Threads of Gold

Nine | نو

—————

The shehzadi was steadied by her firm hold on his brawny forearms, her svelte fingers gripping the resplendent silk of his kurta sleeves. The Sultan's chest was nothing more than a baghi drum, his heartbeat unsteady under her hands; hands that held onto him hard enough for her nails to dig in, the nails sharp enough for him to raise both brows and inch his head lower.

Arzam brought his face closer to hers and murmured, "This fond of me already?"

She could feel a stifling pressure on her temples from where his breath had warmed her hairline.

A taunting grin stretched at his feral mouth for he knew the aggravating nature of his question. Whilst a quartet of crinkles formed between and above Zaratsha's brows, the lines dipped in red shades of her anger at his insinuating words. She wanted to cut off his tongue.

The shehzadi was seething at the idea that she may have naively led herself right into the clutches of a man. And she knew this man was a threat; a vicious storm for every blowing wind, a volcano for every mountain, a talwar for every neck.

Her naïveté would not last, she affirmed internally. The soon-to-be-Malka would do what she had sat inside her palanquin with the intention of doing.

But before fate would show its next hand, Zartasha was aware that she needed to finish what he had started, "How dare you keep me here against my will?"

"How dare I? Your answer lies within your question, I dare to do whatever pleases me."

When all he got, in turn, was a blistering glare, the ruler of Kalthura continued speaking his sporadic words, fragments of phrases which would dance in the shehzadi's ears even after she was alone in the shadowed corners of his florid mehal, "Riddle me this, Malka, why would I not dare? Especially when you are the next ruler of your mulk."

His voice dropped lower so the terror-stricken ears of the dozen others surrounding them couldn't discern the direction the conversation was heading in. "And when you being here, to do with as I wish, pleases me greatly."

He repeated his question in a coarse whisper, "Tell me then, why would I not dare?" The Sultan's amber eyes wavered to her bow-shaped lips while asking the shehzadi to evaluate his audacity once more.

As if only now noting the rigid pulse on the side of his neck, the taut manner of his spine, and the wide-eyed ghulaams plastering themselves to the closest wall around their pair, Zartasha took that and the sharpness in Arzam's eyes as her cue to raise her voice, "For all I care, you could dare to poison yourself but I demand some respect if you plan on keeping me here."

She took her hands off of his arms, wanting to pull herself away from the brunt of him but before any measure of distance could come between the two unforgiving entities, Sultan Hyderi leaned forward and grabbed her upper arms in an ostentatious hold.

"And what have I done so far to disrespect you? Know that my reputation has never preceded me, none of what you've heard is rumoured."

A cruel tilt of his lips lifted the right side of his mouth at his next sentence. "For now, you are my mehman and my mehman nawazi is nothing if not shahi."

The Sultan's smirking visage and the clothes she had laid eyes upon moments ago rose to the forefronts of her mind, making her jolt and pull against his limbs with renewed vigour.