Oasis

His posture was rigid. The officer’s uniform hung heavy, visibly damp with sweat. His hands were knotted into fists. His eyes were cold enough to make her shiver in the sun.

“I’m to be off,” he said. As though she were but a servant.

She blinked in the glare. He waited for a response, but she could not bring herself to voice one.

“I must, you see. Matters of import.”

“What matters?” Her words grated through a dry throat.

“I must see to the workings of my lord’s province.”

“Can you not hire messengers? Can these workings not have patience?”

“I cannot stay.” His voice cracked and then she knew. The hardness in his eyes was not ice. It was pain.

She stepped closer. Beneath the scent of oils and spices was that sweet, bitter taste of him she’d grown so fond of. She touched his hand. The tendons were taut beneath the skin.

“Then you must return to me.”

His grip came loose. He took her hand, as gently as if he’d done so a thousand times before.

“Will you miss me?” She whispered.

“Even now, I long for you,” he said, “As the sand longs for water.”

Nothing more was said. His gaze traced along her features, as though he’d long since memorized the shape of them. She waited patiently until his eye caught her’s. The hardness fell away, and in its place was left a passion beyond words. In those precious moments between blinks, she saw a hundred thousand lifetimes in his arms.