Maisey Yates - Midnight on the Sands - Hajar's Hidden Legacy / To Touch a Sheikh / Her Sheikh Protector

She could picture them as they’d been. Boys with no cares. “Things must have seemed simpler then.”

He shrugged. “Yes and no. I always knew. Always knew that Malik had a heavy burden to carry. I was always grateful that it wasn’t me.” He laughed, the sound cold and flat in the enclosed space. “I have wondered …” He looked down, then back at her. “I have wondered if that’s why I’m left. A trick of fate. I was always much more content with my lot. So happy that it was my brother who bore the responsibility of leadership.” He cleared his throat. “I was a military officer. I should have seen the signs. I should have known.”

She touched his forearm. “You should have known what?”

“I should have known what was coming. I’ve seen war. Usually, I … feel things in my gut. That day, there was nothing. I was blindsided. We all were. And I was the only one who had no excuse. It never should have got past me.”

“You couldn’t have known, Zahir.”

“I know,” he said harshly. “I know.” He softened his tone. “But sometimes I still think I should have been able to stop it.”

“No. The only people who could have stopped it are the ones who did it. They could have turned back that day. They didn’t.”

“All for power. Fools. Power is an empty thing.”

“Not if you use it right.”

“And spare few do. Power, the lust of it, is why you’re here and not at home. Why you have to guard Alexander. Because of people who will do anything to get it.”

“So it’s the ones who don’t want it who do best with it. That’s why you’re such a good leader, Zahir.”

“And what about you, Katharine the Great?” She arched her brow at the nickname and he pressed on. “What about you and all the responsibility you take on? Is it your job to fix everyone?”

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know what else to do. Unlike you, I do feel called to rule. And yet I can’t. I never will. I have to … do something. Find a way to … matter. And if I fix things to accomplish it, then okay. I’ll be the one to fix things.”

He looked at her for a long time, his dark eyes assessing her, causing prickles of heat to fire beneath her skin, making her want to close the gap between them, then share her warmth. Because he looked cold, and she wanted so badly to make the cold go away for him.

“You do not need to fix me,” he said, his voice flat.

Suddenly she realized she didn’t know how. She offered him platitudes. They were even true, but they weren’t … enough. She’d been taught to lead with her head, and it wasn’t enough with Zahir. She wanted to put a bandage on it and call it better, when she doubted if that were even possible.

She looked at him standing there, a warrior, even if he was a warrior scarred by battle. The scars inside were so much worse than the ones that covered his skin. And she had the swirling, helpless sensation of knowing she wouldn’t be enough for him. That she would never be able to reach him.

“It was easier today,” Zahir said, entering the library.

Katharine set her book aside and treated him to one of her easy smiles, a sight he’d become more accustomed to than he should have. More than he’d like to admit.

“I’m glad.”

The drive into town today had been easier. They had been getting progressively so. The touch of Katharine’s hand, her face, they anchored him. Kept him in the present. Ironic since he had attributed the flashbacks to her, to his losing control.

The wedding was another matter. Hundreds of people with their eyes trained on them, the chance for him to either emerge in triumph, or humiliate his people. His family name. It was hard to explain, even to himself, what he thought might happen in that situation. The possibility of lost time, a loss of control, with an audience, was more terrifying and more likely than the chance of another attack.

And that he had control over. At least he was finding he did. That there were touchstones he could reach out to. That Katharine’s voice could keep the gates that held back the memories locked up tight. That there were things other than the exhausting, all-consuming use of his self-will to keep himself from experiencing them in crowded spaces.

“The wedding will be easy,” he said.

“Easy?” She pushed up out of the chair and stood, arms folded. He allowed himself a tour of her curves, welcomed the tightening of lust in his gut. “Weddings are never easy, no matter what the circumstances.”

“I thought you were trying to make me feel better about all this.”

“I’m just trying to get us through,” she said.

“A lofty goal.”

“I think it’s all any engaged couple can hope for.”

“You may have a point there,” he said. “Although my first engagement was brief.”

“Oh … Amarah.”

The venom in her tone amused him. “Amarah wasn’t evil.”

“I can’t imagine her as anything else,” she said. “She should have stayed with you.”

“So you didn’t end up having to deal with me?”

“No. Because she made a promise to you.”

He gritted his teeth, hating to tell the story, yet feeling he had to. So she could understand. “You remember how I was the first time in the market.” She nodded. “I was like that all the time after. Moments of lucidity followed by endless screaming, raging. I was in pain, and the medication I was given to manage either made me sleep or made reality become blurred. I was not the man she knew. I didn’t even look like the man she knew. The skin on my face was so badly burned I wasn’t recognizable. And for a while they thought my mind was gone, too. I thought it was. There was so much grief. So much pain everywhere, inside of me, my skin felt like it was still on fire. And when I started to shut it down, my memories, my emotions, then I could function. Then I could learn to walk, learn to deal with losing the vision in my eye. How could I have asked her to stay? How could I have asked her to live with the Beast?”

“You aren’t … “

“I was. Then especially.” He had never spoken these words to anyone. Never told the whole truth of it. But he wanted her to know.

Her green eyes were filled with pain. Not pity. Nothing so condescending. It was as though she felt what he’d felt. As though she shared in it. “How did you even go on, though? To lose your family … and then her?”

“I had Hajar. And I knew that I had to protect my people. That it was left to me. And as much as I am not a ruler … I had to do what I could. I started with homeland security, moved into hospitals for children who had been victims of attacks. We treat children from all over the world for free. Of course to support that I had to work on new ways of bringing revenue in. It’s kept me going.”

“How can you think you aren’t meant to be a ruler, Zahir? Your people … “

“Are afraid of me.”

“Maybe because you haven’t shown them who you really are.”

She said it with such earnest sweetness, as though she truly believed there was something in him worth valuing, even after his admission of how … dark and empty he was inside. Maybe she just didn’t understand. He’d been told that could be part of the PTSD, too. The absence of emotion. But it didn’t go away. Other things had gotten better, but the blank void inside him remained. And knowing that it might have a medical cause did nothing to make it less acute.

He looked at her, studied the way she looked at him. And he longed to change it. He turned away from her. “So I have been preparing to deal with the crowd. Is there anything else?”

“We … we’ll have to dance. We don’t have to dance, actually. If your leg … “

His stomach tightened. He’d been damned if he’d take the easy way, the handicap or whatever it was she was offering. “I thought we had to.”