Dead Girls Tell No Tales

s i x t e e n

HE NEVER SLEEPS, SHE GATHERS. Through the pages of the night and the early markings of dawn, Shahryar merely listens to her lone whispers, his harsh eyelids resting uncreased, like it soothes him.

"Tell me something Shahrazad," he starts curiously, twisting to his side, the coldness of his body shivering into the thin bar of distance. "Why did you volunteer yourself?"

His eyes are shut, but if it weren't, she is positive that icy embers would be daring hers into coercion.

She wonders dimly whether Shahryar is the villian, or he has been painted into one. "It was for my baba. I was scared that if he did not find you a bride--"

"--you thought that I'd take his life," he completes, staring at her from behind stony irises. "Is that what you think of me?"

Shahrazad's toes curl uncertainly. "It is."

"Then there is nothing more to discuss," he replies, eyes hard as they span across the ceiling, across his tale.

Perhaps that is why he loved stories so much. Because he was one.

She turns away, watching the blood stained dawn spill onto the sands through ivory shutters. "You never give me a reason for why I shouldn't despise you."

It takes her a moment to gauge his reaction, to find even the slightest ticking of his muscle, but he stares blankly. "But you don't. Loathe me, that is."

"No," Shahrazad says quietly, "I suppose I can't."

"And why is that?"

Her throat dries, like the desert under the sun. "Hatred is for the weak."

The smallest tug briefly pulls his lips. "Using my words now, are we?"

It is partly attractive, until his face etches back into darkness, shadowed by the blood spilling onto the lines of his palms. He has killed, and displayed practically no hint of remorse. She should be terrified of him, but her heartbeats hum their tune, filling the gaps in his tale.

He clears his throat, the thin skin under his eyes bluish and tired. "So, there are important matters of the state . . . I'll see you tonight."

"For dinner?"

Shahryar sits up, broad back towards her, such that she can only view the velvet robes cladding them. "You wish to join me?"

There is a pause, and then, fisting her shamla, she starts hesitantly, "Yes, if you don't mind?"

"I don't," he says, rising suddenly, and as his figure disappears from the room, she swears she can hear the smile in his voice.