Durkhanai was losing her grip, becoming more and more volatile.

More barbaric.

Cutting off Durkhanai’s thoughts, her wardrobe doors opened.

Her heartbeat quickened the instant Asfandyar’s shadow entered her sight; it ricocheted against her ribs further when she saw his face. She knew what she felt for him was otherworldly, but what she couldn’t quite figure out was whether it was from heaven or hell.

All she knew was that they were bound together: as inevitable as an exhalation.

“Was it you?” he asked without preamble, out of breath.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, clearing her throat. She tried to iron out her emotions, but he caught her fumble.

“Durkhanai,” he sighed, coming close. “What have you done?”

Her patience thinned; she did not need him to make her feel more guilty. “She deserved it, after attacking my people,” she said, voice steel.

“And you’re god now, are you?” Asfandyar responded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What is this madness?”

“An attack against my people is an attack against me,” she insisted, but she was losing her resolve.

She was losing her grip.

“All people are my people,” he replied. “Durkhanai, just as the lives of your people have worth, so do the lives of everyone else. One life is not worth more than another just because of the arbitration of tribe or family.”

She knew she agreed with him, to a certain extent. But she didn’t want to be lectured, least of all from him. She didn’t need to be reminded of his goodness. Her heart was hardening more and more, and all she wanted was him.

It was the stubbornness rising within her, one she had not felt since she was a child. She was trying so hard to fix things for everyone, but no matter how she pushed, some things would not bend.

She could not let him go. But she could not have him, either.

She didn’t know how to handle it, this struggle. She knew she should dampen the stubbornness and soften her edges, but she didn't want to. She was too emotional, too volatile.

She needed this energy or she was afraid she would go numb. It felt as though all her life she had been asleep and only recently had she been woken. She was afraid to fall asleep again.

“You should leave,” she said, voice hard.

“Why?” he asked. “Because I’m right?”

“You cannot be right,” she snapped. “Not for me.” She was a match about to be struck.

“Durkhanai, don’t—” he began, voice soft, and she could not bear it.

“Rashid has proposed to me,” she said, voice full of fire.

Asfandyar went still as stone. Finally, he had nothing to say. He studied her face, eyes blazing. She was breathing hard, her hands curled into fists.

“Congratulations,” he finally replied. “Don’t forget to send me an invitation.”