Shah Jamshid al-Hassan, king of the Sazian Empire, is dead. He is succeeded by three heirs: Esfandar, the crown prince; Soraya, the forgotten daughter; and Roshani- the one who killed him.
Roshani felt no remorse shoving her sword through her fat...
Esfandar thought of the headscarf she had bought the other night and felt un unexplainable disappointment that she wasn't wearing it.
"You summoned me?" she spoke when he didn't say anything for too long. Her face remained her usual stoic expression, but he could have sworn he detected something running under her voice, a twinge of uncertainty that was never usually there. What did she expect him to say? Esfandar wondered.
"Gita," he said, taking a few steps forward. He stood directly before her now, a respectable distance away but close enough for them to talk face to face. His heart started pounding. "You kissed me."
She opened her mouth to say something in surprise, but froze.
"To keep our cover, Es," she said, speaking quickly. He felt a little spark go off inside his chest- she used his nickname. She only ever did that when they were talking candidly, as friends of many years and not as commander and subordinate. "We wouldn't have caught Hamid otherwise."
The spark instantly fizzled out. Had he really been expecting any other explanation? Of course it had been only for practical reasons. He was such a fool.
"Right," Esfandar recovered stuntedly. His gaze fell on the couch cushions, the door, the carpets- anywhere but her. "Well, you shouldn't kiss a prince without asking his permission first. That's usually how these things go."
Gita blinked at him. Then the subtle outline of a smile touched her lips.
"Of course," she agreed.
Esfandar sighed, running a hand through his hair, and sat down on the couch. Gita remained standing, crossing her arms and turning towards him.
"How are the preparations at the city walls?" he asked.
"As well as they can be." The light of the setting sun through the slatted windows cast her shadow long against the stone walls of the room. "The men are well-trained and supplies are plentiful, but the walls already took a beating from out catapults when we took the city- a few more such attacks from another army and they'll simply come crashing down."
"Perhaps it's fate," Esfandar remarked bitterly. "A sign from the gods that we aren't going to win this war."
"Do you want to win this war?"
Esfandar looked up at her suddenly.
"What?"
Gita's eyebrows pinched together, her lips pursed.
"Are you saying I should surrender?" Esfandar said.
"I'm saying that what winning this war entails might destroy you, Es," she said. "It means killing your sisters- killing Soraya and Roshani. Do you think you can do that and emerge unscathed?"
"They're my enemies!" Esfandar argued vehemently. "They made that decision, not me. There's nothing I can do about it now other than fight back. Fight for my country."
Gita was silent for a moment, letting that speak in itself. You're still plagued by doubts, it seemed to say. You may be an accomplished general and soldier, but you aren't ready for this war.
"I don't care about this country," Gita said in a quiet voice, so quiet that Esfandar had to lean forward to make sure he was hearing her right. "This country that destroyed my people and my home." She raised her gaze and Esfandar felt it piercing right through his heart. He felt the heavy weight of guilt like a chain around his neck. "I care about you, though."
Esfandar looked up at her, trying to read through her eyes and find something, some hint, but found none. It was frustrating, yet it was so like her that he could only find it endearing.
He stood up so that he could be eye level with her.
"I care about you, too," he said, reaching out to grasp her hand. Her fingers wrapped back around his tightly. "But I care about this war as well. About this country."
"I know," she said, once again infuriatingly, wonderfully short.
Esfandar was perfectly still, feeling her hand held in his. He didn't want to move, for fear it would break the fragility of this moment.
"What are you thinking?" he whispered, unable to stand it anymore.
She tilted her head to the side slightly, a small smirk alighting her face.
"You can consider this my formal asking for permission to kiss you," she said light heartedly, moving closer.
Esfandar was afraid any words that would come out of his mouth then would only embarrass himself, and so he nodded emphatically to her.
She finally laughed at that, and so, with a smile still on her lips, Gita kissed him for the second time, but what Esfandar certainly hoped wouldn't be the last. Her lips were warm and soft and insistent, filling him up with anticipation and wonder. She brought a hand to comb through his hair at the same time he brought his to the back of her neck to pull her closer.
Esfandar laughed at himself for dwelling so much on their first kiss, because the second one was infinitely better in every way. The way Gita pulled him closer to her, the way their lips played against each other, the way her hand felt holding his- all of it was nearly more than he could take.
It lasted a little while that felt like a thousand years and a single second all at once, and they pulled apart from each other to breathe. Esfandar knew he must have been wearing the most dumbstruck expression and he didn't even care enough to feel embarrassed.
"Oh great prince, I formally request permission to kiss you again," Gita said in a terrible mock imitation of a Sazian nobleman's accent.
Esfandar laughed, rolling his eyes, and this time he was the one to kiss her.
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