Hafsah Faizal

His mother used to say that a person without hope was a body without a soul.

She no longer had a tongue, and it was because of him that she did not

“Does it hurt?” she asked softly.

“Not right now,” he said truthfully.

He stilled when she neared. His exhale trembled when she lifted her leg to his other side, pinning him between her thighs. His hands twitched, as if he were holding himself back. Skies. She hadn’t thought this through, or she would have waited for the others to come. And now her legs were threatening to give way beneath her and his mouth was so close, all she needed was to tip his head up and—

“Do I disgust you?”

The words were so soft, she wouldn’t have heard them if she wasn’t this close

“I’ve never seen a face more open,” he said with a soft laugh before growing intent, stealing her breath. “You do it for them. For them to love you.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

“We’re so quick to dismiss the sentiment as weak, but hearts beat for love, don’t they? A life without purpose may be no life, but a life without love is nothing but an existence.”

He must have sensed she was finished, because he grew still. “Huntress.”

“Back to titles, Prince?” Her whisper shook.

His voice was soft. “What are titles if not names, Zafira?”

Sweet snow, the sound of her name from his mouth. Something wicked darkened his irises, and it was so unlike the growling, grumpy, sad prince Zafira had come to know that her heart very nearly stopped.

He made a sound and lifted his palms to her thighs, and she couldn’t stop her gasp. She felt the heat of his hands so acutely that she nearly swayed. She drew her lower lip into her mouth, and something flickered in his hooded eyes as they swept her face.

“Fair gazelle,” he whispered. His touch seared her, and she relished the delicious chafe of her legs against his as she slid closer.

He clenched his jaw with a look of anguish and murmured something that sounded like that wretched splotch before lowering his head to her right collarbone, the one marred by her birthmark. His temple brushed the crook of her shoulder. The hiss of his breath branded her neck.

She felt the feather of his lips on her skin.

His breath rasped. Hers echoed.

She was the reason the stoic prince could hardly breathe. She was the reason his gray eyes glowed liquid black. Her chest crackled with embers when he lifted his tilted head and she leaned closer, sliding her palms beneath his parted robe and—

Someone cleared their throat.

Nasir was in no mood for resting, and it seemed no one else was, either. How could he, when he still felt the weight of her limbs and the buzz of her skin? The featherlight brush of her hair. It felt as though every emotion he had ever quelled over the years had decided now was the time to explode. Or implode.

First it was the black that bled from his fingers. Then the Lion of the Night. The poker. Altair.

And then it was her. That pale demon. His fair gazelle. His?

“I don’t know how to put this lightly,” Altair started, and his mock-cheerful tone made Nasir decide maybe he should tear the hair from his perfect head, “but our compass is missing.”

“Zafira,” Nasir corrected before he registered the rest of what Altair said. He snapped his gaze to him. “Missing?”

Nasir had Kifah against the tree in a heartbeat. His voice was crisp. “Where is she?”

Distantly, he heard Altair mumble, “What is it with Nasir and shoving people against things?”

Anger flared Kifah’s nostrils, but Nasir didn’t care.

“Start talking,” he said, voice low, “or I’ll knock out your teeth and you can use your blood to write your answers.”

“Get your hands off me,” she seethed, but this time a flicker of fear touched her bold face.

Panic struck him. He released her.

A razor-edged smile cut across his face. He stepped into the void, footsteps sounding in the silence.

He felt her presence, just as he felt her loss when she had disappeared to the Lion’s den. Perhaps it was the acceptance of the darkness that connected them. Perhaps he was imagining it.

But he saw her. She straightened like a gazelle at the sound of their approach, dark hair gleaming in the torchlight. Nasir had the absurd desire to reach out and run his fingers through the strands.