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DILRUBA BLUSHED, HEAT RUSHING TO HER CHEEKS AS something in the pit of her stomach fluttered viciously at his words, laden in his deep baritone and utterly destructive to the Hegran girl's already rattled psyche.

She turned her eyes away from him, adjusting herself slowly in the tub—going a bit lower—as the movement of the water created the only sound in the moment of silence.

"I was not thinking about you, munqidhi," She offered the lie, her voice soft and firm as she tried to school her composure.

She hadn't considered the knowledge that he could arrive in midst of her bathing ritual, for Dilruba Badawi had never been one to hurry with her baths. Her regimes were always long and relaxing, and though she had had to make use of her own muscles to clean herself this time after the loss of Ahya, she still hadn't presumed that she should've hurried some more and forgo the relaxing part lest the owner of the room and premises arrive to find her in her less than ideal state. But she hadn't, and he had.

She cast her eyes on him again, and found the glint in his eyes flaring into something entirely else as his gaze hardened in hers and his jaw tightened. He swallowed visibly in restraint, his Adam's apple bobbing on his throat as he forced a hint of a sly smile in his manner.

"Then who were you thinking about?" He asked, his tone shaking slightly as he tried to lighten it in vain.

Dilruba could sense the discomfort—frustration?—in his manner so obviously. Aside from his hardened jaw, his hands were now in tight fists at his sides, and a thick vein bulged all throughout his right arm with such strength she was sure it would burst out his skin. She could not fathom the source of this change in him, for he had emerged in her presence rather mischievously and with a sly sway in his step.

Had the mere lie that she was not thinking about him altered him such so? No, that could not be. Why would a man such as him—who had plans to overthrow Sultans and eviscerate anyone in his path to wealth or whatever it was that he was after—be altered by such a silly trifle on her part?

"Tell me, farashat rayiea," Burhan uttered then, as he neared her and stopped only two yards away from the bathtub, his eyes fixed on her, unblinking.

"What other bastard were you thinking about, if not me?"

Dilruba could not help the small laugh erupting from her as she raised her hand and placed it briefly on her mouth, before her hand fell to her chest.

"Are you calling yourself a bastard?" She asked amused, her eyes tinkling up at him as she tried to decipher him.

Burhan scoffed harshly, as though she had wasted his time by uttering something that was as given as most common things are.

"What man isn't, when a woman is involved?" He spoke out, running his hand through his dark messy hair as he pushed it back and exhaled a breath, as though trying to get rid of the tension that had suddenly built up inside of him.

"Now, will you tell me what fucker you were thinking about so that I can have the pleasure of caving his damn head in, farashat rayiea?"

Dilruba blinked up at him, slightly taken back that he had veered back to the question she had tried to dodge like uncertain mirages in a desert.

"Why?" She found herself speaking after a pause, slow amusement in her tone as her emerald gaze remained fixed in his.

"Jamal-Uddin once said that if Allah believed our thoughts were supposed to be revealed to other mortals, they would be carved in the skin of our foreheads every time they occurred."

Burhan's dark eyes glinted at her words, and he stepped closer to her before crouching low on his hips, his knees apart, as he met her gaze at her height. A slow sly smile gripped his lips fully, and Dilruba fought the urge to smile as well, her lips slightly apart and her heart beating wildly in her chest.

"I don't need a dead self proclaimed scholar who spent his life kissing the feet of the rich, like Jamal-Uddin, to tell me who's thoughts I deserve to know," He uttered then, his eyes trailing every dip and rise of her face before falling down her neck and meeting her own eyes back again.

"Deserve?" Dilruba managed, shock and surprise in her tone. "You do not deserve to know anything about me, Burhan Abelhamid, let alone my thoughts."

The killer and usurper shook his head in defiance in the face of her slight anger, and she startled at his audacity.

"I do deserve it, Dilruba," He let out then, "Have I not made it clearer to you before? You were fucking made for me, you can think and believe in whatever you want, but you should understand by now that I deserve to know all of you and more."

The Hegran girl furrowed her brows, her eyes stinging as her heart tightened in chest.

"You are selfish, Burhan Abelhamid," She uttered. "You think only you are the one to deserve anything at all."

Burhan blinked in surprise, wanting to speak of his confusion but being cut off before he could even begin.

"What about me?" Dilruba cried out then, her troubles bubbling inside her laced with her frustration and anxiety.

"How could you have brought me here? I do not understand why you are doing this. Why are you trying so hard to implicate me in your treachery against my uncle and cousin? Why could you not have just left me there in that cell? Hadn't you caused enough harm that night when my uncle and cousin saw us together? Don't you realize that they hate me now and I never—I never did anything that they are accusing me of?"

Her voice cracked towards the end and emotion built itself thick in her throat.

Burhan's brows pinched together, his eyes firm and stoic in hers as a muscle twitched in his jaw.

"Dilruba," He spoke then, putting emphasis on her name as he tried to control his tone.

"I made a mistake that night, don't think I did not almost physically punish myself for it as much as I mentally did."

He turned his eyes away from her as though remembering something that made him furious, and Dilruba's heart dropped in her chest. Was he talking about their kiss? The moment she had recalled countless times since? If he was, then hadn't she forced him to? Hadn't she forced him to reflect on that moment and regret it for everything that had happened to her afterwards?

But somehow, if he hadn't spoken of this hateful regret, it would've been better for Dilruba to pretend as though no such thing existed. It would've been better for her heart.

"That street rat tailed me and I did not see him," Burhan spat then, his eyes meeting hers again with ferocity. "I was so fucking blinded by the need to find you after I found out you were in the palace and one of my men had hurt you, that I didn't notice the street trash that idiot of a Sultan crowned Prince, tail me all the way and send for the fucking troops."

"I swear to you, I'm not this damn careless," He added tightly. "If I could blame you for my mindlessness, farashat rayiea, I would, for you make me loose my goddamned mind."

Dilruba blinked, trying to understand his words against the misunderstood dismay her heart had plunged in. He did not consider the kiss a mistake, but the fact that Aladdin had followed him and led in the Sultan, Jasmine and the guards to find him.

"But you?" Burhan blurted out fiercely then, edging close to her as he gripped the brim of the tub with a single hand, his eyes hard in hers.

"At what point were you going to tell me you were niece to the Sultan of Agrabah?" He accused, anger flashing on his face.

Dilruba saw the dark stubble clearly on his face, her irises observed every inch of his dark sun weathered facial skin. Her fingers suddenly itched to touch him—to caress his face and trace her thumb on his lips. He was so explicitly handsome, and for a moment, that fact alone overwhelmed her to her core.

"You accused me of hiding things from you—of not telling you about who I am," He growled, "Of making a fool of you. But what about you? You were niece to the fucking Sultan all along and you let me—"

He broke off in his frustration, running a hand through his hair roughly.

"I let you what?" Dilruba asked softly, hurt in her tone.

He was right, Allah, he was so right. Why had she blamed him for withholding his identity from her when she too had given him nothing?

"You let me carve a space for you in my fucking chest like a fool."

The Hegran court dancer bit her lip as a pain engulfed her heart.

"Does it matter?" She asked then, her tone laced with hurt. "Would it have mattered had I told you of a familial relation that is not even as significant to me?"

"Fuck yes, it would've mattered, farashat rayiea," Burhan spat, his eyes fixed in hers in a glare. "I would've had Khair or Ghazi blind me just so that I would not have been privy to your beauty again. I would've had them keep me fucking away from you—chain me off somewhere so that I would not have crossed your path again, I would've had them deafen me just so that there wouldn't come a chance where I would hear your voice."

Dilruba shut her eyes, her chest tightening with horror at the gruesome imagery.

"Understand this, Dilruba," The usurper spoke then when she met his fierce eyes again. "As much as I would kill for you now and forever more because I'm in too goddamned deep, I would not have looked at you then had I known who you were, just as you said that you would not have too had you known my identity. Trust me when I say this, in the life I chose for myself, it is a foolish death sentence chaining my heart to that of a royal woman's. And though you made a fucking fool of me, I was not born one."

"Burhan," Dilruba shook her head, her voice breaking. "Please, I am not a royal woman. It does not mean anything to me that I'm related to the Sultan of Agrabah. It does not mean anything at all."

"To me it does," His voice was hard and facial expression stoic when he spoke, and Dilruba could almost see her heart being ripped inside her chest.

"As for your claims that I am trying to implicate you," He continued, his manner now hardened and detached as Dilruba desperately held his gaze in dismay.

"I was only trying to protect a woman I believed was getting hurt because of me," He swallowed, a dazed look in his eyes that bordered on hurt. "I kissed you because I'm on my fucking knees for want of you—I didn't give a fuck in that moment about who saw us and who didn't, and I brought you here because my home and my guild is the safest place in the world for you, because as Allah is my witness, I will break the legs off of anyone who even thinks of breaching my damn walls with the intention to cause you harm."

"Burhan," Dilruba's voice was strangled, and her chest felt so heavy with guilt.

How could she have accused the very man who had saved her life, of trying to put her in danger? Allah, how could she have become so self absorbed? Burhan was doing what he thought was fine—he was doing what he thought would protect her, how could she except him—a thug, bandit and usurper—to protect her in a way that aligned with her own ideals? Ideals that she had come to believe, by working for nobles, were what worked? Burhan was different from her and every other man she had spoken to in her life, he didn't care for the kind of life she thought was ideal, he was merely doing what he could.

"I'm so sorry, I—"

"I'm the one who should apologize to you, farashat rayiea," Burhan interrupted her then. "With all that I know of you now, this fucking dump is not worthy of you and neither am I."

Something cut across the flesh in the Hegran girl's chest and she almost let out a cry.

"Burhan, please," She lamented, "Please don't."

His stoic eyes broke away from hers briefly as he fixed them on an object in the distance, before meeting her gaze again. This time, the stoicity from his irises had vanished a little, intensity flashing in his orbs now.

"Don't what, Dilruba?" He asked, his voice a thick whisper.

Dilruba neared the side of the tub where he was close, putting both her wet hands on the brim and holding it tightly.

Burhan reciprocated, edging himself closer and nearing his face to hers as he dipped his head and brushed his forehead against hers in a desperation that she couldn't understand but craved from him.

"What don't you want me to do? Tell me and I'll never fucking do it again."

"You're—," She tried, her voice shaking as a tear ran down her cheek. "You're hurting me with your words."

She knew how wrong it sounded, for wasn't she the one being hurtful with her words first? Hadn't she been the one accusing him of trying to implicate her in treason when he was just trying to save her life each time? Hadn't she, with her words, blatantly implied that being merely with him was treachery and treason for her?

"Your words wound me, they slash at me like fucking daggers."

His words from that night after their kiss came rushing back to her, and if guilt and regret could swallow a person whole, Dilruba would've been long gone by now.

She raised her hand from the edge of the tub and touched the side of Burhan's face, holding him and gently pulling him close to her so that their foreheads could touch again, for the warmth of his skin against hers felt like a taste of divinity in her blood and she feared to let go.

"Then I won't do it again," Burhan breathed, his eyes half closed as he pushed his forehead back against hers roughly this time and captured her lips with his own.

His kiss was desperate and hungry, as he grappled for control and swallowed her gasp. His hand grabbed the back of her neck and he held her head in place as he devoured her, pushing his tongue inside her mouth and finding hers as he fought for dominance and won.

Dilruba wrapped both her bare arms around his neck, holding onto him and letting him kiss her, her attempts at kissing him back weak in face of his own shocking passion.

She wanted to give in to him, not compete with him. She wanted him to kiss her however he wanted to, and she wanted to witness his passion on her and for her, she wanted to be the subject of all his attentions, she wanted to devote herself to him in a way that would perhaps deem her nothing but a sacrifice, and she wouldn't mind at all.

To breathe, she had to pull away from him, letting him lean in further towards her latch his lips onto her neck as she kissed her skin, his kisses a form of worship on her body.

"Make space in your chest for me," Burhan murmured then, his breath hot as he spoke against her skin.

Recognition flared inside Dilruba at the familiar verse.

"Make space in your chest for me, my love," He repeated the poetry, lifting his face to meet her eyes with his dark heady gaze. "I would like to reside eternally in my home country."

The poet Fakhri's verse on Burhan's tongue was like a balm to the fire in her heart, calming her passion and igniting it at the same time.

She leaned purposefully backwards into the bathtub and Burhan-not wanting to separate from her-leaned in as close as he could before growling under his breath.

"Fuck, farashat rayiea, I need you to either come out of there or let me come in there."

Dilruba bit her lip to disguise a smile as heat engulfed her, but just as she thought he would pull himself in, Burhan reached out a hand to plunge it inside the tub and snake it behind her bare back as he lifted her form only partly out of the water, desperately latching his lips onto her chest as her abundant wet exposed breasts rose out of the water surface and glittered in the moonlit darkness.

Dilruba gasped at the feel of his tongue swiping against her nipple, and she threaded her fingers through his hair, gripping tightly as she arched her back, the back of her neck resting against the rim of the tub.

"Dilruba," Burhan groaned against her as though in pain. "I stand in front of her, my hands shaking and say; my love, you feel as if the clay Allah made you of was kneaded with rose water."

The Hegran girl shut her eyes tight at another poetry verse—this time belonging to the poet Rami al-Tobasi—in Burhan's deep baritone, her skin tingling in pleasure as her heart throbbed with passion in her chest.

"Burhan," Dilruba murmured, holding his face with both hands and bringing him upwards to face her. His dark eyes were pits of lust, desire and desperation, and she almost faltered at the sight.

"If you feel any desire for me, then say so," She uttered Jalāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī's verse, the only one presently fluttering inside her head and pounding against her heart.

"If you live without love, alone, then say so. If your heart holds a place for me, then say so. Say if its so, or say no, but tell me the truth."

Burhan closed his eyes tight and pressed his forehead against hers again.

"You have a fucking gorgeous voice, Hegran court dancer and poetess," The usurper uttered, before grinning as he exhaled. "But what do you know, that behind each gaze of mine, what passion, what madness, what sorrow resides."

Dilruba smiled at the honorable poetess Saliha Suleiman of Jeddah's verse, her heart swelling in her chest to the point that she believed it would burst inside her chest, and the mess of blood, muscle and arteries would although be gruesome to inspect, she knew she could carry the mess in her chest with all her pride.

Burhan's lips took hold of hers again, and she kissed him back with all her strength—which was comparatively nothing in face of his own.

"Burhan," She breathed, panting as she broke away briefly. Her hand touching his face and caressing it as though he was a golden lamp a diamond in the rough had come cross in a hidden cave in his hour of need and desperation.

"Where were you?" She asked, her eyes peering in his hazy ones. "Where did you go?"

Burhan blinked, as if trying to make sense of her question. Realization washed over him quickly about the intent of her question, and he swallowed before a detached look swam in his dark irises. Still, he did not separate from her.

"I cannot tell you, farashat rayiea," He asserted. "You know why I cannot."

"Burhan I—," Dilruba shook her head, a helpless desperation taking hold of her. "I'm so sorry for accusing you of trying to compromise me into—into treason. I know that wasn't your intention, and I'm so sorry for blaming you like that. I—"

"Don't apologize, Dilruba," Burhan Abelhamid groaned then, shaking his head as he looked at her, his gaze intense. "Don't fucking apologize to me for anything."

"But I have to," She cried, tears blurring her vision. "I have to because I—because I want you to confide in me. I want to know everything about you Burhan, I want to know why you're doing what you're doing. I want to know why—"

"No," The usurper and killer broke her sentence mid speech, his tone hard and adamant.

And as the Hegran girl watched in dismay, he pulled away from her hold, letting her retrieve her hands back as he stood up and stepped away from the tub, his eyes fixed on her but his gaze determined and closed off.

"You do not need to know anything about me," Burhan declared, his irises flashing something.

"Why?" Dilruba gripped the edge of the tub. "You said you deserve to know all of me and more, then why don't I deserve the same? Why don't I deserve to know you and what you do and why you do it?"

Burhan shook his head, raising a hand to run his fingers through his hair as he continued to shake his head in an intense defiance, his mind battling with thoughts that Dilruba could not guess at.

"You are mine, Dilruba," He let out then, his eyes meeting hers again in a finality. "You are a woman, and I need to know everything about you so that I can protect you. Me, on the other fucking hand? I protect myself. I don't need to barter off my damn information to anyone to ensure my protection. I have no cause or need to involve you into the God forsaken hell that my life is, do you understand me? I will not put you at risk like that, regardless of what you previously assumed about me."

Guilt seared the flesh at Dilruba's heart again, and she felt so weak she could barely respond to him.

"But then, what are we, Burhan?" She asked, her voice breaking. "If you think I am bartering my information to you because I want you to protect me, and you will keep me at a distance, what will we be?"

He blinked, but before he could respond, Dilruba was already saying what was at the forefront of her heart.

"I cannot love a man who won't tell me who he is," She shook her head, "I cannot love a man who kills innocents ruthlessly, overthrows Sultans and endangers lives for no reason other than that of selfishness and evil intent."

Burhan Abelhamid's gaze hardened in hers, and she could see the flash of hurt he tried to disguise, and though her chest rebelled, she knew she needed to be honest or she would always regret it.

"Do you understand me, munqidhi?" Dilruba raised the back of her wrist to wipe a tear off her cheek as she broke eye contact briefly and reached for the towel she had found earlier in the room and had draped at her left over on the rim of the tub for after she was done with her bath.

She almost faltered in her distress when the masculine scent of the towel hit her full force. It was Burhan's towel, and it smelt like him. It smelt of cedar, jasmine and almond mixed with a scent of charcoal.

The Hegran girl brought the towel close to her and stood up in the tub, her naked form on full display to Burhan who let out a forced exhale before tipping his head backwards, his eyes now on the ceiling as he raised both his hands to hold the back of his neck in his distress, his biceps flexing.

Her wet olive skin glowed underneath the moonlight in the silver infused room, shadows being casted by her glorious curves upon the carpeted floor of the thug's room.

"Dilruba..," He mustered the strength to say her name, and his deep voice sounding strangled.

"I will not give myself to a man who will never let me in," She lamented, wrapping the towel around her body as she stepped out of the tub and looked at him, raising another wrist to wipe at her falling tears again.

"I have already tried to open myself to people just so that they let me in, but they have always refused to hold me near," She shook her head, her eyes peering up at him. "So do you understand me? I will never let a man treat me like that."

Burhan met her eyes then, his distress visible in the stoicity of his gaze. But then, just as she thought he would argue—say anything more, he instantly reached his arm out and grabbed hold of her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.

The knot at Dilruba's crown loosened and her hair fell down into wet waves down her back.

Burhan used his other hand to thread his fingers through the hair at the base of her head, gripping her head firmly but not harshly, and making her look at him.

"Allah knows I want to give you everything that you want, farashat rayiea," He breathed, his hot breath on her face as his facial muscles tightened. "But I won't give you anything that I know will risk you, and we both know that even my presence near you puts you at risk, honorable niece to the Sultan of Agrabah."

Dilruba closed her eyes as they stung in frustration, before placing both her hands against his chest and pushing him away from her. He separated of his own accord, for her strength was no match for him.

"I will not stay here with you," She let out, anger gripping her throat. "I will go back home and I will forget you ever existed, Burhan Abelhamid. You do not deserve anything that I can give a man. You do not deserve my heart, my tears, my thoughts—you do not deserve me."

Burhan's gaze sharpened in hers in a calculation, and she could see a muscle visibly throb in his jaw.

"I do not," He affirmed, his deep baritone consuming the silence. "But I'll be damned if you are hurt and I am not there to protect you. I'll be damned if someone lays their hand on you and I am not there to cut off their balls and fingers and shove everything down their throats."

"I will not stay," Dilruba managed again, her heart constricting in her chest as Burhan stepped closer to her until their faces were just inches away from each other's.

"I will not stay," She repeated.

"There are two hearts on the floor," Burhan Abelhamid—usurper, killer, thug and leader of swordsmen and bandits—spoke one of the most famous Lufti Qabbani of Thāj's verses then as he stared into Dilruba's eyes with a ferocity.

"There are two hearts on the floor, one is mine, but both are yours."