These Infinite Threads (This Woven Kingdom, #2)

by Tahereh Mafi

He’d been seduced by a siren while being deceived by his own friend—and had all but spat in the face of the only person who truly cared for his well-being.

Bye

He swore it then: this monster from the prophecy would die by his hand—he would drive a blade through her heart or die trying.

“Tell me—is it too much to hope for our future that you will not make it a habit of slapping me in the face?” “Yes.” “I see. Then married life will be exactly as I imagined.”

“Tell me,” he said viciously. “Is it terribly thrilling to imagine yourself the sole object of my thoughts and desires? Do you purposely deny me ownership of basic dignities, excluding from your memories the essential fact that I was forced into this situation just as you were—all in the pursuit of feeling sorry for yourself?” He shook his head. “My, but it must be exhausting to be a narcissist.”

Oh, she had never feared death. No, it was life that scared her, life that scarred her. It was the slow torture of consciousness that had done its utmost to crush her.

taciturn,

“Of all the trials I’ve recently endured,” he said, turning his face up to the sky. “You are by far the most excruciating.”

He thought perhaps he should deny the unkindness she’d leveled against herself—but he, too, thought Miss Huda was terribly stupid.

LOLLL

“What can’t you do on your own?” “Kill him, darling. I need your help to kill him.”

Was it possible, he wondered, to love and detest a parent simultaneously?

The more he lived—the more he endured—the more convinced Kamran became that he knew nothing at all.

Without lifting his head, Hazan said, “With all due offense, sire, please fuck off.”

“I suppose I should be flattered you thought me so enterprising,” Hazan said coldly.

He’s exceedingly clever, rather deceptively strong, and lacks a basic standard of virtue.

“Forgive me,” said Cyrus quietly, “but do you intend to make it a habit of wearing transparent garments in my presence? Do tell me now, I beg you, so that I might blind myself in anticipation.”

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he said, his smile vanishing. “Even when you lie to me.”

MELT THE ICE IN SALT BRAID THE THRONES AT SEA IN THIS WOVEN KINGDOM CLAY AND FIRE SHALL BE

He leaned in then, his throat working, his gaze fixed entirely on her mouth. “I hate everything about you. Your eyes. Your lips. Your smile.” His words grazed her skin when he said, softly, “I find your presence insufferable.”

prevaricated.

I’ve recently deduced that you’re quite charmingly pathetic.”

He drew the back of her hand gently against his lips, and then, so softly she might’ve imagined it, he kissed her.

“You cried for me?” “It has been noted,” she whispered, “that I perhaps cry too much.”

“Alizeh,” he whispered. “Let me make you my queen.”

What were you going to do? If I kissed you? What would come next?” “I would marry you,” he said, stepping closer again, coming dangerously within reach. “I’d marry you tomorrow. And then I’d take you to bed. For weeks.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, tortured. “I’ve been dreaming about you for months.”

You are far more enchanting in real life. Far more exquisite.” His voice shook just a little when he said, softly, “It is excruciating to be in your presence.”

“Then be with me,” he said softly. “Let me worship you.”

Kamran looked back as they vanished into inky skies, wondering, with a quiver in his heart, who he might be if he ever returned.