Fudge Ripple #22, Chocolate #2, Sour Apple #19 - the truth is only what we want to believe.
Author: Thai
Challenge: Fudge Ripple #22 - foolishness, Chocolate #2 - jealousy, Sour Apple #19 - see if I care
Rating: PG
Story: blood princess
Timeline: Fairhood arc
Word Count: 636
"So you love him now."
The words hit Asma's heart like a fivesome of daggers, and she flushed, in shame and irritation and an emotion she couldn't put a name to. Haytham's eyes regarded her steadily, still that stormy-sky shade of blue. It was that stare, patient and yet - that patience hid a sort of anger behind it.
It was green, Asma thought, and aloud she said, "What is it to you?"
The words were sharp and rude even to her, and her cheeks burned an even brighter shade of red as Haytham replied, mildly, "You just seem awfully prone to loving, that's all."
More daggers to her heart. These made her flinch, and she twisted to get away from him; but his arms around her waist made escape nigh impossible.
"What? Are you jealous of Astor?" she spat, turning her head to glare at him. "Do you wish that I was yours? Why not make your feelings clear, Haytham? Go on - I'd love to know how damned possessive you are."
"Stay away from him."
"You aren't my owner!"
His grasp only tightened, and the cool fingers brushing against her bare skin served to incite her anger even more. What right had he to criticize Astor? What right had he to claim her when she could not claim him?
"Let go," she said coldly. "Do not touch me. Do not ever touch me again, or you will regret it."
Taken by surprise, the arms unlocked from around her; and as quickly as she could, Asma slid from the bed and began picking up the garments scattered around the room. And the silver-haired man simply remained on the bed, staring at her with an expression - was he puzzled? Could he possibly be confused about why, exactly, she wished him dead?
Ha. He had a wife, this - affair was nothing more than a simple game to him. Whatever this was, it wasn't important to him; humoring a small and needy princess who wanted nothing more than the warmth of someone next to her. If he needed to he would deny it.
His integrity was more important to him than she was. Asma knew that; had known it when she first asked him to stay with her, but now that she was choosing between him and someone else, she wished deeply that she was his.
And she was - but she was only his secret.
"This is entirely your fault," he said, and Asma paused; the sash around her waist, only half-tied, fell to the floor unheeded. "You do not rule the world, princess. You do not rule my heart. It is time to let go of what cannot be yours."
Because he could not keep her, he would abandon her. Like a child abandons their first toy, or a wolf, startled by a hunter, abandons their freshly-killed prey. The thought, however morbid, coaxed a laugh out of Asma, and she continued to dress, still laughing a little. All the while Haytham simply watched her, still with that strange, puzzled expression.
Her hand was on the door when he finally said, "I love you."
And Asma froze. He'd never said that. Those words - those words were reserved for him to whisper to Janan, or for her to tell Haytham in the dark of night, when moonlight painted strange shadows on their skin. It was an unspoken rule between them; they'd never lie to each other in that one subject. Asma had resigned herself to never hearing those words from him.
"I love you," he said again, and the spell seemed to waver - and then break. Asma let out a long, trembling sigh.
"No," she said slowly. "I think I'm just your guilty pleasure."
And the door shut behind her with a final click.
Challenge: Fudge Ripple #22 - foolishness, Chocolate #2 - jealousy, Sour Apple #19 - see if I care
Rating: PG
Story: blood princess
Timeline: Fairhood arc
Word Count: 636
"So you love him now."
The words hit Asma's heart like a fivesome of daggers, and she flushed, in shame and irritation and an emotion she couldn't put a name to. Haytham's eyes regarded her steadily, still that stormy-sky shade of blue. It was that stare, patient and yet - that patience hid a sort of anger behind it.
It was green, Asma thought, and aloud she said, "What is it to you?"
The words were sharp and rude even to her, and her cheeks burned an even brighter shade of red as Haytham replied, mildly, "You just seem awfully prone to loving, that's all."
More daggers to her heart. These made her flinch, and she twisted to get away from him; but his arms around her waist made escape nigh impossible.
"What? Are you jealous of Astor?" she spat, turning her head to glare at him. "Do you wish that I was yours? Why not make your feelings clear, Haytham? Go on - I'd love to know how damned possessive you are."
"Stay away from him."
"You aren't my owner!"
His grasp only tightened, and the cool fingers brushing against her bare skin served to incite her anger even more. What right had he to criticize Astor? What right had he to claim her when she could not claim him?
"Let go," she said coldly. "Do not touch me. Do not ever touch me again, or you will regret it."
Taken by surprise, the arms unlocked from around her; and as quickly as she could, Asma slid from the bed and began picking up the garments scattered around the room. And the silver-haired man simply remained on the bed, staring at her with an expression - was he puzzled? Could he possibly be confused about why, exactly, she wished him dead?
Ha. He had a wife, this - affair was nothing more than a simple game to him. Whatever this was, it wasn't important to him; humoring a small and needy princess who wanted nothing more than the warmth of someone next to her. If he needed to he would deny it.
His integrity was more important to him than she was. Asma knew that; had known it when she first asked him to stay with her, but now that she was choosing between him and someone else, she wished deeply that she was his.
And she was - but she was only his secret.
"This is entirely your fault," he said, and Asma paused; the sash around her waist, only half-tied, fell to the floor unheeded. "You do not rule the world, princess. You do not rule my heart. It is time to let go of what cannot be yours."
Because he could not keep her, he would abandon her. Like a child abandons their first toy, or a wolf, startled by a hunter, abandons their freshly-killed prey. The thought, however morbid, coaxed a laugh out of Asma, and she continued to dress, still laughing a little. All the while Haytham simply watched her, still with that strange, puzzled expression.
Her hand was on the door when he finally said, "I love you."
And Asma froze. He'd never said that. Those words - those words were reserved for him to whisper to Janan, or for her to tell Haytham in the dark of night, when moonlight painted strange shadows on their skin. It was an unspoken rule between them; they'd never lie to each other in that one subject. Asma had resigned herself to never hearing those words from him.
"I love you," he said again, and the spell seemed to waver - and then break. Asma let out a long, trembling sigh.
"No," she said slowly. "I think I'm just your guilty pleasure."
And the door shut behind her with a final click.