‘This is...complicated,’ he said with a shake of his head, and then laughed, turning to face her. She saw the same thing in his expression that she felt in her heart. Surrender. This was bigger than them, bigger than the war. It was something neither could fight.
‘No.’ She shook her head and smiled, pushing up to press her chin to his chest. ‘It’s the opposite of that—it’s so simple.’
He reached out, lacing his fingers through hers, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. ‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘It is also simple.’
She put her head back down, listening to the strong, steady hammering of his heart. All her life she’d been told that the Haddads were the worst of the worst—not to be trusted, not to be seen as anything but the enemy. Yet here she lay listening to Amir Haddad’s heart and she knew the truth—it was a good heart. A kind heart. A heart that lived to serve his people.
A heart that would never belong to anyone but his people.
Especially not her—a Qadir.
She pushed those thoughts away. They both knew what they were doing, and what the limitations of this were. That didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it in the moment.
Her fingertips traced the inked words that ran across his chest. ‘What does this mean?’
He shifted a little, flicking a glance at his chest, then focussing his attention back on the stars overhead. ‘Amor fati,’ he said the words quietly.
‘Yes. I love...’ she translated with a small frown.
‘It’s Nietzsche,’ he said. ‘It means to love one’s fate.’ He turned towards her, scanning her face as if to read her reaction.
She was contemplative. ‘Your fate, as in your role as Sheikh?’
His smile was dismissive. ‘Partly, yes. All of it. My parents’ death, the duty that put upon me. There was a time when I felt that what was required of me might cripple me. I was only young—fifteen, or sixteen—and I remember riding out here and lying just like this. Well...’ a smile lifted his lips at the corners ‘...not quite like this—there was no woman.’
She smiled back, but didn’t say anything; she didn’t want him to stop speaking.
‘I lay here and looked at the stars and felt as though the sky was falling down on me,
suffocating me with its vastness. How could I—a boy completely alone in the world, with no parents, no siblings, only paid advisors—possibly be what was best for the country?’
‘It was an enormous responsibility to bear at such a young age,’ she said quietly.
‘I felt that way then,’ he responded quietly. ‘I now realise that this responsibility was a gift. What a great thing, to be able to lead my people, to rule a country such as this.’ He waved his hands towards the sand dunes that rolled away from these ruins.
‘Amor fati,’ she said simply.
‘Yes. I lay here and realised that I was being self-indulgent. There was no sense wondering if I could be Sheikh. I was. And so I had to be.’
‘If it makes any difference, you strike me as a natural at this.’
‘Oh?’
She nodded. ‘The night we met, before I knew who you were, I knew, somehow, what you were.’
‘And what is that?’
‘A ruler.’ Her smile was slow to form. ‘You have a natural authority that can’t help but convey itself.’
He laughed gruffly. ‘I’m used to being obeyed.’
‘It’s more than that. It’s the way you move, the way you speak. I think that your fate chose you.’
‘We could also say your uncle chose my fate.’
Her eyes flashed to his and pain sliced through her—brief and sharp. He saw it and shook his head by way of apology. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘No.’ She bit down on her lip. ‘But you’re right.’ Her fingers chased the tattoo, running over the inky black lines. ‘He was—is—an extremist. He always has been. He felt my parents were too moderate, that an all-out offensive was called for. He believed that only by destroying Ishkana could Taquul truly prosper. He wanted the war brought to an end once and for all—by any means necessary.’