I woke with the sun, the dawn call to prayer whispering in my ears, drifting from the mouths of a dozen different muezzins high atop Cairo's minarets. I shifted around, nuzzling my face into the pillows, the previous day rushing back into vivid detail.

My hands patted around the empty silk sheets, floundering for some proof that he'd stayed the night. I felt a strange sense of loss at his departure. I had not even sensed him leaving.

Before I could investigate further, Ayesha and Haleema walked into the room, their hands folded in front of their bodies, eyes bright and excited.

"Morning," I greeted, my tone suspicious.

"How are you feeling?"

Dark clouds passed over my countenance."My arm is still a little sore."

"But... what about the rest of you?" Haleema whispered, no trace of modesty on her face. I blushed as her meaning set in.

"What?"

"The whole palace knows that the Prince wasn't in his bed last night," Ayesha giggled her hand over her mouth. "But everyone saw him leaving his chambers so..." my head collapsed on the pillows.

"Are you sore? Should we bring something to ease the pain?"

"No, I'm fine. Just a bath would do," I muttered, getting up. They nodded and Ayesha scurried away to draw the bath. I glanced at Haleema and an idea struck my mind. "This information does not leave these chambers, but nothing happened last night. I need the dresses from yesterday."

Haleema looked at me with- was that relief? She nodded, moving around the room, setting out my clothing.

I relaxed into the bed. Now, all I had to do was wait.

The impressive royal library had immediately become my favorite place in the palace.

Even bigger than Caliph's throne room, the huge roofed-over courtyard was filled with books and scrolls. My gaze roamed around, drinking in the stock of books and the magnificence of the library.

"Your Highness," a wizened man, with a shock of white hair, shuffled towards me, his eyes alight with curiosity. "My name's Jamshed, I'm the custodian of the library. Is there anything I can help you with?"

I gave him a warm smile. "Is there a way to know about the royal lineage? Who's who, who did what. I'm afraid I'm a little lost," He clapped his hands together and directed me to have a seat.

A servant rushed forward with a silver tray in her hands and placed it in front of me, pouring the tea and handing me the cup. I took a sip, admiring the intricate glasswork of the nearby window.

Jamshed hobbled towards me and I stood to help him, my hands moving forward to grab the books from his arms.

"I've got it, Your Highness."

"No, no I've got it..."

"She's got it Jamshed. That's all," Jamshed bowed his head and walked away. I whirled around to see Zaynab standing behind me, her mouth set in an amused curve. "Why couldn't you stay in your room?"

"I was bored," I answered watching her take a seat.

She adjusted her dress and snapped her fingers. Chaos ensued and people started to move around, gathering their things and exiting the library. In a few seconds, the place was empty. Her handmaidens took significant steps away from us and bowed their heads. Zaynab threw her veil back and shrugged out of her light covering.

I raised an eyebrow at her dress. The collar of the dress dropped low enough to expose the back of her elegant neck, the royal blue material held by two delicate golden clasps. The front of her dress was a daring V-neck that exposed her assets in all their glory. Her hair had been curled to form a Grecian hairstyle. She looked delicate, delectable, and beautiful.

"You emptied out the library just for this?"

"Just for this? This is my creation! I designed it during my many hours of boredom. Besides, if you would have stayed in your room, I wouldn't have had to do that."

I rolled my eyes and handed her a cup of tea."I love it."

"I'll get one made for you. I don't have a husband to please, but you do. Not that you need to obviously." I sputtered. "Oh yes, the whole palace is abuzz with the news. They're betting on how long it will be before I become an aunt."

"Right."

"That's palace life for you," she picked up one of the scrolls. "Lineages? You could have asked me all of this!"

"It's not just about the lineage. It's..." I paused. "I was curious."

"Flattered, but we're a boring bunch. We won wars, took the land, became rich. The end."

"Several wars," I pressed, watching her expression carefully.

She nodded. "Aziz al Musta'sim, the eldest and Khalid never had to face much, they'd always been trained to rule. Now Aziz's back in Baghdad and Khalid has to take care of Syria and Persia, but Ali! I feel like Ali's always been at war. Trained to be a soldier from day one. Always so serious."

"But I only heard about him becoming the General around a year ago," I managed, my eyes on her face.

"True, but Baba had him sent to the Turk wars when he'd turned eighteen. This is years ago before we settled here. Know your enemy he'd said. He had to go to the front three times! We barely saw him during that time period," I chewed on my lip, my stomach tightening. Zaynab gave me a cool glance. "Why do you ask?"

"I just wanted to know how old he was. Isn't he the youngest General ever?"

Her face shone with pride. "The youngest and the most capable. Baba trusts him more than his older advisors. My brother is a gem."

I smiled, my lips sealed together tightly. There had been wars against the Turks. He'd been a part of them. But that didn't make the allegations true- did they?

The previous night flashed in front of my eyes and I paused. He had been so gentle, so kind. And I was half Turk.

I don't trust people who stab me in the back.

That's what he'd said. So maybe that was the reason why? It could be a misunderstanding. Right?

Zaynab, oblivious to my inner dilemma, called for lunch and the library doors opened to reveal an army of servants. My eyes widened and I stared at her in horror.

"All of this? For us?"

"Oh don't be silly Laila, they'll eat from this too," I looked up to see our handmaidens standing in the corner, their heads still bowed.

"Jasmine," Zaynab demanded and a young girl, with her black hair and ebony skin, moved forward to pull away from the top of the platter. My stomach growled as the rich smell of sizzling sugar and buttery dough wafted past me. Several triangles of flaky sweet bread sprinkled with raisins, coconut, and sugar were stacked on a plate, the aroma and sight immediately familiar.

"Is that . . . feteer?" I asked, my mouth immediately watering at the delicious scent.

"I heard a little bird tell me it was your favorite."

We sat in silence, each of us lost on our own thoughts. Zaynab handed her bowl to Jasmine and gave me a curious look.

"The arrow pierced your arm didn't it?"

"Shoulder," I corrected.

"Which one? You seem to be perfectly fine,"

I laughed. "No doubt because of your brother's ministrations."

Her smile turned wicked. "He was raging like a bull. He seems to be quite taken with his wife."
My cheeks pinked and I cleared my throat. Zaynab let out a loud throaty laugh. "I can see why."

Curiosity got the better of me. "Why was he raging like a bull?"

"Someone dared to attack him and his wife in a crowded Bazaar. They were either extremely foolish or extremely brave. Though, in my experience, these two things go hand in hand," I nodded, barely registering her words. "He kept saying, how dare they attack Laila! How dare they hurt my wife."

I gave her an incredulous look. "You can not be serious."

She shrugged. "Well, maybe not those exact words but the message was clear."

"To who?"

Zaynab raised an eyebrow. "The man in the dungeon. The people who set out to kill you. Other enemies, their allies, aforementioned included."

The sounds of loud grunts and swords clashing interrupted our conversation. Zaynab sighed, her eyes filled with impatience. It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. Placing my bowl on the tray, I walked towards the balcony, my eyes fixated on the scene.

My husband stood directly below my line of sight, in a barren courtyard, clad in nothing but sirwal trousers. Barefoot. No qamis. No rida. His bare chest glowed with sweat in the hot afternoon sun.

In silence, he withdrew his sword from his left hip. Its blade sharp and lethal pointed towards his opponent and launched. I watched them, my eyes narrowing at the ferocity displayed in a sparring match.

I watched, riveted. He was a dancer, his body moving in an intricate pattern, his movements, fluid, clean and sharp. Precise. I sucked in a breath, hating the conflict inside of me.

Zaynab gave me a wry smile, her face was now hidden behind her veil. "I've seen him spar with his sword, Zulfiqar before—he's going easy on him."

"Who's the other person?"

"Bilal. Second in command,"

I watched them spar, slightly awed by their abilities. Ali came in sight, his muscles bunching and rolling with each parry.

My stomach fluttered.

He's a monster.

I refocused my gaze and watched Bilal dodge the blow only to bring down his axe in a smooth arc, almost rooting the weapon into Ali's shield. But where Bilal's superior strength granted him the ability to hit without losing his energy or his balance, Ali's far more agile form underscored the subtle grace—the cunning instincts—behind every motion.

Ali spun in a smooth circle, feinted fo the left, grabbed Bilal's axe and disarmed him by trapping his arm under his. Bilal glared at him just as Ali slid back, striking quickly, the flat side of Zulfiqar placed against Bilal's neck.

The fight was over, Ali had won. Bilal sulked, picking his axe up from the ground. Ali patted him on the back and they gave each other warm smiles, their faces relaxed.

The Prince sheathed Zulifqar and grabbed a set of daggers, flipping them in his hand in rapid succession, before throwing them at the set targets.

"Impressed?" I ignored Zaynab's delighted expression and walked back into the library, my mind burning with questions. "There's a sandstorm coming in the afternoon, your husband will be sequestered in with you for the rest of the day."

I ignored the implication and set on gathering the books. I was used to the impending doom of a sandstorm—I had dealt with the storms that coated Cairo in a hazy yellow dust every spring. My heart ached thinking about the refugees in the Bazaar.

"So you won't be playing Aya Jaan anymore?"

Her face split into a wide smile. "I knew you weren't stupid. Good, I'd hate to have dumb nieces and nephews."

"Zaynab," We whirled, our eyes on Ali, who was now entering the library giving Zainab a warm smile. He stopped in front of me, placing his fingers on his brow. I nodded back just as Zaynab piped up.

"Good, now you're here to make sure no one kills her. I'm glad you're not dead by the way, I've only just seen my brother smile." I gave her a baleful look and she sauntered off, her bangles clinking together with each step.

I watched as my husband dismissed the tense servants and they spilled out, taking the crockery with them.

I busied myself, stacking the books in a neat pile.

Ali leaned into the cushion, propping his feet up on a plump silk ottoman. "How's your arm?"

"Better." He smelled of sandalwood and sunlight. Strange that I'd never noticed before—that in my desire to distance myself from him, I had not detected something so simple and yet so marked as a scent.

"May I see it?" Finding no logical reason to say no, I let him slip the material down my shoulder, his fingers barely brushing over the spot. "It seems to have healed..." I opened my mouth to answer but lost my voice when his lips touched the scar.

His chest rumbled with a groan and he pulled back, his eyes on the books in my hand. "You could have just asked me this."

"Would you have answered?"

"I think I'm losing the power to deny you anything." He pulled my veil away, running his fingers through my hair. "Had fun watching me, my dear wife?"

My cheeks stained with a new blush. His fingers traced the stain, cool and gentle on my heated cheek. "I love this. Love how you turn pink... all flushed and lovely."

I felt myself leaning into him, bowing into his caress.

Oh God. My emotions were a mess. I wanted to give in. Give myself into this feeling. Let me feel his arms around. Let him soothe the ache that had been plaguing me since our wedding night. It wasn't wrong to desire my husband. In fact, that was encouraged! I'd been afraid I'd get stuck with a grumpy old man who'd have his way with me, just like all the stories I'd heard, but this? This was unlike anything I'd dreamed of.

Besides, Baba had always put my safety first. That's the one thing I could never doubt him on. If he thought the Turks weren't good for me, then they weren't good for me.

The woman in the market had been wrong. The rumors were incorrect. He'd been nothing but gentle and kind, to his sister, to his family, to his colleagues, to me. Whatever Ali had done, he'd done it for the crown, in a state of war.

"What are you thinking?" He muttered, his fingers playing with my gold bracelet.

"A storm is coming." Ali's eyes met mine, his expression blank. I looked at him, my fingers twisting together. "I saw these women and children, against the walls, near the main masjid yesterday. What would happen to them?"

His eyes didn't stray from my face, watching every expression. "I ordered them to the traveler's lodge. They are the responsibility of the state."

Relief and gratitude flowed through my veins. I felt my heart soar and before I could think my actions through, I pressed my lips against his.

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