Every Spiral of Fate (This Woven Kingdom, #4)

by Tahereh Mafi

When he died, he’d take a part of her with him. She wished he might take all of her.

It would be simpler for him to lay down and die for her than to try to convey the enormity of all that he felt in her presence.

He seemed to forget himself as he stared, the fear in his eyes softening into hunger, then liquefying into a need so great her knees nearly gave out.

“Do you need to take from me my dignity, my privacy, the very thoughts still forming in my head? Take my eyes. Take my hands. Take the breath from my body. Strip the skin from my bones. Were I able to offer you my soul I would; I’d tear it from my flesh this moment and give it to you—”

Cyrus turned then as if turning through sand, parting a haze of fear and suffering to bear witness to a scene that would haunt him forever. Alizeh had fallen to her knees before him.

No, in fact, it’s precisely because I know he might make her happy that I’m able to hate him so completely. I’m not evolved enough to manage the disgraceful state of my heart. I’m so jealous I feel the pain in my fucking blood. I hate him not because he is unworthy—but because I am weak.

His blue eyes settled briefly upon her face. “Good morning, angel,” he said quietly.

He only looked at her, his hands tightening around her, his body straining for breath, and whispered her name as if in anguished prayer.

In her presence I am easily killed, returned over and over to dust.”

She flashed Cyrus a brilliant smile, which scored him neatly, like a small death.

“Because if you were truly my wife, there would be no force on earth strong enough to keep me from you.”

You need not ruin me utterly,” he said, nearly shaking. “You need not reduce me to ash simply because you can. I beg you to know your own power. Show me mercy even if I don’t deserve it. My life, my heart, my blood—they’re already yours. Heaven knows I have nothing left to give you that isn’t already in pieces.”

He touched her in a moment of madness, drawing an unsteady hand down the soft curve of her cheek with the reverence of a believer.

“I will say this once, angel, for I feel you should be warned. No man alive has ever loved a woman the way that I love you, and I would rather die, damned as I am, than disgrace us both with the pitiful, unrequited performance of my heart.”

“I am every inch the brute you describe. Speak to me of such things again and I will carve the very soul from your body.”

Even now, she missed her parents with a shattering intensity.

“I beg you now, with my last breaths, not to cry for me,” Cyrus said to her, his voice catching as he spoke. “I am unworthy of your tears. I’ve failed my family, my people, and my very humanity. But there is no greater disgrace upon my soul”—he swallowed with difficulty, his eyes bright with heat—“than knowing that I have failed you.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t admit it,” whispered Huda. “But I’m terrified.” “I’m often terrified, miss,” said Omid. “Me too,” said the prince.