Hearts Of Gold

16 Heartstrings

"Get inside the house, Zari," he directs to his sister.

Zarbakhta shares a look with Leyla before leaving them both alone without a question.

Leyla faces him, lifting up her chin defiantly before his authoritative deportment, not backing away in case he decides to scare her away too. She notices the upward twitch of his lips.

He locks his hands behind his back, puffing out his chest and circling around her like a prowling lion before coming to stand in front of her. He smiles at her, but his irises retain their frost.

"Brekhna."

He has the kind of voice that penetrates the skin; it sends chills up one's spine. But she remains daring as she stares back at him.

"It's cold outside. What are you doing here?" he asks.

"Can I not come to see my brother's engagement celebration?" she asks in reply.

"The celebration for women is going inside the house. There are only men here."

"I needed air," she excuses. "The sky is clear and the moon is full."

He chuckles as he steps closer to her. His proximity is both frightening and exciting. "But look at the sky, it's starless. Because all the stars are here in your eyes, Brekhna." He reaches out to brush away her hair from her face. "Can you not confess that you came to see me here, khwagy (sweetheart)?"

She tries to move away from him but he's swift to grasp both of her elbows, pulling her back closer. Leyla puts her hands against his chest, gently pushing away, but he doesn't let go. She peeks around anxiously to make sure no one is around.

He leans forward and levels his mouth with her ear, his voice becoming tender as he speaks, "You look breathtaking tonight, my love."

"Asfand." She curls her fingers in his shirt. "If Lawangeen sees us together—"

"He's my friend to take care of," he dismisses her concern, "and you're my wife-to-be."

"To be, ain't yet." She carefully tugs herself free of him.

He disapprovingly narrows his eyes at her. "But will be, soon."

"Do I not have a say in this?"

"Do you not see me fit to be your husband?"

"I..."

She glimpses at him as the moonlight cast shadows across his face, making him appealing like a sin. He's a meticulous artwork, extraordinarily conspicuous with both his looks and personality. Zarbakhta is right: she does find him handsome, but unsettling at the same time.

"Anyone who comes between us, Brekhna," he speaks convincingly, "I'll destroy them. Then either I die or they die."

"Asfandyar," she scolds him, upset, putting her palm over his mouth. "You will not speak of any such thing again, let alone think of doing. Promise me?"

His expression softens in front of her. He takes hold of her wrist and removes her hand from his mouth. "Only if you promise to be mine?"

"We've been betrothed since childhood. You think I could ever think of another one? I cannot even consider."

He smiles contentedly at her response. "Were my friends to know a man like me is at a mercy of a woman, they'll find me laughable."

"Do you find it laughable?"