Page 95 of The Moon's Fury

And Layna had actually returned his feelings.

Sometimes, Jamil fooled himself into thinking he saw something flash through her eyes—something akin to desire or affection. But he knew Soraya harbored no such feelings for him. She saw him as a friend, at best, and he was slowly going mad with want.

He’d never let himselfwantbefore.

Now, he found himself wanting to taste her lips. To wipe her tears. To fold her into himself until she became part of him and he part of her.

But she loved Almeer. She’d told him as much last night. Jealousy ignited in his veins, searing through him. Why didhedeserve her love?

Almeer, with his skinny arms and thin legs. He was a diplomat, and not even a very good one. He’d never be able to protect her.

His heart constricted painfully, eyes lingering on Soraya’s sleeping, innocent face.

At least Almeer’s hands weren’t drenched in blood.

With a deep sigh, he rose and readied for the day. Soraya would be up soon—she was a light sleeper.

He was right; when he returned to the campsite after relieving himself, she was already up, brushing her teeth with a textured stick ofmiswak.

She swished water around her mouth, somehow managing to smile at him through it.

Something tugged at his heart.

“Morning,” she greeted after spitting the water into the grass. “Did you eat breakfast?”

He shook his head, scratching his jaw. His stubble had grown out, and it itched terribly. Soraya handed him a small plate of nuts and dried meat and sat beside him.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked. He’d been making more of an effort to start conversations since she loved to talk.

“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. Her cheeks colored, but he couldn’t discern why.

“Are you all right? You look flushed.”

“Yes, yes! I’m fine.” She was bright red now and wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Okay…” he said slowly.Had he done something wrong?He eyed her for several heartbeats, but she didn’t say anything else. Knowing Soraya, she’d have no trouble telling him if he upset her, so he let it go.

He scratched at his jaw again. After breakfast, he retrieved a bar of shaving soap from his pack. Wetting his hands, he rubbed it into a lather and applied it over his cheeks, jawline, and neck. Unsheathing his dagger, he settled back against a thick tree trunk, poised to shave his face. He raised the dagger and—

“Jamil!” His head snapped to Soraya. “What in the moons are you doing?” she exclaimed.

He furrowed his brow at her outraged face. “Shaving?”

She sputtered, gesturing at the dagger in his hand. “You don’t have a mirror. You’ll slit your throat. Just wait until we reach Sendouk.”

“It itches.” He scratched his cheek again to prove his point.

She sighed and muttered something under her breath. “Let me help you, then. Can’t risk you cutting yourself and bleeding out. Who will help me find Layna?” Soraya cracked a wry smile to let him know she was only teasing.

She dusted off her trousers and knelt beside him, hand outstretched for the dagger. The sunlight glinted in her determined brown eyes.

He could have told her he’d been shaving without a mirror for over a decade.

He should have mentioned he could even shave with his sword if needed.

He might have brought up the time when Zarian had dared him to shave on a galloping horse, and he’d only nicked himself twice.

Jamil could have said any number of things, but what passed through his lips was, “All right.”