Page 134 of The Moon's Fury

Which was how he knew Almeer went to the square every morning to purchase a loaf ofsamoonfrom the localmakhbazfor his mother.

From a side alley, he kept watch as the unassuming man ducked into the crowdedmakhbaz, the delicious aroma of freshly bakedkhubzandtaboonwafting through the air. Ten minutes later, Almeer emerged, parchment-wrapped bundle in hand. As he walked past the alley, Jamil grabbed him by the cloak and yanked him into the shadows.

The fucking coward would have screamed if Jamil hadn’t clamped a hand over his mouth. His gray eyes were wide with fear, and Jamil could feel his heart racing faster than a rabbit destined for dinner. He shook off his hood.

Recognition slowly dawned over Almeer’s face.

“Not a sound,” Jamil warned, voice low. “Understand?”

Almeer nodded.

When he removed his hand, Almeer immediately whispered, “Soraya. Is Soraya all right? I’ve heard all these rumors—she’s vanished from the palace. Is she alive?”

If he were a better man, he’d pity Almeer.

But he wasn’t, and so the sound of Soraya’s name on Almeer’s tongue boiled his blood.

“Soraya’s fine. She’s with me.” Possessiveness bled into his words, but Almeer didn’t notice. “Meet us in the woods tonight. I’ll give you directions. Make sure you aren’t followed.”

Almeer’s shoulders slumped with relief. He pursed his lips in thought.

Lips he’d kissed Soraya with.

“Should I pack for travel?” Almeer asked.

Jamil’s immediate inclination was to say,You aren’t coming with us, idiot. She’s done with you, but a sliver of doubt raked against his spine.

Would she change her mind after seeing Almeer’s enduring devotion?

“No,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

He had hoped Almeer had moved on already, but the diplomat was clearly ready to abandon everything for Soraya.

Not that he could blame him.

“You arenotmeeting him alone,” he said firmly.

Soraya arched an eyebrow, resting her hand on her hip. “Excuse me?”

Leaves rustled underfoot as he crossed the campsite and placed his hands on her tense shoulders. “You’re a runaway Alzahran princess in Zephyria. Remember the war they just waged on your kingdom?”

“He won’t hurt me,” she insisted.

“It’s nothimI’m worried about. You could easily snap him in half.”

Her lips twitched. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” she said. “The things I need to say to him—I’d rather you not hear them.”

He wanted to deny being jealous, but something violent reared up and lashed against his insides. And he was making an effort to be honest about his feelings—a difficult feat after being trained into impassivity and compartmentalization.

“I’ll stay out of sight. And I won’t eavesdrop.”

Narrowed eyes assessed his face. Whatever she found, it softened her features, and she nodded.

When the moment arrived, his heart thundered in his chest, each beat echoing with anticipation, fear, and something dangerously close to hope.

“Bring your sword.”

Wordlessly, he belted the strap around her, fingers grazing her waist. The first time they’d trained together, he’d made the mistake of underestimating her. She’d knocked him on his ass and laughed about it for five minutes.