All This Twisted Glory (This Woven Kingdom, #3)

by Tahereh Mafi

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” He cut her off, his fists clenching as he avoided her eyes. “I’m too angry right now to speak to you in the manner you deserve.”

Hazan shook his head. “I’ll kill him.”

Alizeh laughed, her heart warming with affection. “You can’t kill him. I need him.”

Hazan stood before her, tall and looming. “All due respect, Your Majesty, you don’...

Cyrus had left a mark everywhere. Remnants of him lived in eternal bloom in the outside world and inside her veins. At the thought of him she experienced a relentless ache she didn’t understand, and it scared her.

For weeks he’d lived in dreams of her; he’d memorized her laughter, held her naked in his arms, had known her gasps and cries of pleasure. She’d healed him and loved him. Touched him. Tasted him. Fuck. This was going to kill him.

Heavens, he was breathtaking.

Cyrus’s desire for her had been as scorching as a summer heat; she’d felt desperate under the weight of it, yet he’d not lifted a finger to her body.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, his voice so rough it was unrecognizable. “You don’t know what I want from you, angel. You can’t even imagine.”

Alizeh felt liquefied. For all the frost in her veins, she’d never known this kind of fever, never felt such desperation. And he’d never even kissed her.

He came to life when she smiled, drew breath when her eyes brightened, died when she left a room. She’d smelled like roses. His roses.

She’d all but pressed a hand to his torso and, like a man unmoored, he’d wanted to rip her dress down the middle, sink to his knees and taste her. He wanted to feel her legs tremble around him, wanted to hear her cry out, wanted to watch her come apart – wanted things that would likely terrify her even to imagine.

She was a vision crafted by a generous maker. She was everything sweet, her every instinct to be kind. Even her anger was exquisite. Knowing he was to die by her hand made the reality almost bearable.

There was something so gentle about her presence, something that reminded him of magic: all curves, no edges. He wanted to press his face against her neck, wanted to breathe in the fragrance of her skin, the perfume of the flowers he’d grown himself. He wanted to make her laugh. He wanted to hold her hand. He wanted to bring her tea and walk with her through the seasons. He wanted to watch her conquer the earth. He wanted to glide his hand down her naked back, wanted to taste the salt of her, wanted to bite her bottom lip and lose himself inside her. God, the things he wanted.

It occurred to him then, with a vague panic, that he’d follow her off a cliff if she were the one to lead him there.

He wondered if she had any idea what he’d do for her, the worlds he’d destroy for her.

He gasped when she withdrew her hand, catching her fingers without thinking, then closed his eyes as he pressed them to his lips, kissing them, softly.

He’d touched her like this a thousand times but those memories paled in comparison to this, to this – Had it ever felt like this, the sensation of her so bright it burned him?

“You can’t lie to me forever, Cyrus. I’m going to find out the truth about you, and when I do, I promise you this: I’ll ruin him. I’ll make the devil regret the day he was born.”