Those black-as-an-abyss eyes poured icy goading and burning scorn over him. “Word is you exiled yourself from Zohayd after your mother tried to roast half the region and serve it to you on a platter. I wonder how much effort you put into fabricating that ‘fact.’”
Rashid was one of the trio who could ever smash through his defenses, melt the layers of ice at his core. Boil his blood.
But a heated defense was exactly what Rashid wanted.
He’d long been done giving anyone what they wanted from him.
“You know me, Rashid. Such things come to me effortlessly. I leave it to … lesser men to exert themselves.”
Seemingly satisfied he had gotten the reaction he’d wanted after all, Rashid said, “So now that Zohayd has wised up and kicked you out on your ear, you’ve come to blight Azmahar with your presence. But if you knew anything about me, you’d know people leave it to me to … deal with discord and its sowers.”
Without the tinge of sarcasm in his tone, he would have thought Rashid was deadly serious. Deadly, period. This was the face of someone who would kill without mercy.
As he had before.
Not that it worried him in the least. Two more things he’d been born without were fear and the ability to back down.
He raised Rashid double his provocation. “I just thought I’d come see what I can do to save Azmahar from the dire fate of having to settle for someone with your … fundamental deficiencies. You know how charitable I can be.”
Something lethal slithered through the depths of Rashid’s eyes—not exactly an emotion, but a reaction. Haidar didn’t know why, but it forced his focus back to the scar.
Ya Ullah, how had that happened? When? Not during his army years. He knew that. What he didn’t know was why he’d never heard of Rashid having it, or how he’d gotten it. Did anyone know?
He had a feeling no one did. No one but Rashid himself.
“How much did you pay those clans to ‘choose’ you as their candidate?”
Rashid’s voice, harsher now, brought his eyes back to his. He didn’t want his scar scrutinized. Especially by him.
Haidar exhaled. “How much did you?”
“I was actually offered whatever I could ask for. A lot of people will do anything to stop you, or your asymmetrical half, from taking the throne.”
Suddenly he was fed up. He hated this. Hated that they had to keep stabbing at each other, deepening the wounds, widening the rift. He’d never wanted any of this. Now he wanted it all to stop.
It wouldn’t be a concession of defeat if he reached out to Rashid. It would be an olive branch to an injured adversary. Who should have never become one.
He inhaled. “A throne is something I never thought about or wanted, Rashid.”
“That’s a famous tactic.” Rashid shrugged. “The sour-grapes maneuver. You were the Prince of Two Kingdoms who could never be in line for the throne of, either. What else can you do but pretend you aren’t interested?”
“No pretense. After a lifetime of watching what kind of pain in the neck, heart and butt being king is from the woeful example of my father, I wouldn’t wish it even on you.”
“I’m so touched that you consider me your worst enemy.”
Wanting to kick himself for the terribly timed joke, when it was certain Rashid had taken it literally, he started to clarify.
Rashid overrode him. “But don’t I now share that status with your pointedly absent semi-demon twin?”
Haidar waited for the mention of Jalal to finish turning the skewer embedded in his gut.
Rashid only stabbed him harder. “I came after you only to tell you how entertaining it will be, watching you two campaign for the throne, adding your arrogance to your uncle’s ineptness, your cousins’ excesses and your mother’s all-round villainy.”
Having inflicted all the injuries he’d wanted to, Rashid turned.
He’d walk away, and any chance to heal their severed bond would be lost.
Haidar lunged after him, grabbed his arm.
Rashid’s gaze lowered to the fingers digging into his abaya-wrapped flesh. Haidar could swear his hand burned.
He didn’t care if Rashid possessed heat vision for real and would burn off his hand. He had to know.
“What happened to you, Rashid?”
After a chilling moment, Rashid calmly removed his hand from his arm, stepped away as if Haidar’s nearness soiled him.
His gaze was opaque. “You were always a self-involved son of a major bitch, Haidar.”
He wasn’t up to contesting the accuracy of that summation, wasn’t sure how it applied here. “I’m trying to get involved now.”
“A bit too late for that. Years too late.”
“B’haggej’ jaheem. Stop being cryptic. How did you get this way?”
“You mean the scar? You should have seen it before the corrective surgery.”
Haidar thought his head would burst with frustration. “I mean everything. The visible and … otherwise.”
For a long moment it appeared Rashid wouldn’t bother answering.
Then he said, “I dropped my guard.” His glare could have pulverized a rock. “Trusted the wrong people.”
Haidar staggered back a step. “Are you saying I somehow had a hand in this?”
“It’s so heartwarming to see how you’ve mastered self-deception, not to mention self-absolution, Haidar.”
Now his brain was threatening to liquefy with incomprehension. “That’s insane, Rashid. I know we’ve had our differences in the past years—”
“You mean we’ve been trying to destroy each other.”
“I’ve been trying to stop you from destroying me. And whatever I did in retaliation for your actions, it was only business.”
“This …” Rashid tilted his head, giving him an eyeful, slid a lazy finger down the ridge of disfigurement to the base of his neck. Haidar was certain it snaked lower onto his back. It seemed to have forged all the way to the recesses of his soul. “… was only business, too.”
Haidar stared at him, helplessness and confusion sinking their claws into his gut. “You’re making no sense.”
“Neither are you, if you think you can reinstate any personal interaction between us again. And if you think I’d ever be party to making you feel better about yourself in this lifetime, you have me confused with the wrong Rashid Aal Munsoori. One who ceased to exist long ago.”