He rotated the glass. Eyes focused on hers, he pressed his mouth against where hers had been.

Her stomach lurched. Her heart beat quickly, much too quickly.

He lowered the glass. A bead of red blossomed across his lips like blood.

Swallowing hard, she reached a finger toward his mouth to wipe it, but he caught her hand. Held her cold fingers to his warm face.

“Leave it, Durre,” he whispered, voice rough. “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.