The Rose and the Dagger (The Wrath & the Dawn, #2)

by Renée Ahdieh

It was because they were two parts of a whole. He did not belong to her. And she did not belong to him. It was never about belonging to someone. It was about belonging together.

“When I was in the desert, I woke each day and carried on with my life, but it wasn’t living; it was merely existing. I want to live. You are where I live.”

What do you want?” “To live … fiercely.” “What else?” “To taste every breath.” Khalid skimmed a hand down her leg. A frisson of heat shot up her spine. “What else?” Her voice shook. “To fall asleep each night with you by my side.” Shahrzad took his face between her palms. “Then fight for it.”

“Do you know how much I missed you?” Khalid inhaled sharply. “I do.” He grazed a thumb across her lower lip. “And do you know you make my life a thousand times worth living?”

Here, the only thing that mattered was before each of them. Here and now. “I love you,” Shahrzad breathed. “You are all that I am.” “And you are all that I will be.” For here, they existed beyond time. Here, they could no longer feel the place where she ended and he began.

“Since you can’t say it, will you at least tell me how much you love me?” Khalid ran the tip of his nose beside her ear, a grateful smile upon his lips. “From the stars, to the stars.”

With everyone else, he was chipped ice on a mountain. With her sister, he was a summer breeze across the sea.

No. He was not here to wreak revenge. For revenge was trifling and hollow. No. He was not here to retrieve his wife. For his wife was not a thing to be retrieved. No. He was not here to negotiate a truce. For a truce suggested he wished to compromise. The boy-king spurred his black al-Khamsa forward, its hooves kicking up a storm of dust and debris. He was here to burn something to the ground.

“I have a message from the son of Nasir al-Ziyad. He says the next time you send a mercenary to kill someone he loves, make sure she does not live to tell the tale.” The last thing Reza bin-Latief saw was the flash of a sword.

One of the marks from the night her father had given his life for their love. One on his face. One at his heart. These marks that made her thankful, each day, to be alive. To share this life with those she loved.

All Shahrzad wanted was before her. All Shahrzad needed was within her. She woke to each dawn with a grateful heart.