The Minotaur

“Never fall, Azlan. Never!” He scolded, trying to fight some invisible force that kept pounding his head. “Remind yourself again that she is your enemy. The blood inside her—the blood that ran in her–Curse this!” He growled while looking for some blanket inside a chest.

His mind was running around in circles, fighting off some passion brewing in his core. The prince was like a madman jumping from chest to chest, trying to find something to warm the princess. There were rolls of cloth on every chest he scavenged–his search was only a distraction for his agitation and heat. And like every stubborn man, he gravely denied his feelings. “Al’ama! I just can’t!” He hissed, angrily tossing every fabric he scattered, and resolved to give his robe to her.