the only one who was cursed to this existence.

” She paused and shook her head. “Strange, the way fate twists.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked at Musad, who had taken a step closer to her.

He reached up and caressed her cheek. She didn’t realize until he rubbed his thumb along her skin that a tear had escaped as she remembered the last bittersweet moments she’d had with the two men she’d loved so long ago.

The irony that she was alive and they weren’t—not really—wasn’t lost on her.

Yet, they lived a long and full life.

“I was going to return to them that same day they came for me. I’d left them because…

we fought. I had confessed my love to them— finally .

” She smiled ruefully. “I had fought against it, afraid of loving and losing them. But then I finally confessed, and Pascal swore that fate had brought me to him and that I was destined to be his wife. Gerold said the same and wanted me to choose between them. I couldn’t.

I loved them both. How do you choose one half of your soul without killing the other?

” She paused, lost in her memories. “There was a bitter fight because I refused to choose one over the other. In the end, I left them both. I came upon Hakeem and stayed here for weeks, helping Hakeem recover his health and trying to heal my own broken heart. Eventually, I decided I had to try again—to find them.”

“They refused to let you go,” Nasser said with a small, uncertain smile.

“Yes.” She smiled in return, but her eyes moved to the date carved into the limestone and her expression was full of grief.

Musad gently turned her, his touch feather-light as he pinned her between himself and Nasser.

A fleeting image of Pascal and Gerold, their closeness and the scent of wood smoke, briefly surfaced in her mind, then vanished like a wisp of smoke.

A soft moan of long-held yearning and remembrance escaped her lips as his touch lingered, igniting a warmth that spread through her.

“Did one of them kill you?” Musad asked in a tight voice.

She blinked at him in surprise. “What? Oh, no! No, I died… saving them.” She let out a breath.

“They found me and told me they loved me too much to let me go. They promised they’d accept what we had.

But we never left this cave.” Her eyes glimmered with tears.

“Unbeknownst to us, Pascal’s younger brother, Aragón, was the one who had been trying to kill both Pascal and Gerold.

As you know, Pascal was destined to rule Kashir while Gerold was already King of Narva.

Pascal was promised to Gerold’s sister. The marriage had been arranged since they were infants.

Aragón wanted control of both kingdoms.”

Musad frowned. “History says Aragón was murdered by an unknown thief while trying to save his brother.”

Dalla released a snort of disgust and shook her head.

“It was no thief.” She exhaled slowly. Her voice was shaking with emotion when she continued.

“Aragón and a small group of his most loyal men followed Pascal and Gerold here to the cave. They entered when we were distracted. Aragón confessed he was the one who had sent the assassins to kill his brother and Gerold. His plan was to marry Gerold’s sister, take control of Narva, then kill his father so he could have control of both kingdoms. It would have worked except?—”

“Except you arrived and stopped the assassins,” Nasser said.

Dalla nodded. “The first of many attempts during my time here.”

Her lips twitched at the awed note in his voice. It hadn’t been as impressive as it sounded. Her hand moved to her stomach where Aragón’s blade had driven deep. She turned her gaze back to the carving.

“Between the three of us, we dispatched Aragón’s men, all dozen of them, and I believed, for that one moment, that we would live a long and happy life together and then go to Valhalla together.

I believed I had saved the men I loved, and I believed my curse was broken.

” Her lips curved in a rueful smile. “Unfortunately, Aragón was still alive. He had hidden behind his men, confident that we would be no match for a dozen of his finest soldiers, and when he was the only one left…”

“Pascal should’ve killed him,” Musad muttered.

She lifted an eyebrow. “You love Nasser. Would you be able to take his life?”

Musad looked at his brother, grimaced, and shook his head. “Probably not.”

“And though they were not brothers, Gerold loved Aragón, too. He couldn’t believe what Aragón had admitted. He wanted any other explanation, any kind of subterfuge that would have meant none of it was true.”

“I’m not sure I want to know, but… what happened next?” Nasser asked.

Dalla took a deep breath. Her hand rubbed at the spot on her stomach where Aragón’s blade had pierced her. She still remembered the expression in the man’s eyes when he realized that hers had done the same.

“Aragón was furious. All of his plans had turned to dust. He moved with desperation and rage, intending to strike Pascal. I stepped between them, driving my blade through him, but there was a cost. The mortal blow meant for Pascal pierced me instead, and my time with them ended before it could truly begin. By the time I returned, there was no one left to find. They had been dead for nearly fifty years.”