We Hunt the Flame (Sands of Arawiya)

Men can be such beautiful trash

Her identity, viciously unraveled.

We hunt the flame, the light in the darkness, the good this world deserves.

His mother used to say that a person without hope was a body without a soul.

“You think we should keep this? Could be useful for thwacking our enemies.”
Nasir gave him a look. “We will not be thwacking our enemies. What are you, a child?”

“Do I look like a monkey?” Altair asked.
“That would be a disgrace to the monkey,” Nasir

“You were all I had,” he said. “Everything else could fall to ruin, but you—even dead you were mine.” He tried to make sense of the way his fingers could not stay still. His voice rose in a way that it never had before. “But you didn’t even exist.”

“Who said you’re my damsel?” he asked, tossing a wink at Nasir. Anger still crooked his mouth.

The prince didn’t react, but his eyes brightened and the corners of his lips twitched.

“Have you ever wondered why the Silver Witch wields magic on a land where there is none?” he asked. “Have you ever wondered why the sultan keeps her close?”

“You sound like a merchant trying to sell trash,” Altair groaned, a hand over his face.

What had you expected, a kiss?