The bedroom is bathed in golden dawn—all the Crown’s vibrant silks and fineries glittering as the shadows play across the surface. The air is sharp and cold, but its harsh bite is made dull by the luxurious furs draped across the bed.
Beneath the furs and blankets is a rich heat, the sort that melts the stresses of the day away and weighs the bones of the weary down into restful sleep. It draws a sigh from Zareen’s lips as she feels her being come to consciousness—and yet, she could drown in unquenchable sleep if she’d only let herself.
At her side, the steady presence of her Soul, Ashti, brings a smile to her face. Wakefulness has not found her yet, and Zareen finds herself grateful that her bleary golden eyes may take in the soft lines of her lover’s sleeping face. The long dark lashes that just barely tickle her cheeks, the dimple that hides at the corner of her lips—it is all too much for Zareen whose heart is filled to bursting with an aching that only intensifies as she stares in silence. She wants to close the distance, to forsake the blood that courses through her veins and replace it with her.
With a hesitant hand, Zareen reaches her fingers out across the short span between them. Her fingers come to rest upon Ashti’s cheek, ghosting over her skin. With the tentativeness of one who is attempting something forbidden, she allows her thumb to caress warm skin. She boldly rests her palm along Ashti’s jaw, careful not to disturb her, as once she does, she risks shattering the moment, risks sending her beloved tumbling back into the circus of her daily life.
And, oh, it is love. Nothing but love, pure and heavy as honey, that drowns the still beating drum in her chest. She can taste it in the words she holds at the tip of her tongue, that she must not let spill lest they propel the two of them into reality. Alas, not even the authority of the Crown can halt time and leave them as they are in the morning’s ethereal glow. Ever a fickle antagonist of love, time moves forward, and moments end.
Calloused fingers close around Zareen’s hand, they gingerly move her hand down over Ashti’s lips and a kiss is left at the center of her palm.
Smiling green eyes open slowly. “Were you watching me sleep?” Ashti’s voice is still thick with sleep, rumbling out the back of her throat.
Zareen frees her hand, revealing the wry smile beneath it, and rests it against Ashti’s shoulder. “I was, yes,” she admits, pressing her cheek into the pillow. “You’re quite lovely just like this, Ashti darling.”
Ashti is taken aback. She presses her lips together into a line and averts her gaze for a moment before bringing the heat of her eyes back onto the Crown. An amused smile plays at her lips. “High praise coming the loveliest woman these eyes have beheld. I must be the luckiest woman alive to be able to grasp such radiance in the palm of my hand, even for a just moment.”
It is not the first time Ashti has flustered Zareen so, and if the Spirits favored her, it would not be the last. Yet, each softly spoken word at her lover’s lips never fails at throwing her heart into a frenzy. And much like a child playing a game, Ashti grins like she’d won. Language has completely abandoned Zareen. The words she’d been holding in dissolve, the letters scattering like flower petals on the wind.
“Ashti…” she attempts, and it is all she can attempt. That is the last and only word which springs to the front of her mind no matter how desperately she searches.
Ashti’s hand comes to rest on Zareen’s cheek. She moves her index finger to trace a line from her eyes, down her hairline and along her jaw until her fingers are cupping Zareen’s chin. “We don’t have to speak, my Soul,” she says softly.
There is a rush of wind as Ashti tenderly pulls their faces together—or perhaps Zareen is imagining it. Perhaps it is the ocean of Ashti’s presence that rushes onto the shore, sweeping her into the depths. She feels it in her hair and under her skin, lighting up every single nerve in her body. In a flurry of animation, Zareen returns the kiss in kind, arms wrapped around Ashti’s neck, legs hooking her in under the sheets.
Ashti laughs into the kiss, moving to place a peck at the corner of Zareen’s lips and then another higher upon her jaw, just under her ear. “Easy,” she mumbles into her skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”
This does not ease the Crown’s grip on her lover. She buries her face in Ashti’s shoulder, placing a small kiss on her collar. She curls her fingers in the fabric of Ashti’s shirt.
“But how long will this moment last?” The question is small, muffled against Ashti’s shoulder.
She is love, again—love, itself—who presses her lips into Zareen’s hair; her warm exhale of breath which caresses the freckles on her forehead. She feels her tender hand resting at the base of her neck, tracing circles into her skin. And into the chill of dawn, a chill that digs into the furs and pokes through their defenses, the answer is spoken.
“As long as you wish it, my Crown.”