The Lady or the Lion

  “Leave it, Durre,” he whispered, voice callous. “I like having you on my lips.”

  She felt like she was standing on a cliff, a step away from falling.

  “That is hardly—proper,” she choked.

  His eyes were molten. “I never said it was.”

  She watched him go, walking around with her lipstick on his mouth, leaving her feeling starved.

  Durkhanai continued to sit there for hours, watching the clouds move, watching the sun dance across the sky. She watched the birds and wondered what it would be like to fly. The sky set the sky ablaze and she felt the same.

  Asfandyar found her still there much time later, this time staring at the stars, eyes alight with wonder. She hugged her knees close to her chest, resting her cheek on her knee.

  “Did Rashid really propose?” Asfandyar asked.

  Durkhanai nodded, still looking at the stars.

  “Does he love you?” he asked, voice quieter. “You deserve to be revered.”

  Durkhanai nodded again. She did not look at him.

  “What . . . What response did you give?” he asked, voice faltering.

  “What response do you believe I gave?” She finally turned to look at him.

  Seeing him standing there, so close, she wished to seize him as she seized everything she wanted in life, but in love, it could not be so. Though she was tired of not saying what she meant, she was too stubborn and proud to be the first one to say it.

  Asfandyar ran a hand through his curls, and they bounced back in place. He sighed.

  “Truly, I don’t know,” Asfandyar replied. “You’ve become so difficult to read.”

  “Yet I can read you like a book,” Durkhanai replied. His eyes burned, hope flickering within the endless shades of black.

  “Then you know,” he told her, voice low. “Surely, you must know.”

  “Know what?” she asked, feigning innocence.

  “Durkhanai,” he pleaded. Her name in his mouth sent a shiver down her spine.

  “Know that you would wish me well in my marriage?” she replied, sitting up. She was annoyed, now.

  Asfandyar ran a hand through his curls. He was exasperated, his mien tense.

  “Do you enjoy tormenting me?” he asked, voice sharp. “I’m genuinely curious.”

  “Yes,” she snapped back, standing. She glared at him, and he glared back. She felt volatile and knew he felt it, as well. He clenched his jaw, trying to grind words out of his emotions. He looked away and released a measured breath from his nose. When he turned back, his face was open.

  “Let me try again,” he said, finally. “I’m inexplicably drawn to you.”

  “Many people are,” she responded. She knew she was pushing him, but she couldn’t bear it any longer: the weight of unspoken things between them.

  “You’re impossible,” he groaned.

  “I am,” she replied. “Is that what you’ve come to tell me?”

  He stood still as stone. She wanted to yell at him, to shake some emotion from him, but she stood just as stoic.

  “Khudafiz, then,” she said, turning. “Goodbye.”

  Her face crumpled the instant her back was to him, but she forced herself to begin walking away. One step in front of the other . . .

  “Wait,” he rasped, his voice woolen. “Don’t go.”

  He caught her hand, drew close enough that she could feet his body in the space behind her. She could almost feel his heart beating like a hummingbird against her back.

  Somehow, she knew this was the moment.

  The final fall.

  She could stop it, but she didn’t want to. He sunk his teeth into her heart and she let him.

  “I lay myself bare before you,” he whispered, his nose grazing her jaw. “What fabric is your heart cut from? Is it silken and soft? Velveteen and plush? Woolen and thick? Whatever it is, cover me with it.”

  His arms had wrapped around her waist, encapsulating her. He pressed a soft kiss to her neck, and the world turned to starlight.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  “I am yours,” he said, his voice silken. “Entirely, completely—I am yours.”

  She had waited so long to hear the truth made clear, for some sort of evidence and proof, but now that it was finally here, she was frozen. She knew once she turned, once she responded, she would no longer be able to hold back.

  Tears pricked her eyes. Her position, her duties, her people, her family, her grandparents—they flitted into her mind for half an instant, but all she knew was him.

  Finally, she spoke the truth she had known for weeks.

  “I am yours,” she whispered.

  She found the courage to turn, still in his arms. Between them was a whisper of space. She raised a shaking hand and held it to his face, felt his beard against her palm, just as she had imagined so many times.

  But her imaginings hadn’t been close to reality: the weight, the blood, the bone of him. Her pinky brushed beneath his jaw and she felt his pulse, running wild like an animal’s. Closing his eyes, he pressed his mouth into her palm.

  “I tried to stay away from you. I really did, Durre,” he said. “But I couldn’t resist.”

  Durkhanai bit back her grin. “Durre?” she whispered. “No one’s called me that in ages.”

  “You don’t like it?” he asked.

  “I adore it,” she said. She looked into his eyes. “And I adore you, Asfi.”

  He grinned into her hand.

  “Asfi?” he repeated. “You’re the only one I would ever let get away with calling me that.”

  “Kasam se?” she asked. “Do you mean it?”

  “Teri kasam,” he replied, eyes earnest. He swore it on her.

  His hands were resting on her waist, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Snuggled against him, she was safe, at ease, suspended in the eye of the storm raging on around her.

  Here, there was peace.

  “Durkhanai,” he said against her hair, voice gentle but tentative. His body tensed against her. “I need to . . . to talk to you.”

  “Mm,” she sighed into him. “Not yet.”

  She could tell whatever he had to say was important, and she didn’t want to ruin this. She wanted the peace to last a little longer.

  “I think you should know,” he said, pulling back. She searched his eyes, saw how distraught he was, how torn. He didn’t want to tell her but knew he must.

  “Please,” she told him, voice soft and coaxing. “Let’s just have tonight. Whatever it is, tell me in the morning. I just want to spend a little more time with you.”

  “You don’t understand,” he tried again, but he was losing his resolve. “There are things I haven’t told you—”

  Durkhanai didn’t want to listen.

  “Shh.” She covered his mouth with her hand. “Tomorrow.”

  “Durkhanai—” he sighed.

  She could tell, somehow, that whatever he had to say would change things forever. That she would hate him afterwards, and she didn’t want to hate him. Not yet.

  She just wanted the night, before the inevitable happened. She knew it was a bad idea, knew it would change nothing, knew it would only make things more difficult.

  But she couldn’t help it. She was too selfish, too self-indulgent to resist

  Behind Asfandyar, she watched stars glittering in the sky.

  “Tomorrow,” she insisted. She felt like she was on the top of the bell tower, overlooking the entire world, heart hammering, wind whipping against her skin.

  He opened his mouth to speak, once more. But before he could, she pulled his face down to hers.

  She kissed him.

  He didn’t need a moment to recover: he kissed her as though he’d been waiting for this moment for days and it was finally here. His words evaporated on her tongue, engulfed by something deeper.

  There was nothing more important than this.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  They kissed each other raw.

  H
is mouth on hers was like stars melting on her tongue: molten and sugary sweet. She seized his kurta, pulling him closer, insatiable, and his hands ran down her back, one snaking under her leg.

  Overcome with desire that nipped and bit, that bruised and bled, she wanted all of him. She could tell he did, too. Her hands knotted into his hair, his glorious curls, and his grip on her tightened.

  “Durkhanai,” he gasped, pulling back.

  “Why did you stop?” she asked, feeling starved.

  Breathless, he put his hands on her shoulders to steady himself—and to hold her back. “Someone will see.”

  “I don’t care,” she whispered, biting his lower lip. A soft sound slipped from his throat and she caught it on her tongue, her mouth sliding over his again. He pushed her hard against the wall, and the cool marble sent a shiver down her spine.

  So this is what it feels like to fly, she thought.

  His lips roamed, marking little kisses on her jaw, down her throat. He inhaled her scent, then released a sigh.

  “You can’t imagine how many times I’ve wanted to do that,” he said. “You smell so sweetly of roses.”

  She extended her neck for him, and he closed his eyes, breathing her in. He pressed a soft kiss to her throat, right where her pulse beat. She swayed, unbalanced.

  “We really ought not to,” he said, withdrawing, but his eyes were dark. They were both drunk with desire.

  “Is that so?” Undeterred, she kissed him again, open mouth skimming across his skin.

  “Do not tease me with your savage little teeth,” he begged. He stepped away, serious, and she pouted.

  “Since when are you so shareef?”

  He smiled. “You’ve made a noble man out of me.”

  Her pout deepened. “No fair.”

  “I want to do what is honourable.”

  She knew this wasn’t, knew she should have shame and be shy, but she didn’t care in the slightest. This was a sin she would willingly drown in.

  “Won’t you touch me again?” she asked. Batting her eyelashes at him, she took a step toward him, and he groaned, taking a step back.

  “Stay away from me, woman,” he said, raising a finger.

  She held her hands up innocently. “I won’t do anything. I just want to be near you, or is that too much to ask?”

  He gave her a suspicious glance, but held out his hand for her. She grinned, grabbing onto it. A man’s hand in hers—it felt so strange yet so true. Like he had always been meant to fit right there, at her side.

  Was it meant to feel this easy? This comfortable?

  Overcome with bubbly joy, Durkhanai hugged Asfnadyar’s arm, feeling the corded muscle as she leaned her cheek on his shoulder. His chest moved with withheld laughter.

  “Where to, now?” she asked. Asfandyar gave her a mischievous glance but said nothing, only began leading her toward the east wing. When she saw guards farther down the hall, she released his hand. Immediately, she felt cold.

  As they passed, Durkhanai ignored their strange glances at her. She knew it was reckless, but oh, didn’t she deserve just one night? She was young; she wanted to feel free.

  Durkhanai followed Asfandyar. He checked to make sure the coast was clear before quickly ushering her into a room.

  His room.

  “And you were worried about me!” she exclaimed. “Not so shareef after all, hm?”

  He laughed in response.

  “My intentions are pure as the snow that caps the heavenly mountaintops, princess,” he told her, grinning. “I have only brought you here because it is the last place anyone would look for you.”

  “Mmhm,” she replied, unconvinced. “Sure.”

  “Get comfortable,” he said, sitting down on a chair. “You can leave whenever you please.”

  She would never leave, she thought, as she undid her dupatta and crown.

  She undid her hair next, pulling out the pins and undoing braids until her unruly curls fell in a cascade down her back, brushing against her hips. Asfandyar watched her, eyes skimming the length of her.

  She then took off the rest of her jewelry: the heavy gold jhumkay on her ears, the jewels around her neck. Her chudiyan made a soft chum-chum sound as they slipped from her wrists, leaving her skin bare. The only thing she left on was the Miangul family crest ring, which always sat on her right ring finger.

  Finally, she undid the buttons and ribbons that tied her embroidered cloak-gown around her body. Beneath, she wore a satin slip and trousers.

  “What are you doing?” Asfandyar choked. He had been watching her carefully until then.

  “What you said: getting comfortable,” she replied, wiggling her brows at him. He turned to look the other way, his ears pink.

  This man, too! She had never seen him shy before.

  He sensed her noticing and got up to get something from his wardrobe. He handed her a folded shawl just as she released the weight of her gown from her shoulders.

  “Wear this,” he said, not looking at her.

  “No, thank you,” she replied politely. She took it and tossed the shawl onto the bed. She took a step closer, and his gaze raked over her body. He looked away again, ears a furious red.

  His dimples made a brief appearance before disappearing again as she stepped toward him, crossing her arms.

  He finally looked at her, biting back a laugh.

  “Come on,” he said, voice sweet as he got up to offer her the shawl once more. “You’ll get cold.”

  A smile was playing on both their lips; it felt like a great game. This time, Durkhanai pretended to consider it for a moment, before tossing it aside again.

  “If I get cold, I have you to keep me warm, Asfi,” she said, winking. This time Asfandyar laughed, a wide grin engulfing his face. The same grin covering hers.

  “Who are you?” he asked, eyes full of wonder. She stepped close to him and put her arms around his neck. He did not look away.

  “Yours,” she replied. “As you are mine.”

  He kissed her nose, and she wrinkled it in response, giggling.

  “I’ll sit here,” he said, untangling her arms from him. He went to sit on the chair across from the bed. “You sit there.”

  He pointed to a chair on the far side of the room.

  “Mm, I’ll sit here,” she said, sitting in the adjacent chair. She pushed the chair closer to his, holding back a laugh. Asfandyar responded by scooting his chair away. Durkhanai fake pouted.

  “No fun,” she told him. “I told you I won’t do anything.”

  “Chal jhooti,” he said, laughing. “Liar.”

  “True,” she said, grinning, and she went to sit on the armrest of his chair. She leaned close to him, inhaling his scent, and pulled his face close with her index finger.

  “But since when do you follow the rules?” she teased.

  “You’ll be the end of me,” he muttered, looking at her lips. She grinned and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “Acha, Asfi,” she conceded. “I’ll behave myself.”

  She went and sat on his bed, wrapping the shawl around her shoulders before settling in by his pillows. The bed smelled of him: sharp spice and wood and fire. She could lie there and smell him all night and never tire of it.

  “What now?” he asked. Durkhanai shrugged. She didn’t need anything more. She could sit there and stare at him all night and never tire of it.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I can always eat.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “Now?” She sat up. “We’ll get caught!”

  “Trust me,” he told her. He grabbed her hand. She adjusted her shawl to ensure she was properly covered, then they were off.

  They tiptoed around her palace, and Durkhanai felt like a child again, hiding in crevices so the guards wouldn’t see as she and her cousins played games and stole treats from the kitchens. It isn’t that they would have gotten into any big trouble, then, but it had been the thrill of the game, the adren
aline rush.

  With Asfandyar’s hand in hers, the adrenaline was thricefold. He ran a finger across her palm. They could hardly contain their giggles as they dodged guards and finally made their way to the pantry where Asfandyar pulled out two gorgeous mangos.

  “Something tells me this is not your first time here,” Durkhanai accused. Asfandyar shrugged innocently.

  “Pagal,” she muttered, biting back a smile. Crazy person.

  “Tera liye,” he replied with a wink. Only for you.

  They both sat on the floor, waving away fruit flies. Asfandyar grabbed a knife and began to cut the mango into slices, offering one to Durkhanai first. She shook her head.

  The ripe fruits were small and orange, imported from the South. Durkhanai could tell from the smell and texture that they were anwar-ratol. Which meant Asfandyar was eating them wrong.

  “Why did you cut it in slices?” she asked, shaking her head.

  She took another mango and instead began pressing it between her palms, turning the fruit soft on the inside as it tore from the peel. Asfandyar watched curiously as she ripped the top nub off with her teeth and spit it out, leaving an opening in the peel.

  It was immensely unlady-like, not at all what the Shehzadi should act like, but it was how Durkhanai had grown up eating mangos in her valley.

  With the top ripped off, the mango was ready to be eaten. She put the opening into her mouth and sucked the sweet fruit, pushing it up with her fingers.

  Swallowing hard, Asfandyar watched her mouth. Juice dribbled down her chin, and he caught it with his finger before she could, trailing her jaw.

  He sucked his finger, mouth spreading into a slow smile.

  “The barbaric Shehzadi shows her truth,” he said, eyes dark.

  Durkhanai licked her lips and grinned. She grabbed another mango and put it in his hands, putting his slices to the side.

  “Your turn,” she said. He regarded the fruit, then gingerly pressed the mango with his forefingers. She tsked.

  “You have to feel it,” she told him, coming closer to show him. “Coax the fruit from its shell.”

  She put her hands on top of his on the mango, his knuckles pressing into her palm. With the hard curve of her hand, she pressed his hands into the mango. The fruit gave way under the pressure, softening. Together, the massaged the fruit, his hands warm beneath hers.