Page 96 of Dalla's Royal Guards
“She’s gone.”
Hari’s face drained of color. “No…”
“We couldn’t protect her,” Nasser bit out. “We promised we would—but we couldn’t.”
Musad turned away, his entire body a taut coil of grief. He didn’t follow Nasser when he veered toward the sitting room. Instead, he disappeared down the hallway, the sharp echo of his boots swallowed quickly by the silence.
Hari watched him go, then turned to his youngest son.
Nasser stood before the window, staring out at the sea. The soft lapping of the waves beyond the palace echoed in his memory, but there was no beauty in it now. Only the hollow ache of failure.
“She died saving us,” he said hoarsely. “She pushed Musad out of the way. Took the bullet herself.”
Hari stepped forward, his voice gentle. “And she would do it again, Nasser. That was who she was. She lived to protect.”
“I should have told her,” Nasser whispered, his voice cracking. “I should have told her I loved her. Maybe… maybe if I had, she would have stayed.”
Hari moved to his son and rested his hand on his shoulder, then slowly turned him around. Nasser’s face crumpled, his composure slipping as the grief finally broke free.
“She knew, my son,” Hari murmured, pulling Nasser into a fierce embrace. “She knew. And if there is a way—any way at all—to return—Dalla will find it. She came once. She can return. You have to believe.”
Nasser trembled in his arms.
Hari’s voice dropped to a whisper. “When I heard the gunfire in the comms when you and Musad went to rescue Cianna… I thought I had lost you both. I was devastated. I couldn’t think. I turned to the mural and I prayed that Dalla would protect you, and she did.”
Nasser stiffened slightly, lifting his head.
“I begged her,” Hari whispered, voice raw. “I stood before the image of her, and I begged her to protect you. I asked her to come… and she did. You believe that. Dalla is not gone—not truly. You have to tell her. She needs to hear that you need her so she can find her way back.”
Nasser drew in a shuddering breath, tears still burning behind his eyes. “The mural…”
Hari nodded. “After Donovan called and told me what happened at the old fort… I went back. Only the outline of her has returned, but her depiction has changed.”
The room was still, save for the crashing of waves outside the palace.
“I don’t know what that means,” Nasser said.
“I do,” Hari whispered. “It means don’t give up.”
A long moment passed. Then Nasser nodded slowly.
Not in agreement.
But in hope.
Hope, thin as thread—but still unbroken.
Musad stood alone in the garden, swallowed by silence.
He stared up at the stars, tears streaming down his face. The seax trembled in his hand, the blade turned inward. Grief clawed at his chest like fire.
“She deserved better,” he whispered. “A thousand lifetimes, and the curse still took her.”
He raised the blade?—
“Don’t.”
Musad turned. Harlem stood beneath the olive tree, his voice low.
