THE GUARDS WERE waiting for her at the door.
Waiting to escort Zeinab to her death.
There was no gentleness, no pity, no remorse in their eyes as they surrounded her, urging her forward. But why would they have sympathized with her? They had been through this perhaps a hundred times before, bringing just as many girls to their inevitable demises. She was yet another doll whose neck was to be cleaved by the king—or so they thought.
With careful strides, she held her head high and propelled herself forward into the unknown. Her opulent attire, jewels and skin itself shimmered as they met the light of the setting sun. Liquid gold rays melted through the windows that lined the hallway, dancing across all that glittered. No matter how much a particular object glistered, the sun could always enhance it.
Zeinab's pace did not falter, but she turned her head to look through the windows. For an instant, she thought that she'd be fine if this was the last view of the sun she would ever see again. It had a warm amber colour to it, reminding her of the ominous dusk that would follow—and with it, her blood staining the floor.
Stop it, she told herself mentally. I'm going to live to dawn. I have something that none of the other girls had. I have a gift and I will use it to my advantage. Whatever it takes.
She was brought to a room with majestic double doors; the guard's pushed these open for her, leading her out of the carpeted hallway and into a larger bedroom. It seemed to be a guest room, but Zeinab knew better: this was where the caliph planned to slit her throat following their conversation.
Her eyes swept the room nervously, for no matter how much she pretended otherwise, she was terrified. She strode inside, her mind barely even registering the raw luxury that this room contained. With a hollow sound, the door shut behind her and from then on, all she could do was wait.
The sensation of her heart beating inside her throat was worse than it had ever been. She did not know what to expect from Kadar al-Din Rumi. There was no doubt that he was a monster, but some had their nefariousness concealed beneath a surface. Still, she could not rid her mind of the image of a man, robust and cruel-eyed, staring into her own eyes with the weight of a hundred dead souls.
A rattling doorknob startled Zeinab; she nearly leapt out of her own skin. Whirling towards the bedroom's entrance, she was prepared to face anything.
Anything... except for this.
As he strode into the room purposefully, his face was set. Guard after guard followed him, stopping directly outside the door and lining the halls.
From the moment her gaze fell on him, her deep brown eyes no longer possessed the ability to flit away. She saw nothing—absolutely nothing—but him, for he was beautiful and otherworldly in the most threatening of ways. Whatever Zeinab had expected, it was surely not this. He wasn't immensely tall, nor was his body more muscular than most of the boys from her village. But his face itself was beheld both delicate loveliness and malicious intent all at once.
The elusive dagger was strapped to his belt, ready to be removed from its sheath at any given moment.
And his eyes.
His eyes were not dark, soulless pits as she had surmised they would be.
They were blue.
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One Thousand Desires | ON HOLD
Fantasy❝RUIN ME. BURN ME. I'M YOURS.❞ Kadar al-Din Rumi, Caliph of Khorashtar, is a cold-blooded murderer, and is known by the people of his country as such. Every dusk, he marries a new woman; and by dawn, he has slit her throat. It is a vicious cycle of...
