Page 67 of Bound By Wishes

“Sorry, sayyida,” Ranen whispered. I didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant before his inky magic grasped my wrists, lifting them into the air. I gasped as a rope materialized, winding tight around my wrists and securing me to the saddle horn of the horse.

Panic flared in my chest at the thought of being at the mercy of a man, but I coaxed myself to calm down. Malik would be the one holding the rope, and I trusted him to ensure nothing would happen to me.

“What about the staff?” I asked, glancing toward the silvery artifact protruding from the sand. “We can’t exactly waltz into the palace with it.”

Ranen’s gaze shifted to the staff, and I caught the flicker of desire in his eyes. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, his tone deepening.

His magic wove around the staff, lifting it from the sand. As the staff spun in the air, it seemed to hiss and writhe, resisting his enchantment. He transformed the staff into a discreet sword with a smooth, simple design. Then his magic guided the sword into a newly materialized sheath at Malik’s waist.

“Oh, joy,” Malik huffed as he clumsily mounted the horse. “Another ride through the desert with an enchanted staff attached to my hip.”

I walked over to the horse, but before I could place my foot in the stirrup, Ranen’s hands gently encircled my waist. He lifted me with ease, setting me on the horse behind Malik. His touch lingered longer than necessary, sending a jolt through me and stealing the breath from my lungs.

Our eyes locked, and his grip around my waist tightened. “Don’t worry, sayyida,” he whispered, his voice like a velvet promise. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” Ranen reluctantly slid his hands from my waist, leaving behind a chill in their absence, but his words flooded me with warmth.

"Let’s get going," Malik said, urging the horse forward, the motion jolting me out of the genie-induced haze I was in.

My head swiveled back, searching for Ranen. He vanished before my eyes, but his comforting presence lingered around me, wrapping me in a sense of safety. The wind whipped past us as Malik urged the horse into a faster pace. My thoughts spiraled, the terrors growing more vivid with every beat of the horse’s hooves that drove us closer to the palace.

A nagging voice whispered in my head, telling me I couldn’t do this. But I shoved it aside as quickly as it reared its ugly head. I had been through too much. I wasn’t the same timid woman who had first stepped off the boat into Jalam. Why should I fear the Nightshade? I’d endured nightmares so intense that nothing it could conjure would be worse than the horrors my own mind created. No oneshould be trapped the way I had been, and yet, I had endured.

That simple thought must have soothed me, and I must have dozed off, because before I knew it, Malik was pulling the horse to a stop. The palace loomed before us, its imposing walls casting long shadows across the sand. My heart raced as Malik urged the horse forward. To my surprise, the plan worked like a charm. The guards waved us through the fortress gates without question, eager to get me back inside the walls of Jalam.

We passed slowly through the marketplace. The heady scent of earthy spices, mingled with the sharp tang of sweat and the musty odor of sunbaked sand, greeted us as we rode through the marketplace. Voices were low, and the atmosphere was weighed down by quiet desperation. I would never get used to the deplorable way these people were forced to live.

“This is awful,” Malik voiced my thoughts out loud as his gaze swept across the makeshift stalls, cobbled together from weathered wood and worn cloth.

“I’m painfully aware,” I said, barely above a whisper.

Fear spider-walked down my spine as we approached the looming archway of the palace. Two guards stepped forward, halting Malik. “What is your business?” they demanded.

Malik tugged on the rope binding me to him. “I found something that belongs to the king.” He answered them in a raspy voice that made him sound like he had been out in the elements too long, impressing me with his performance.

The guards’ gazes shifted to me, and a wicked smilecurved their lips as they exchanged glances with one another. “We’ll take her from here,” one of them said.

My heart pounded against my ribcage, a sheen of sweat breaking out across my forehead.

“I don’t think so,” Malik retorted, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. “I’ll deliver this little beauty to him myself.” The guards seemed taken aback by his audacity but ultimately parted for him to pass.

“I’m impressed,” I whispered to him. “I had no idea you could act like that.”

Malik flashed a grin. “Maybe I should’ve been an actor instead of a conservator for the museum.”

As we approached the palace, more guards emerged from the grand entrance, their shiny boots echoing against the marble steps as they descended and fanned out into the gardens.

Seconds later, Mozenwrath slithered down the steps with the sinuous grace of a serpent, his presence making me prefer the mines filled with snakes to his company. Right behind him, Razoul followed, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a menacing intensity that made my skin prickle.

Razoul stopped beside the horse, his scent of frankincense overpowering the garden’s fresh smell and making my stomach churn. “I see you’ve found my desert rose,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Get her down.” He motioned to the guards, and they quickly lifted me from the horse, setting my feet on the ground. “I’ll take that.” Razoul motioned to the rope still tied around the saddle horn.

Bile burned the back of my throat when Malik reluctantly handed the rope to Razoul. He tugged me forward, anevil smile playing on his lips. “Pay him well for his service,” Razoul said to Mozenwrath.

“Wait, your Majesty,” Malik called out. Razoul turned back around, frustration etched on his face. “Save your gold. What good will it do me in the desert? All I ask is for a decent meal and a safe place to spend the night.”

Razoul appeared to mull over Malik’s request before turning to Mozenwrath. “Very well. See that he is taken care of,” he commanded. Relief washed over me. At least Malik would be on the palace grounds if I needed him.

Razoul jerked the rope, the rough fibers biting into my flesh as he pulled me forward. The guards snickered, clearly entertained by how their king was treating me like a prized pig rather than a human being. He dragged me up the stairs and through the corridors.

"I should have you thrown back into the dungeon,” Razoul hissed in my face. “But since you so easily escaped—and because I’m not a man without principles—I’ll confine you to your chambers instead.”

---