Rashad seethed at how they despoiled her, exposing her face to common men’s lewd stares.
“Cover her” he commanded.
They adjusted her niqab. Her golden eyes, more vibrant than the dinars he had paid with, met his with familiar defiance. Grateful she did not recognize the boy who once trespassed in her garden, he led her in silence beyond the gates where his camel waited to return her to the king’s sanctuary.
They said the man who recovered the princess could name his reward. He hoped so. He had waited six years for her, aching to kiss those lips again.