Every day, he must return to the castle for his daily rendez-vous'. And every time he arrives, he's met with dry kisses.
The prince's lips are rough - his gentle caresses leave scratches on the fair skin of his lover. At the end of each night, if he's not told to stay the night, he goes home and bathes for hours in icy water. It helps cool his burning soul; a soul full of anger and shame.
He had to do this. For money. He didn't want to dance through the rest of his life on sandy streets, taking ragged breaths of the dusty air.
Every day he'd dance, then walk through those looming obsidian doors. He'd endure the dry kisses, squirm under the little bites and nips, and blankly stare at their cracked love.
The fake love.
Whenever the prince whispered ''Ahabak..', the blonde couldn't tell if his words were real or not. He never said 'I love you' back.
He was told that simple sentence hundreds of times a day.
Once at the castle: between the rustled sheets, tangled legs, and stench of sex. The other times were when he was in the arms of his beloved: being told he was beautiful, and perfect, and many other little things.
And whenever he fell asleep against his partner, he'd easily forget all the pain. His feet no longer ached from dancing, and his skin didn't burn from the throbbing heat of the Arabian sun.
He seemed to forget he was part of a harem, that his body belonged to someone. When he fell asleep against his partner, tears would trickle down his dusty cheeks as he smiled.
His beloved easily made him forget about the dry kisses,and that was all the blonde could ever wish for.
Fun Fact!
'Ahabak, or أحبك means 'I love you' in Arabic. I assumed this took place in ancient Arabia.