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 adrenaline 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.