The remaining days until the ball passed like a whirlwind. Daliya was summoned each day by the emperor and sat in the war room listening to the general as he tried to convince the tyrant to launch an assault on the south.

  “I believe them to be rebels of the south. The spy was a fire bearer.”

  “If you had done your duty as you should, we would have apprehended his accomplices, if he had any.” Daliya fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Perhaps it is time for you to retire, general. Your blunder caused us to lose important intel.”

  He sneered back at her.

  “I will find him and prove to Your Majesty that the traitor we’re looking for is much closer than we first thought.”

  She snorted. “Or maybe you will prove that you have grown far more delusional.”

  They glared at each other. Daliya wanted nothing but to freeze his face off and peel his skin to reveal his rotten soul.

  The emperor said nothing. He ignored their dispute, eyes gazing at the map before him.

  On the last day before the ball, the emperor called her back before she exited the room. She lingered by the door, waiting for the enraged general to leave. The door locked after her, sealing her inside with the madman.

  She hesitated before walking up to him.

  “Your Majesty—”

  He waved his hand in the air, cutting her off. She swallowed heavily around the lump in her throat, waiting for him to deliver her sentencing.

  Was it about the experiments? She still hadn’t told Haitham about it, having postponed it until now, with only a few hours remaining.

  “After the banquet, Makram will be expecting you. A servant will lead you to him. Do not loiter around.”

  “Of course. I will not disappoint you, Your Majesty.”

  She waited for a while, and just when she thought he would dismiss her, he said, his voice a touch gentle, “I know, daughter. I expect no less.”

  His words haunted her and kept her awake that night. The gentleness in his tone was somehow more frightening than the coldness and aloofness he usually treated her with.

  Then the banquet day was upon them..

  The dress was easy to don, much to Daliya’s delight. Still, she couldn’t help but miss her friend. She wondered how Thuraya was faring. Was her injury healed? Would she find her at the castle, already back to her duties? She hoped so.

  Haitham stilled as she exited her dressing room. He looked at her, his mouth slightly open in shock. She would have teased him if not for the maid’s knocking, announcing their carriage was ready and already waiting.

  He coughed, cleared his throat, and then grinned at her, offering his arm.

  “Ready, princess?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Never.”

  All eyes were on her as her presence was announced. She walked down the giant staircase, Haitham a couple of steps behind her.

  How fortunate was it that on the day of the ball, all nobles were allowed inside the palace grounds along with their special guests. She decided to have both Haitham and Mazin come along. While Haitham was following close, as usual, Mazin had ventured further to get a feel on things.

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  Even in the banquet, he was on duty.

  “Your Highness.” A pleasant surprise was on the Duchess’ face as she nodded to Haitham. “I’m glad Your Highness made it to the banquet. It would have been quite the chore otherwise.”

  Daliya nodded, smiling.

  Many people vied for her attention: nobles, ministers, merchants… Daliya walked around the grand hall, smiling at some of them, nodding her head at others, and trying not to choke the life out of others.

  All that time, Haitham was a silent shadow by her side.

  “Your Highness.” One of the servants presented her with a tray full of filled goblets. He waited, expecting her to take one of them. But she didn’t drink. She stood awkwardly, feeling the eyes following her movement.

  “I don’t–”

  Haitham took two goblets from the tray. The servant bowed and left.

  “I don’t drink,” she whispered.

  He took the goblet offered to her and took a sip of the red liquid, barely concealing a grimace. Her eyes widened in confusion.

  “Why did you…?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “The princess is a famous drinker. One would say she was often seen holding a wine glass whenever she wasn’t on the battlefield. Don’t you think it would be weird if she suddenly stopped drinking?”

  “I still can’t drink it.”

  She refused to touch the foul poison. Not after what it had cost her…

  “Semantics.” He shrugged as he drained the two glasses.

  The banquet was well underway, and still, the emperor hadn’t shown up.

  Did he find out who helped the prisoner escape?

  No. Daliya took a deep breath to calm her thumping heart. It’s been days. If he truly knew she helped, he wouldn’t have waited till now. She just needed to act normal.

  She glanced at the closed doors. Yes, that must be it. Imperial protocol required the emperor to be the last to arrive and the first to leave, so there was nothing to his lateness.

  As the music started, pairs formed and moved to the middle of the hall. One of the nobles, staring at her, put down his wine glass and walked towards her.

  Haitham stepped in her line of sight. He placed a hand over his chest, leaning slightly forward. “If Your Highness would allow me this dance.”

  “Of course.” Her smile was crooked at the edges. She was already thinking about ways to make him regret asking her. Maybe she’ll smash his toes with her heels.

  She took his offered hand, and he pulled her towards him.

  “I don’t know how,” Daliya hissed.

  “It was either me or that snobby noble. Just follow my lead,” he whispered.

  His hand rested on the small of her back, and his warmth seeped through the fabric of her dress. His touch was so gentle and light. He wrapped his arm around her waist, moving in time with the music.

  She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, some shocked, others intrigued.

  “Focus on me. Pretend we’re alone here,” he directed.

  “Easier said than done,” she hissed under her breath.

  He glanced at her, a teasing smile on his lips as he tilted his head. “Didn’t take you for a scaredy-cat.”

  She squeezed his hand with all her force. He paused for a moment and then softly chuckled as if her actions confirmed his accusations.

  They followed the music. Rather, Haitham followed the music. Daliya barely managed to follow the step sequence Haitham’s feet directed. One wrong foot sequence occurred, and she found herself stepping on Haitham’s foot. She smiled sheepishly at him.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Sometime later, she stepped again on his foot, and again, and again.

  “My bad.”

  He frowned. “I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose.”

  She bit her lower lip to stop the laughter that nearly bubbled up her throat. “I’m not. It was an accident. I promise.”

  He looked at her, eyebrow raised. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

  “I told you I can’t dance.” She lifted her shoulder in a slight shrug. “That’s what you get for insisting.”

  He stopped suddenly, twirled her around, and then brought her back to his arms. She scowled at him. The silver strand that got loose from her hair lessened the intensity of her glare.

  “I’ll get you back for this,” she threatened.

  His answering grin only served to deepen her scowl.

  He was a good dancer. Daliya might not be versed in classical dances, but she could tell he moved like someone who had practiced for these events his whole life. He moved like his flames did, back when he was lazying around the garden, his head resting on his propped arm, watching fire orbs follow the path traced by his fingers.

  How was his life before the war? Did he learn to dance as a child, and did the Kingdom of Ma’arib still stand? Or was it a skill he had to learn later, along with becoming an assassin?

  He twirled her around. Their performance became a bit smoother as she eased into the dance.