“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.