" Beautiful,” said Amar.
“I found it gruesome,” I said, shivering.
Amar rose and walked to where I stood.
“I was not talking about the story.”
“Oh.”
“Why do you like such a gruesome tale?”
In Bharata, we were taught that it was a tale of the god’s might. But I saw another story within it: the play of interpretation that turned something terrifying and iron-clad into something that could be conquered. I was reminded of the star room where Amar had taken me only days ago. The story was like a different way of seeing.
“It gave me hope…that maybe there was some way around the horoscope. It was a lesson in language too, almost like a riddle…”
Amar stared at me and then he laughed.
“Only my queen would find hope in horror.” He took my hand in his and his gaze was burning. “You are my hope and more.”
“What does that make you? My horror?”
“And more,” he said.
All I saw were his eyes. Velvet dark. The kind of umbra that shadows envy. Amar stared at me and his gaze was desperate with hope. Reckless. I should’ve stopped. I should’ve stepped away. But I didn’t. I leaned forward, and a soft growl--like surrender--escaped his throat. He dug his fingers into my back and pulled me into a kiss.
Amar’s kiss was furious. No heat. Just lightning. Or maybe that was what his touch teased out of me--vivid streaks of light, dusk and all her violent glory. I was lost. I leaned into his kiss and the world around us peeled into nothing. I felt like I could stand over chasms empty of time, and this moment, like a chain of soft-blooming stars, would still be ours.
We kissed until we couldn’t breathe. And then we kissed until we needed the touch of one another like breath itself. "

― Roshani Chokshi , The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen, #1)