These Infinite Threads (This Woven Kingdom, #2)

by Tahereh Mafi

He had never felt more desperately alone in the world than he did then, trapped in the set piece of a nightmare, in the failing flesh of his own body.

“I’ll do as I please,” said Omid, anger edging into his voice. “You saved my life, sire. Now it’s my turn to save yours.”

“Enough,” he said sharply. “I don’t welcome your analysis. Cease studying me.” Something bitter prompted her to say, “You are not my master.”

He seemed to devour her with a single look, his blue gaze holding hers without mercy before cataloging every inch of her face, the angle of her jaw, the column of her neck. His eyes were charged with something both electric and devastating, the unbound energy of his entire body diverted to this single avenue of connection.

“The sky, too, is soft,” she said. “Yet all who fall into its arms will perish.”

Only when he was sure the valet had gone did Kamran close his eyes, allowing his shoulders to fall for the length of a single heartbeat as he drew a deep, bracing breath.

“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.”

In faded gold letters, it read— 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.”

“And I’m not sorry,” she added bitterly, turning to face him. “I’m not sorry I made a deal with your mother to murder you.” His lips twitched, his eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry I threw you off a cliff.” “Excellent,” she said, matching his anger.

“My kingdom,” he said softly. “For your hand.”

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

He laughed a little, like he was drunk. “I do say it a lot.” “What?” she said, going briefly still. “Your name,” he said, and closed his eyes. He nearly fell over, catching himself at the last second. “I didn’t know your name for so long, angel. I love the way it feels in my mouth.”

“Did you wash my face, sweetheart?”

“Don’t be afraid of me, angel. I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.”

“Listen, I know you’re very tired,” she said nervously. “But I need your help, sleepy boy. Can you do something for me?” “Anything.” He drew his nose along the swell of her breasts, kissing the smooth skin there once, twice, until she made a desperate, broken sound and he swore, low, under his breath. “Alizeh,” he said, sounding drugged. “Can I taste you?”

“Hello,” she whispered, lifting a hand in greeting, like the veriest idiot. He only looked at her in response, looked at her with manifest desire, his gaze darkening as he watched her, like he wanted to devour her. His eyes raked her face and body until she felt a liquid heat roil through her, tension coiling taut in her stomach. She took an unsteady step back.

“You kicked me,” he said angrily. “You cut me,” she countered. Something awoke in his eyes at that, a moment of misery there and gone,

“Marry me,” he said.

“You used your own tears,” he said, all but broken, “to wash the blood from my face?”

Cyrus had looked at her many times since she’d met him, and always with varying levels of intensity, but never quite like this. Never like he wanted to fall to his knees before her.

“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.”

“And instead of being angry,” he went on, “instead of driving you away—instead of wishing we’d never met—I keep staring at that fucking cut on your neck, Alizeh, and I want to die.”

“I have only myself to blame. I knew better; I knew you were dangerous. You’ve had the upper hand from the moment I laid eyes on you. I saw you and saw right away that I was in hell, and I hated you for it, because I realized even then that you would be the end of me.”

I wanted to discover your faults, your flaws. I thought you’d never match up to the figment of my dreams, and I was wrong. 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.”

I have been in agony for eight months, Alizeh. Do you know how hard it’s been to pretend I don’t know you? To pretend I don’t want you? To act as if I haven’t known every inch of your body in my dreams? To learn that your heart has been entangled elsewhere? I look at you and I can’t breathe. In my mind, you are already mine.”

“You wouldn’t touch me. Or laugh with me. You wouldn’t share my bed.” Her heart was beating in her throat. “No.” “Alizeh, you would make me the most wretched man alive.”