Page 63 of Desperate Measures
Why the fuck is he here?
I ignore Jeremiah’s noise of warning and climb out of the car. I round the front but stop several yards away. “I’m here for Yasmina.”
Henry shakes his head slowly. “You made that play, and it was the wrong one.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Ali is making the same play.”
“Was.”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said.” Henry is as implacable as ever despite breathing a little too hard to fully pull it off. “She wants to see you—just you and whoever is in the first car. If you cause trouble, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”
I try to pick his words apart. Ali was making the same play, past tense. She wants to see me? What the hell is going on? I barely smother my need to pepper Henry with more questions. He won’t answer me, and it might piss him off enough to refuse us access. We can fight our way through the gate if we have to, but if there’s a chance to get through on peaceful terms, I have to take it. “So be it.” I walk back to the car and climb inside. “Tell the others to wait here.”
Jeremiah gives me a look like I’ve lost my damn mind. Maybe I have. He finally says, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No. But it’s the only option we have.”
Several long seconds later, the gates open, and Henry motions us forward. I find myself holding my breath, but I can’t stop. I dread whatever we’ll find in the massive sprawling house. I should have protected Yasmina. My failure put her in this position, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to earn her forgiveness. I have to make my peace with that, with the knowledge that I’ll mow down anyone who lays a hand on her. At least then I’ll know she’s safe.
Even if she’s no longer mine.
My chest feels too tight as we stop near the front door and head inside. With only Jeremiah as backup, I should be more concerned with my own skin. He’s good, but no one is that good. I’m not.
My world has boiled itself down to the necessities. Two words.
Find. Yasmina.
It turns out I don’t have to look hard. She’s standing on the staircase, her hair spilling around her shoulders, a bruise blossoming across the right side of her face. Her dress might have started the day virginal white, but the bottom of it is the deep red of life’s blood, and it’s spattered across the front of the gown. A glint of metal in her hand forms into the same blade she threatened me with the first night.
This is not a victim rushing to meet her savior. This is a queen considering whether to treat with an enemy.
Even though I’m conscious of men filtering into the room around us, I can’t take my eyes off her. “Ba—Yasmina.”
“Jafar.” Even her voice sounds stronger, fiercer. As if she’s found her footing and she no longer needs my assistance to stand tall.?1 She studies me for a long moment. “Ali tried to take something I wasn’t willing to give, and he’s dead because of it.”
Ali is dead.
I don’t have to read between the lines to know that my baby girl killed him, likely with that damned letter opener she’s clinging so tightly to. Fuck, but I would have saved her from that if I could.
Even though I try to moderate my tone, my next words come out low and ragged. “I’m sorry.”
She lifts the knife to examine, the blade glinting in the light. “I’ve decided that I’m done being a pawn. My father may not have considered me his heir, but I am his heir in truth. His people—my people—have accepted that. The only question that remains is whether you will bend the knee and come back into the fold. Or if you’ll choose exile.”
Exile.
She’s not bluffing. If I can’t accept her as queen, if I try to force her back into the box she’s lived in for her whole life, then she’ll drive me out. It might break her heart to do it, but she loves her freedom more than she cares about me.?2
I don’t fault her for it. How can I?
Pledging myself to another ruler was never part of my plan. If someone asked me yesterday if I’d consider it, I would have laughed them out of the room. But this isn’t just another ruler. This is Yasmina. If I cling to my pride, I will lose her, and my instincts say I won’t get another chance. This isn’t something I can override with lust and dominance to get her to bend to my will. She’s drawn a line in the sand, and I can step to it or I can get the fuck out.
In the end, it’s no choice at all. Not when I can still taste the fear and desperation at the back of my throat. The certainty that I’d lost her forever. What is a kingdom without a queen? I always intended for her to be by my side. It may not have looked like this, but does it matter? I’ll have the territory, and I’ll have Yasmina, too.
Not as a submissive. As a full partner.
Slowly, so slowly, I go to one knee at the bottom of the stairs. “My queen.” I can feel Jeremiah behind me following my motion, repeating my words.
