Liyah's breath hitched in her throat. The sandy desert stretched for miles and miles, without end. She looked at the two in front of her with an exasperated expression etched on her face, "Tell me this gets easier."
Rayan smirked, "Careful, habibti...
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Chapter 17 | The Fifth Star in which the constellations see what she has yet to see
LIYAH FIDDLED WITH THE HEM OF HER DRESS. She studied how the threads of the fabric looped in and out in a repeating pattern as she leaned against the wooden stand next to Rayan's tent. Although her eyes remained fixated on the thin, beige fibers of the dress, her mind raced through the depths of her memories and left her with a burning question on her lips.
Why did Rayan storm out of her tent like that?
Perhaps he was afraid of the ink that had been embedded into her skin? The girl knew that it was scandalous for locals to sport any form of inky decorations on their bodies– only the outcasts of their society had dabbled in the taboo form of art.
She recalled the deafening silence that consumed the tent once he lifted up the strands of her curls . It was like a deadly disease, clawing at her heart, as Rayan froze in his position. And then, as if she had uttered the most vile string of words to the General, the warmth of his touch disappeared and he stumbled backwards, almost tripping over his own feet when he rushed out of the thick, canvas entrance.
Liyah sighed. The hot rays of the desert sun was slowly seeping away into the sand grains and the thought of her close encounter with the boy left her puzzled and above all– slightly flushed. She was surrounded by nothing but the coolness of the night and somehow, she could still feel the heat radiating off of him as he grazed his fingertips across her neck.
Did he feel it too?
A shiver ran down her spine. Of course he didn't; it was all in her head. Rayan was in love with Farrah and the American girl concluded that Rayan was nothing but a disastrous young man. How could she possibly feel anything towards him? She clutched onto her head, hoping to rid herself of the horridly surprising thoughts.
"Well.." the princess's sultry voice sang, "You seem rather on edge tonight, Liyah."
Liyah snapped her head upwards to meet the pair of curious sea-foam eyes– that she did not even realize– had been studying every twitch of her nose and every scrunch of her eyebrows. Liyah could have sworn that the last time she looked up, Farrah was mindlessly ogling her desert-fling Rahim and not her.
The younger girl quickly composed herself as she avoided those piercing, oceanic eyes. "Uh, me?" Liyah coughed, "No. I'm fine."
"Fine?" The heiress's brow shot up even higher. Farrah bint Reza al- Tarif folded her arms, not even bothering to check if her henna was dry, "There's definitely something wrong then."
Liyah chewed her lip. The distance between the two girls became smaller as Farrah inched closer to the younger girl. The pools of teal and yellow, circling the girl's dark pupils, deepened with each step she took. Farrah's rosy lips stretched out into a thin line as she scanned Liyah. A certain possessiveness washed over the princess's features as she clasped her hand around the girl's frail wrist. "You can trust me, Waliyah." Farrah's tone dropped, "with your life."
