sent, reminding him of everything they’d shared in the past week.
She was a Qadir, but she was so much more than that. When he looked at her, he no longer saw her family, her place in the Taquul royal lineage, her birthright; when he said her name he saw only her, not the uncle for whom she’d been named, the uncle who had orchestrated his parents’ murder.
But guilt followed that realisation. He’d promised his parents’ dead bodies he would never forget. He’d promised them he would hate the enemy for ever, and here he was, seeking comfort in Johara’s arms, craving her in a way he should have been fighting against.
He moved to the windows, the ancient desert a sight that comforted him and anchored him, reminding him who he was. He breathed in its acrid air, letting it permeate his lungs. He was a Haddad. He was of this country, this kingdom, he served the people of Ishkana and nothing would change that.
What he and Johara were doing was... He turned towards the bed, her sleeping body making him frown. He couldn’t describe how he felt about her, and this. He knew only that there was a greater danger here than he’d ever imagined.
A knock sounded at the door—loud and imperative. Amir saw that it disturbed Johara and winced, crossing to the door quickly, grabbing shorts as he went and pulling them on. With one quick look over his shoulder, he pulled it inwards. Ahmed stood there, but he was not alone. Zeb, and several guards, were at his back.
Amir pulled the door shut behind himself, shielding his bed and lover from view before consulting his wristwatch. It was almost four. Only something serious would have brought anyone—particularly this contingent of men—to his room at this hour.
‘What is it?’
Ahmed nodded. ‘There’s been an attack.’
Amir tensed. ‘Where?’
‘In the malani provinces.’
His eyes swept shut. Anger sparked inside him. ‘How many?’
‘Two confirmed dead so far.’
He swore. ‘Insurgents?’
Ahmed looked towards Zeb. ‘Taquul insurgents,’ he said quietly. ‘They set off a bomb outside a nightclub.’
Many times in his life had he been told news such as this. He braced for the inevitable information. ‘How bad?’
‘It’s an emerging situation. The damage is being assessed.’
‘Whose bomb?’
‘That’s not clear,’ Zeb murmured. ‘It has the markings of a state device, though the timing...’
‘Yes.’ Unconsciously, he looked over his shoulder. It was impossible to believe anyone in Malik’s military would be foolish enough to launch an attack while Johara was deep in Ishkana.
‘What scale are we talking?’
Ahmed winced. ‘It’s bad, sir. A building’s collapsed.’
Amir swore.
‘I’ve put the border forces on alert.’
Amir stiffened. It was protocol. Zeb had done the right thing, and yet the familiarity of all this hit him like a stone in the gut. Just like that, he could see the peace evaporating.
‘We need more information.’
‘Sir?’ Ahmed’s brows were furrowed.
‘Was this the act of a rogue military commander, or the insurgents in the mountain ranges looking to profit from ongoing unease between our people, or a state-sanctioned skirmish in disputed land? We need to understand what the hell happened and why, before we respond.’
‘But you will have to respond,’ Zeb insisted. ‘We don’t have all the details yet but this was a vicious peace-time attack. Your people will expect—’
‘My people want peace,’ Amir said quietly, thinking of the sadness he’d seen in the eyes of the man who’d thrown coffee at Johara. ‘Not a knee-jerk retaliation that springs us back into the war.’