Page 73 of Dalla's Royal Guards
The glass doors of the Simdan Hotel whooshed open as the sleek line of black SUVs surrounding their dusty, bullet-pocked tan one turned into the entryway of the hotel’s covered entrance. The glossy black SUVs shimmered beneath the streetlamps, a modern caravan cloaked in shadows and tinted windows—making their dusty vehicle look even more out of place.
Dalla stood next to Nasser just inside the entryway, her fingers curled loosely around the handle of the duffel slung across her back, her eyes scanning the street with sharp precision as they waited for the vehicles to stop. Civilians milled nearby, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the polished surface of this city.
“Time to go. Stay close,” Nasser murmured.
Dalla nodded, following his lead as he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her forward.
Nasser proceeded first and opened the back passenger door. Dalla didn’t miss the curious glances or hushed whispers from the hotel guests as she slipped into the vehicle’s backseat. She scooted over so Nasser could slide in beside her.
She stiffened when she noticed the man in the front passenger seat. He turned slightly, his sharp profile haloed in the glow of the dashboard.
“Hey, Raja,” Nasser greeted with a grin. “It’s good to see you’ve escaped long enough to play tour guide.”
Raja Hadi glanced back with a dry smile. “We all make sacrifices for visiting royalty.”
Dalla stiffened slightly at the word, but Nasser’s relaxed tone soothed some of the tension twisting through her gut.
“Raja,” Nasser continued, “I’d like you to meet Dalla Bogadottir. Dalla—Raja Hadi, King of Simdan.”
Raja turned fully now, his eyes locking with hers.
Deadly calm.
Measured.
Powerful.
“Welcome to Simdan, Ms. Bogadottir,” he greeted in a smooth tone.
Dalla held his gaze, already understanding the truth behind the civility. This man was no figurehead. Beneath the tailored shirt and confident smile was a man who had survived more than his fair share of threats. He was calculating. Observant. And very, very dangerous.
She inclined her head, not breaking eye contact. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Only Nasser’s calming presence—and his hand gently cupping hers—kept her from reaching for her blade. She breathed deeply when he caressed her hand with his thumb.
“Well,” Nasser said, breaking the tension with a chuckle, “congratulations are in order. I heard Katie gave birth.”
Raja’s expression shifted into something warmer, a rare softness cracking through the iron. “She did. A boy. My world’s completely upside down now. She and Idella assure me that is normal. I still don’t believe them.”
Dalla chuckled at his tortured expression. The flicker of amusement was quickly replaced by awareness as Raja’s gaze returned to her. She could feel the sharp edge of questions in his eyes.
“We can’t wait to meet him. Mario said the same thing after Cianna was born,” Nasser replied.
The mention of Cianna brought home the reason that she was there. She swallowed and looked out of the window when Raja’s gaze sharpened on her face.
“Speaking of Cianna, what the hell happened in Kashir?” Raja asked.
Dalla listened as Nasser gave Raja a brief but efficient rundown—Lissa’s injury, the betrayal by Hellman and Crosse, the narrow escape with Cianna and Nanna. She didn’t miss the way Nasser brushed over her arrival—or more to the point, who she really was and how she had appeared.
Through it all, Dalla kept her eyes trained on the city sliding by outside the window, but her senses remained tethered to the men in the car.
And to the man driving.
Musad hadn’t said a word since they entered, but he kept checking the mirrors—quick flicks of his gaze, his posture too still, too focused.
Something was wrong.
Beside her, Nasser shifted slightly, just enough to give her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze.
