The Moth and the Flame Read Free

words.
    So Despina prompted her with another kind smile and an encouraging dip of her head.
    â€œI am not ill,” the queen replied slowly. “I suppose ‘postponed’ would be an apt word.” She averted her gaze, her mouth curving upward with a trace of wryness. “Postponed—as many things in life so often are.”
    â€œFor later in the day, then?” Despina pressed.
    The calipha’s eyes flashed once, a spark of unnamed emotion flaring in their depths. “For later in the future, if at all.”
    This time, Despina wisely chose not to speak.
    â€œYou needn’t worry on my account,” the calipha continued. “The times I meet the king are often postponed. He has many pressing weights on his shoulders, and I am not—”
    She stopped as though she’d said too much.
    It did not matter. The young queen need say no more.
    A curl of sympathy rose in Despina’s throat. “A king’s queen should never be a pressing weight,” she said in a gentle voice. “And—just as I am one who does not ask before taking action—you appear to be anything but a source of worry, my lady.”
    â€œIt’s kind of you to say so. Though I am not of the same mind.”
    Another moment passed between them in thoughtful silence. “Tell him you are preparing a gift for him, my lady. That you’d like to share it sometime soon.”
    â€œIs it truly that simple?” Dubiousness creased the whole of the calipha’s brow.
    â€œIt is a beginning.” Despina’s voice was bright. “And sharing such a beautiful gift with one you love is not a cause for concern, my lady. But rather a cause for celebration.”
    â€œPerhaps you’re right.” Emboldened, the young queen stood straight and met Despina’s gaze. “Perhaps I
shall
tell him about it.”
    Despina placed the perfume on the low table along the far wall, then bowed to take her leave, a triumphant smile touching her lips.
    Perhaps the young queen would ask her name tomorrow. Then perhaps she’d ask Despina’s advice on which color suited her complexion best. Which scent would entice the caliph’s notice.
    The day following that?
    The possibilities were endless.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Jalal al-Khoury was bored.
    Such boredom did not behoove the beautiful day before him. Did not pay homage to its clear blue sky and the citrus-scented breeze weaving through the open screens of the palace.
    He supposed he could seek out Sahar. Or perhaps Nasreen. Both girls were just the kind to take advantage of such a lovely day. Just the kind to put aside their work and get lost in the many shaded corners of the gardens beyond.
    The kind to engage in Jalal’s favorite pastime.
    Women had always been a weakness for him, much to his father’s chagrin. Aref al-Khoury—the
Shahrban
of Rey—had been faithful to one woman all his life. Sought comfort in the arms of one woman, and one woman alone. Whereas his son sought comfort in the arms of many women. Women of all sorts. Short, thin, tall, plump—it mattered not to Jalal.
    For Jalal al-Khoury loved women and never sought to hide the fact. He’d been called many things as a result. Scoundrel. Rake. Profligate. But he’d never been called boring. And Jalal refused to let such a travesty occur on such a lovely day.
    After all, there were far too many fetching young women at the palace.
    So Jalal walked through its warren of marbled corridors, on the search for any girl with a smiling face and a moment to flirt.
    But—when he turned the corner across from the queen’s chambers—Jalal did not come across a girl with a smiling face.
    Instead he came across a girl with a decidedly pensive gaze. A girl with an empty silver tray dangling from one hand. When a ray of afternoon sun struck its surface, the flash of light drew him toward her, like a moth to a flame.
    Jalal recognized her in