Page 62 of Dalla's Royal Guards
The polished world dissolved—wind, fire, and sand rising in its place. She was no longer Dalla in the 21stcentury. She was Dalla of the Sands. And she was staring into the eyes of the man she had once known as Hakeem.
Drawing a deep, calming breath, she gathered her nerve.
And walked toward Harlem.
Musad stood just inside the mezzanine level, frozen, watching Dalla walk away from him.
Every step she took sent a crack through his resolve.
The second floor of the Simdan Hotel was nothing like the war-torn cities he had patrolled in his military days. This place was calm, even lush. Modern wood-paneled walls offset gold-veined marble, suspended lights floated like fireflies above planters filled with soft greenery, and the occasional hush of an espresso machine from the nearby café broke the quiet like a gentle exhale.
But inside him?
All he felt was chaos.
The cool air did nothing to ease the heat pounding through his veins. He clenched and unclenched his fists, forcing himself to stand still as Dalla’s sun-kissed braid swayed just below her waist with each step. She walked with purpose… but he saw the tremble in her hands, the tightness in her shoulders.
Everything in him screamed to move, to close the distance, to reach for her and pull her back, to shield her with his body and lock her away from whatever might lie ahead.
He shifted forward before he even realized it.
A hand gripped his forearm.
“Don’t,” Nasser said quietly.
Musad whirled around, ready to snap. The words caught in his throat the moment he saw his brother’s face.
Nasser wasn’t trying to stop him out of indifference.
Staring into Nasser’s eyes, he couldn’t help but see the same torment reflected at him.
Dalla.
She had undone them both.
Musad’s chest heaved as he turned away and walked to the balcony railing. The polished metal was cool beneath his hands. He leaned forward, staring down at the lobby below—an open space with clean modern lines, where the glittering lights of a city reborn filtered through expansive glass windows. A group of tourists passed beneath him, laughing and snapping photos of the gold-and-marble reliefs carved into the wall. The clink of cutlery from the lower restaurant drifted up along with the distant notes of piano music.
It felt wrong. Like the world was too peaceful for what was happening inside him.
“I’m terrified,” Nasser said beside him, his voice low, raw.
Musad didn’t look at him.
“I’ve never felt like this,” Nasser continued. “Like… like if she doesn’t come back to us, I won’t know how to breathe.”
A muscle jumped in Musad’s jaw.
He pressed his hands harder to the railing, gripping it so tightly, he was amazed the metal didn’t bend. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, trying to push against the sharp ache rising in his chest.
“I always thought it would be you,” he finally admitted, voice barely more than a rasp.
Nasser turned his head. “What?”
“I always thought—hoped—that we’d find someone… someone to share. Someone who could give us a reason to hope again.” Heopened his eyes and stared out at the cityscape beyond the glass. “But I didn’t think I’d feel it. I thought you’d be the one to love. I thought I’d just be there—supporting you. Protecting her.”
“And now?”
Musad’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Now I’m afraid that if anything happens to her, I won’t survive it.”
