"YOU FOOLISH GIRL, NOT EVEN YOUR STORIES CAN SAVE YOUR BEAUTIFUL THROAT."
Khai killed 1000 girls before he got to her. And he would make sure she would die like the others. His beautiful hands demand blood on them.
Mazeeda would make sure that she'l...
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MAZEEDA QUICKLY MOVED HER HAND away before Khai could brand it with a kiss, making him frown and straighten himself upright.
He fixed the sleeves of his shirt, finding the cuffs quite interesting now.
“What do you mean ‘me’?” The queen asked her king, tired and forevermore confused by his words.
He laughed coldly, cruelly even. Something quickly washed over him --making him different-- something Mazeeda was too slow to catch on at the moment. “Do you really believe that I spare you because I want to? That you are somehow special to me?”
Her eyes wavered, only slightly, but he saw it and was enough to tell him everything. “No,” she spoke in the same glazed tone. The cold was something peculiar to her, but she would become a cold cruel thing for the Caliph.
His lips curled up meticulously, his white teeth gleaming even through the yellow light of the stubborn sun. “So bold of you to lie to a liar, love.” He grasped her square chin. “Your face denies everything though.”
Pushing his hand away, Mazeeda got up from her bed and quickly found the floor moving. Even though she was a head shorter than him, she was not afraid to use the dagger in her hand. “I could kill you.”
He laughed, head tipping up towards the decorated ceiling. “Oh, but I know you won't. Not when I have the answers to your questions.”
“Then spill them out,” she growled out. “Even darkness cannot drive out darkness.”
Khai grinned. “Oh yes, yes it can.”
“You're a corrupted person.”
“And you are naive.”
The Malika’s hand rose up high before it came barring down onto her husband's cheek, striking true. Her right hand clenched at the hilt of the dagger, contemplating if she should use it.
The Caliph did not dare to touch his searing cheek. He stared at her in raw shock and surprise, he had never seen her loose composure.
Grabbing her right hand in his own, he roughly pulled the crooked weapon out of her hand, cutting her palm deeply.
Mazeeda hissed and jumped back from the searing pain. Such a sensation felt so new to her now.
"Dance for me,” his silky and teasing voice told her, “and make me fall in love.”
She laughed, a type of laugh he could get drunk off of. “I am not a dancer. I am an assassin, Khai.”
A sweet and innocent smile emerged from his sun scorched face. “Yes, you are. And yet, you have not killed me. Why?”
The assassin turned around from the books she was examining on the shelf to look at the prince, who sat lazily in the chair. “Because,” she said slowly, “I may have indeed fallen for the very person I am supposed to kill.”
