The Starlight Heir

by Amalie Howard

the only people who will suffer are the least powerful. Namely us.

I’m not afraid of the dark. The multilayered whisper that comes back is ghostly and echoes from everywhere at once: You should be.

Fictional men never disappoint. “Book boyfriends are simply better,” I say.

The idea that there’s someone out there who’s your perfect match in every way is an intriguing one.

“If I were to judge everyone on every misstep they made, I’d miss out on knowing some wonderful people.”

“Your light casts every other woman into the shade.”

That’s the problem with alcohol: it creates a false sense of well-being.

When the dance comes to a close—finally—Roshan doesn’t immediately release me. Instead, he pulls me closer, fingers tightening . . . as if he can’t bear to let go. Mesmerized, I’m drowning in the turbulence of his eyes, in that sea of unguarded desire and something all too real, until his arms reluctantly loosen. “You are a dangerous woman.”

“By the maker, I didn’t expect you,” he whispers.

“Claiming my future.” “She’s not a prize to be taken, Javed, for whatever twisted game you and the queen are playing,” Roshan says, palms wide as he changes tactics, knowing our odds with the guards. “Let her go.”