Page 95 of Dalla's Royal Guards
“No,” she whispered again, softer this time. “It’s okay. My time…” Her gaze lifted to Musad. “It was always going to end like this.”
“Don’t say that,” Musad growled, blinking furiously. “We’ll stop the bleeding, we’ll?—”
She shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. “Promise me… you’ll live. Both of you. Love. Laugh. Remember me, but don’t stop living.”
Nasser leaned his forehead against hers, the tears falling freely. “I will never stop loving you.”
“Nor I,” Musad choked, pressing a kiss to her bloodied hand.
She smiled, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I will always love you… always.”
She fought against the weight pressing down on her. She didn’t want to go. There was so much she wanted to see, do, feel with them.
Rage surged as the familiar tingle of death surrounded her.
Harlem silently watched as Dalla’s form shimmered, not with light, but with stardust. Her skin glowed, the edges of her body unraveling into golden, glittering sand.
He could almost sense her soul mourning as she was pulled from the physical realm. Regret about his delayed arrival haunted him. The men Detri had hired to stop the security team hadn’t cared who they hurt.
Three young boys had been caught in the crossfire. Two had been injured, one minor, one severely, the third terrified but uninjured. Donovan and his team were moving in, but there had been a few assailants. He had taken out the men who had shot at the boys before slipping around and down into the fort.
He stepped onto the sand and walked to Stella. He studied her blank eyes before he reached down and pulled Dalla’s seax from the assassin’s chest and cleaned it on her clothing. His gaze flicked to Detri and Gunther’s bodies before he turned to Dalla.
“No—no, no, no—” Musad whispered in a ravaged cry.
Nasser clutched Dalla to his chest, desperate to hold on to her form, but she was slipping through his fingers. He could have told the men that Dalla couldn’t stop from leaving, no matter how hard she tried.
His gaze moved to Debra who stood frozen, her gun limp in her hand. He wouldn’t have much time before he needed to leave. Already he could hear the approach of multiple footsteps descending into the fort.
Musad turned to him, rage and grief pouring from his eyes. “Bring her back. Please.”
Harlem shook his head slowly, pain written in the deep lines around his mouth. “I can’t.”
“Why? She was like you. She’ll be alright—won’t she? She’ll come back?” Nasser asked, his eyes glistening with tears, his voice harsh with grief.
“No one is like me. But…”
Both men froze and stared at him. Harlem studied Dalla’s peaceful face, her words coming back to him.
“I just wanted to know if there was a way that I could stay, here, with them, this time, instead of… dying.”
“Do you love them?”
“Yes.”
“There may still be hope,” he said before he stepped back, melting into the shadows of the cave without another word.
The air inside the palace was cool, refreshing after the salt-licked dampness of the cave.
The guards at the main entrance snapped to attention, concern flashing in their eyes when they noticed the blood coating the two princes. Their worried expressions changed to grief that was quickly hidden when they realized what had happened.
Hari stepped into the corridor from the sitting room, alerted by the change in energy before he even saw them. He had felt it in his chest—a phantom pain, the kind a father knows when something has gone terribly wrong.
“Where is she?” he asked softly, searching past them.
Musad’s jaw clenched. He looked down, unable to speak.
Nasser stopped walking. His hands curled into fists at his sides. He lifted his head and met his father’s eyes, his voice breaking on the words.
