Threads of Gold

Sixteen | سولہ

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It is said that when in battle, one should never turn their back on their opponent. It gives way to immoral attacks manifesting in the form of gruesome wounds. This was every warrior's and every ruler's kalma since they were capable of understanding why wars were started to begin with. Now, Sultan Arzam Hyderi and Malka Zartasha Fahim Hyderi seemed to clutch that age-old piece of advice to their chests while staring at one another.

Neither dared to move their gazes away from their mark, one fearing the loss of his heart and one fearing the loss of her soul if they did so. The king of kings and his wife were in the midst of a battle of wills, with the weight of their stares falling heavier than the weight of iron weapons.

Arzam may have lived many fulfilling years before her but now there was only after; only the unsteady pace of his heart, the shaky exhale coming out of his mouth, and the dryness in his throat when he looked at his Malka.

During which Zartasha's face was a picture of deadly stillness with her mouth turned to the side in a pout and the skin between her brows creased in puzzlement. She did not understand why they were suddenly rooted in place, assessing and undressing each other through the dangerous art of eye contact.

Bearing the Sultan's stare was an unnerving thing, a rattling feeling even the Sherquli shehzadi felt in her bones. And the weight of his words from a few moments ago made something sink to the bottom of her stomach before it rose up to her chest again and fluttered at his slow blink, followed by the warm hands coming to rest upon her forearms.

Strong fingers wrapped around the sharp beading of her surkh blouse, holding her, feeling her, stilling her in her seat. As his face grew closer to hers, the silence between them turned into a thickening cloud of smoke. Like the moment between them, it turned suffocating when Zartasha realized he didn't seem like he would stop to elaborate on his earlier words any time soon.

Her own voice got caught in her throat when he trailed his hands upwards. His languid touch dragged across her skin, and she didn't know what to make of it. Did she focus on the chills running down her spine or on the scorching whisper his fingertips left behind? The thought was abandoned altogether when she felt him grasp her shoulders and lift her to stand.

Arzam, despite all his intentions to have her sit in front of him and pass his night staring at her - taking in her presence in his life and kingdom, understood what she currently needed was to explore that status on her own. Begrudgingly, he would leave her with the mehal's women. Zartasha would not require further instructions to start her own harem and begin ordering the working girls around. The idea brought a creeping grin to his face.

Upon spotting the growing glee twisting his lips, her senses sharpened once more and her eyes narrowed. The phantom smoke from a few moments ago had cleared but its remains still choked her throat when she asked, "What is my true role here? Am I some sort of spectacle you can't take your eyes off of, that you can't stop ogling?"

A rapid answer was out of him before she even realized what her deep-rooted insecurity had voiced, "Yes."

The supreme ruler of Kalthura cleared his throat and tightened his hold on Zartasha. His Malka didn't seem to like his answer so he spoke again before she reprimanded him in her hypnotic voice. The one she had when she looked at him with ghussa in her eyes and spit out brisk, rounded syllables from her tongue.

"You may not have fully grasped it yet but you are Malka. My jaan, the keeper of my kingdom's keys. And you are about to hold the reigns of your own kingdom in your hands too."