One Thousand Desires | ON HOLD

7 | ICE-COATED HEART

       OVER THE TRAYS of cucumber and tomato, lavash bread, goat cheese and quince jam, Zeinab could see the caliph and his brother eyeing one another.

Neither said anything, nor did they eat—yet they seemed to be arguing silently.

It grew so palpably awkward that Zeinab decided she wouldn't wait for them, and began to eat anyway. She reached across the table for a piece of lavash and some goat cheese. Then, she placed the cheese over the bread and the jam over everything. She plucked a piece of cucumber from one of the platters and bit into it. It tasted fresh and even faintly of mint.

Kadar and Munir both turned to look at her at the same time. Finally, they followed suit and began to eat. The silence stretched out over them, growing thinner and thinner.

"Quince is my favourite jam," Zeinab stated casually, attempting to ease the tension in any way she could. There was a part of her that feared the caliph—whose expression held fury—would reach over to unsheathe his shamshir and plunge it straight into his brother's heart.

Prince Munir's warm blue eyes glanced sideways at King Kadar, who only retreated further into himself. Upon noting that he would not respond, Munir spoke. "I must agree, my lady. Although I don't think my brother would; he prefers fig jam. Isn't that right, Kadar?"

Both heads turned to look at the caliph, who glanced up from his food. His gaze was as frigid as ever. In reply, he muttered a single gruff word. "Yes."

But he said no more than that.

The rest of the meal carried on in a similar fashion. The only time Kadar spoke was when his brother urged him to—and even then, he spoke only a few words at a time. All the while, Zeinab's hatred towards him mounted. She wondered what exactly was going on in his head. The young calipha had an indelible longing to unfold his mind and read it through to its entirety, discovering everything that was held within the crevices. That would make it so much easier to know his weaknesses.

To know what it would take to make him bleed from the inside out.

All she knew at present was that he didn't speak much, that his cold heart was guarded and that his brother was capable of embarrassing him.

Once she had finished, she rose from the table and walked over to where Kadar sat. He stood when he saw her.

"May I have a word with the Prince of Khorashtar?" she asked, bowing to the king. She was determined to find out whether or not Munir was trustworthy, and what was keeping him in the palace with a murderer. She only needed to get him alone. "Perhaps we might be able to get better acquainted."

Munir shrugged and looked towards Kadar, who glared at his brother as a silent warning, then nodded slowly.

"Lovely," said Zeinab.

The prince walked around the table, linked his arm in hers and guided her through the doors. This time, she didn't protest when a servant opened the door for them. Once they were far out of earshot of anyone else, she yanked her arm out of his hold and whirled to face him. Before she could say anything, he interrupted.

"Forgive my brother, Queen Kalila," he said, his eyes filled with the utmost amusement. "He doesn't speak very much, and I'm sure it had something to do with your captivating beauty. Truthfully, he's quite shy."

"Shy?" she scoffed, narrowing her eyes at him. "That's a rather interesting choice of words." She licked her lips and surveyed him. "And your flattery is very obviously insincere. My husband barely even looked at me the entire time. I think he's immune to beauty because of the number of beauties he has killed, which brings me to what I was going to say before you discourteously interrupted me: Munir—I take it you agree with your brother's extracurriculars."

"If you're referring to his murderous tendencies," he said, grinding out the words between his teeth, "then no, I do not."

"Really?" she questioned, quirking an eyebrow. Her fingers grazed over the rose in her braid. "You didn't seem to hate him all that much for it. But if your words are true, why haven't you done something about it? Why are you just sitting around, teasing and dining with him when so many women have died at his hand?"

"There isn't anything I can do," he told her adamantly. "It's out of my hands. I can't control my brother. He's the king, I am not. I am merely a worthless prince who writes his life away."

Zeinab shook her head; her frustration got the better of her. "There's always something you can do. Why haven't you killed him yourself?"

As soon as she said it, she knew she'd said too much.

For the first time since she'd met him, Munir's gaze darkened and his eyes lost their jovial glimmer. It was obvious that the mere thought of it saddened him beyond belief. "Because he's my brother. We are bonded through blood and a shared childhood. I love him, no matter how difficult that may be for you to grasp. And no matter what, he loves me as well. Thus, if anything were to happen to me, he would tear the perpetrator limb from limb. And I—I would do the same for him."

Zeinab detected a threat lingering in his words, like a deadly wraith—but it was too late to turn back now. She forced herself to keep any hint of fright out of her voice as she spoke.

"That is the most ignorant thing I've ever heard. He isn't capable of love. Murderers never are, especially when they've killed so many."

"Oh, but he is, my calipha," said the prince, raising his eyebrows. "You don't know him as I do. My brother has loved me since the very moment I was born, when he was only three years old. At present, I am all he has left. And I have a hope that perhaps, you might grow to know him the way I do."

"How do you know he won't kill me tonight?" she demanded.

"I don't know that," he mused. "He might. Although I can see why my brother wouldn't have wanted to kill you. You're sharp and painfully honest about hating him, which likely amuses him. But I can't help but wonder what exactly you might have done—last night, specifically—to keep him from killing you. It must surely have been when he took you to bed. That must've been some—"

"Oh, come on, don't be ridiculous," Zeinab interrupted incredulously, knowing precisely what he was implying. "We may be married, but that is absurd. Do you think I let him touch me at all? That I'd let him do that to me when I don't love him? Never."

"Then what did happen?" he asked, curiosity seeping into his words.

She smiled and chose her next words carefully, knowing she could not trust this prince. "I told him a tale," she responded.

As they paced in front of the dining hall together, he mumbled almost disbelievingly, "Hm. Then I suppose that must've been some tale. I'll have to hear it. But not now. I'll have to hear what my brother has to say about you. I'm certain you can imagine my curiosity."

Munir lingered in front of the doors, then turned back to Zeinab.

"You wear royalty well, my lady," he commented. "Excessively well. Better than many who are born into royalty. Perhaps this was always your fate."

For a moment, her potential life wavered before her eyes. She saw herself ruling Khorashtar. Alone. A woman in charge of an entire kingdom, without a man to tell her what she could and couldn't do. She would never have to work in the fields again, and she could bring her mother and sister to live in the palace and indulge in the riches.

She beamed at the prince, a flicker of possibility sparking in her eyes. "Perhaps it was."

"Just remember," he began, stroking his chin in thought, "that there are things you don't know. Motives you don't understand. The fall of the king would be the Heavens collapsing into Hell."

With that, Munir went back to find his brother, and guards surrounded Zeinab to lead her away.