They warned me of flying too close to the sun. That the heat would melt the wax of my wings and I would fall to the floor, broken and useless. But they did not tell me of the beauty of the flight, of how the sight of him, my sun, stars, and moon, would fill me with such overwhelming desire that I would quake at the thought of his touch. Was the risk not worth this moment with him?

I tremble in anticipation of his reply, my body quivering with desire I felt ill-equipped to deal with. This passion was foreign to me, rising like a sandstorm through my body until it buzzed with a need for something I did not yet know how to slake. My eyes do not leave his as he fights his own inner battles of control, and I fear in the silence between my heartbeat, that I am alone in this desire.

You, he says and I melt, my eyes flicking between each of his to read the truth of it. My trembling ceases, soothed by his affirmation but not yet emboldened. My last reserves remain steady only because I lack the knowledge of how to proceed. My wants are messy, tangled into images that I can only begin to sort out. I want to press myself into him, so close that his mark bleeds onto my own skin. I want to feel the touch of his muzzle as it leaves kisses along my skin, to feel the mark of his teeth against his flesh. I want him to make me his own, but I know not how to voice it.

Call me your own; king or slave or protector. His plea resonates within my soul and I know that I shall call him whatever it is that he wants if only he will keep me with him, always. He moves to me then, so close I can see the stray flecks of sand that cling to his ruby mane. I do not know if it is his heartbeat that I hear or my own, or if they've merged to become the same. Whatever the source, it thrums in my ears too loud to ignore.

His breath wafts down the side of my body as I hone in on the words that he speaks. They hum in my heart, dredging up the memory of the afternoon I'd spent with the diplomat of my betrothed's kingdom. For hours he'd taught me their sacred oaths until I could recite them for myself, in preparation of the day I married myself to Antares. I do not know if the stallion before me uses the same oaths, or if they are strictly for royalty, but I know the words have weight. And I want him to have them. He is my future, and I need him to know how seriously I take it.

A part of me knows how foolish it is to move this fast, to tie myself to a near-perfect stranger, but did not all the storybooks talk of love at first sight? Did they not spin tales of princes so dashing that they could sweep away a princess to live happily ever after with only a look. I do not know where he is, my once King to be, but I wish Antares well. I wish him all of the happiness that waits for me with baited breath for my acceptance. I pray that Allah guides him to someone more worthy of him, for I am not strong enough to fulfill my parent's wishes.

I have made my decision, and I will follow it through.

All I know is that this moon-washed stallion holds the entirety of my future in his hands, and I cannot bring myself to regret encountering him. His closeness bars further thought and a shiver trills down my spine as I gather my resolve, something of a wicked grin crossing my lips at my own boldness. Deliberately I crane my neck so that I can whisper the words next to his ear, fervent with my desire.

"ⲉⲱ̀ⲉϣⲱⲡⲓ, ⲡⲁϭⲟⲓⲥ." I say as I fold into him, giving up the control I'd held so tightly. A slave to the desperate desires of my heart and the insistent pulse of instint, I give to him all that I am.