Page 97 of The Moon's Fury

She appraised his face, raking over his cheeks and smooth jawline.

“Clean-shaven.”

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Hisfriendleft,urgingthem to leave and find shelter elsewhere.

So, they packed up their meager belongings and headed in search of a new home.

She didn’t ask him again when he would leave.

“Ready?” Jamil asked, securing the last of their bags to Ahmar. She could scarcely look at his stupidly handsome, clean-shaven face.

The one they had shaved together only thirty minutes ago—an offer she deeply regretted. It had been extremely intimate, not something she had expected at all.

Her heart battered against her ribcage, cheeks still warm. Last night, she had dreamt of him. It had been so vivid, she thought it real. Jamil had woken her with soft brushes of his hand across her neck and chest, sending pleasant shivers blooming through her. He’d peeled back her blanket and covered her body with his larger one, his breath hot against her neck. He was so moonsdamnedbig, and when she actually awoke, her body ached with need.

And then she’d offered to help him shave, like a flaming idiot.

She needed space from him, some respite from the maddening, traitorous feelings coursing through her.

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs. They’d get to Sendouk. Another breath. They’d find Layna and Zarian, and she’d find her way back to Almeer.

Almeer, her first andonlylove.

Almeer, who had no idea what happened to her or where she was.

Almeer, to whom she needed to remain faithful.

“Soraya?” he repeated, jolting her out of her thoughts. “Are you ready?”

“Y—yes,” she breathed, forcing a smile. He mounted Ahmar and extended a hand, helping her clamber up behind him.

As they rode toward Sendouk, she remained resolutely upright in the saddle, leaving as much distance as possible between their bodies. But as the hours wore on, her back began to ache, and fatigue weighed her down. The strong, muscular pillar of his back beckoned her to lean forward, and she relaxed against him.

Ahmar jumped over a large branch in the path, and Soraya yelped, jostling in the saddle. She wound her arms around his waist, squeezing tightly. Her head came to rest against his shoulder.

She was weak.

When Ahmar’s stride smoothed out, she didn’t let go.

Hours passed, and soon, Senta, Sendouk’s capital, came into view. Jamil tensed as they neared. It was a wealthy city, though there were more orphans than she’d expected. Red and black banner flags flapped overhead as they passed through the streets. There were planters with purplezuhurthat reminded her of her own blooms in the palace gardens, whitezanbaqwith its large, drooping petals, and bluelutas. Her fingers itched to reach for the soft petals, to smooth the rich soil, but she turned away.

Jamil stabled Ahmar at an inn, and they walked together through the streets.

A crowd had gathered ahead, and a lanky, bearded man was shouting at the citizens to disperse. They ignored him, eyes fixed toward the sky. She followed their gazes, craning her neck and shielding her eyes against the sun. Across from a sweets cart, there were men repairing the charred roof of a building—ladders were stacked against its face, and men holding bricks clambered up, shouting toward more workers at the top.

“Stay close,” Jamil murmured, his eyes scanning the dense crowd. He tucked her against his side as they waded through, his muscled body warm against hers. When they emerged on the other side, he put a respectful distance between them.

She pretended she didn’t miss his warmth.

They reached a jewelry shop called Sahar’s Taj. There was one customer inside, haggling with the shopkeeper, a tall, clean-shaven man, a red turban wrapped around his head. He waved to them, indicating he’d assist shortly.

She meandered through the shop, examining the different displays. Toward the back, there was a small case of ornate daggers. Black velvet lined the inside, and four beautiful, gem-laden daggers lay on the soft surface. There was an indent in the velvet where a fifth dagger was missing.

“How can I help you?” the shopkeeper asked, pulling her attention. Jamil scanned him from his deep, red turban down to the scuffed sandals on his feet.

“I seek that which the night conceals,” he said, his voice low in the small room.