A Court's Maim

لمس | Touch

Proceed with caution.

Chapter 20.

Aligning his feet with the carpets laid laterally over the chipping wooden flooring — a piece of it's momentous character, his shoes shuffled it aside. Tipping with his heels he pushed them aside, the socks slid out and hands washed from the cold water that ran through the faucet, he followed behind Barekhna. From the cold winds — that had strength enough to scare any man away. The floors were tampered with. His feet relaxed with the tensions slipping out through the very aches of his tired legs. A hand in his pocket, a mind full of chills and a heart laden with glee he sat on the floor cushions.

The low rise coffee table set in the centre of the room, a chandelier above it burning soft enough to make it easier to see — but not an annoying bright to ruin the romantic airs. Gold candelabras surrounded their dinner. Set in trenches, the gravies flooded his senses, the aroma of the spices blended into a mist of home. Porcelain plates on either side with their names in gold calligraphy, with wine glasses filled already with what he thought was a mint infused lemonade. Oils glistened on the grains of rice, thick noodles and a tray of braised baby ribs covered the spread.

Barekhna's thin fingers gripped the serving spoon, with softness they flooded his plate in silence, even as his gaze burned her skin. The arms she was glad, were covered in a thick maroon — the flush of her skin would have otherwise been hard to hide. Steam blew across their faces, ever fragrant the green onions blessed their nostrils with a sweetness. Using a fork she pushed a piece of ribs into his plate, the reduced sauce grazing her skin. It was silent and the air moved not a single inch from it's place. Only the crackles of the dishes and the soft sounds of their gulps as they prepared for the feast.

Taking the spoon with roses etched into it's stem he mixed the rice around, the enrichment from the gravy turned the off white grains into a red. Much like what happened to his heart when it was around — when it thought of Barekhna. It turned a deep, unforgivable shade of red, so strong it's stain was left on for months. Aliyaar's lips pressed against the cold glass, the cubes of ice kissed his lips only briefly as the drink passed down his parched throat. The first bite took him back to the days of cheap takeout and university assignments—the flavor was reminiscent of a time he had all but forgotten.

Barekhna's eyes with their deep shade of pecan streaked with the light caramel danced an elaborate performance. A varying transmittance of light passed through, glossing over the top of her orbs with full power. It's intensity was strong enough to give birth to anarchy.
To have kings succumb to their knees. To have queens riot.
She bit into the rib, tucking the bottom of her lips underneath the lap of her tongue, licking the smears left around her painted mouth. Arming her mind from the vibrations it felt from the sight of his face shrouded in shadows, she chewed artfully. Handing over her smile to him, she frowned at the piece of ribs that lay discarded.

Radiating an aura of stringent bonhomie, she pestered his plate with the end of her sharp knife. It had caught her eye at a store a few weeks ago, the rose shaped handle with the knife's blade for the stem. Barekhna had felt it was her. A guarded rose. Befitting.
Now, she shoved the tip of it into the piece of juicy meat, slicing it off of the bone with one sharp stroke, she rose it to Aliyaar's lips. Her brows mustered up the lost courage, pointing in arrogance to deny her. She pursed her lips the longer he took to open his pretty mouth. As a last resort — a final attempt, she pinched the back of his hand. The gentle skin filled the space lavishly, and Aliyaar's mouth dropped open. Ribs pushed in, Barekhna tipped her fingers underneath his jaw — forcing it close.