The Moth and the Flame by Renée Ahdieh Page A

certain it’s salvageable.” Her eyes flitted about the windowless space. The room was meant to keep away all signs of light. Faded colors were as problematic as rogue moths. Knowing the faint glow from the scented taper was not enough, Despina shouldered past the door,down the marbled corridor to where the rays of the afternoon sun reached their highest.
    Again she unfurled the fabric. The thin silver silk glimmered as though it were fashioned from stardust. A breeze riffled past as Despina carefully straightened a gathering in the cursed snag. The mirrors along the hem flashed, tinkling together like tiny coins.
    â€œThat’s the loveliest sight I’ve seen all day.”
    Behind her. A male voice with the warm resonance of laughter. Of unbridled merriment.
    Or of blind privilege.
    Despina glimpsed over a shoulder. And refrained from showing any reaction.
    The voice belonged to the captain of the Royal Guard. The son of General Aref al-Khoury, the
Shahrban
of Rey.
    Blind privilege, indeed.
    Well, Despina supposed she was bound to encounter such an important young man in person. Especially now that she had been elevated in direct service to the queen.
    This time, Despina turned toward him, her back straight and her stare unwavering.
    As she’d always suspected even from a distance, he was in fact quite handsome.
    Unforgivably so.
    Broad-shouldered, trim-waisted. His cloak emblazoned with the royal seal. A wavy mop of dark hair. The kind that begged to be touched.
    A smirk that begged to be slapped.
    Despina had heard tales of him. The palace was rife with salacious talk. And the captain of the Royal Guard had quite the reputation. A notorious rake. One who’d broken many hearts. He could supposedly charm the skirts off a girl with nothing but sly words and flippant promises.
    At the memory of such tales, Despina stifled a laugh.
    Impossibly ridiculous. Removing clothing involved a great deal more than words.
    At the very least,
someone
had to unravel something. A knot. A string.
    A suggestion.
    The captain of the guard sauntered closer, a palm resting on the bejeweled hilt of his scimitar. His grin bordered on obscene. Too knowing. Too assured.
    Too arrogant.
    â€œYou must be hungry,” Despina said.
    He stopped mid-step. “Pardon?”
    â€œYou said I was the loveliest sight you’d seen all day.” Despina angled a hip forward, her most winning smile displayed to full advantage. “Therefore, you must be hungry.”
    â€œInteresting.” He angled his body in the same direction, almost on instinct. “I’ll play. Why do you suppose I’m hungry?”
    â€œTo me, the loveliest sight of all is food.”
    A spark glinted in his eyes. “I suppose that would depend on what kind of food, would it not?” He walked closer, scrutinizing her features in the rays of shifting light. “For instance, when I look at you, I think perhaps a drizzle of honey”—his gaze lingered on her lips—“over fresh berries might compare.”
    It was too much. Too much . . . everything. Though she knew she could play this rake’s game without balking, Despina burst into laughter, clutching her sides as the sound reverberated off the coffered ceilings. It was undoubtedly foolish to laugh at such an important young man. But
she
had not sought
him
out.
    And funny trumped foolish, at all turns.
    The captain of the guard’s eyes widened. His jaw dropped. But he recovered quickly. In no time at all, a redolent grin touched his mouth.
    â€œI can’t say I’m used to that response.”
    His voice rolled through the space. The smallest of shivers danced across her skin.
    It was an unforgivably nice voice.
    Despina smiled back at him, all but baring her teeth. “Perhaps you need a better adversary.”
    â€œYou think yourself better?”
    â€œThan you?”
    He nodded again, his grin arching up his face.
    â€œIn all