There was boundless beauty in the smallest of things, when Haruka stood beside him—and when his bridegroom was absent the sun was dim to his eyes, as if the dark-haired prince’s heart had taken its place in the ether. 

“How do you fare, my love?”

Makoto lifted his lashes and found the high-boned face hanging an inch from his own, sweet with a hint of laughter as Haru bent to kiss him. 

“There is no Heaven brighter than this, amarya,” he murmured, brushing back a raven curl as he took Haru’s hand in his. 

For a while they sat without speaking, amidst the golden butterflies weaving to and fro through the garden. There was nearly time for the pair to fall into slumber, but at last they were made to stir from their quilt when Milad caught one of the farashas in his palm. 

“Let her go, radhiy,” said Haru, opening the tiny fingers so the creature could take its leave. “She belongs in the wood with the flowers, and if you kept her in the palace the poor thing would die of grief.”

Milad watched the speck of orange recede into the skies until it grew too small to see, and once his quarry was gone he fell into Makoto’s lap and went to sleep at once.

— Slain by Fire, Sped by Flame Chapter 19

In which Haru and Makoto are Arabian princes, brought together by the fires of drought and an alliance between their kingdoms.  

(Or, a pair of fools take far too long to fall in love, and everyone else is along for the ride.)

Read Chapter 1   Read Chapter 14