Chapter Text
Part one: Koi no Yokan
[ko-ee no yo-kan] Japanese
(n.) The extraordinary sense upon first meeting someone, that you will one day fall in love.
Chapter 1: Of miracles and deaths
He moved through the shadows as he traveled to the center of the city, careful to stay out of sight of the watchmen who were posted all around the town. He pulled the collar of the tailcoat up, covering the lower half of his face and moved into the sunlight, taking a straight path to the center of the celebration.
His so distinctive mane proved to be a burden in this situation, but with the sun setting and the shadows growing, he would blend in smoothly. He just had to wait and stay on guard until then.
A group of children passed him, laughing and pushing each other. Faces usually covered in specks of dirt were cleaned and the hair, finely combed.
Celebratory events in Balbadd were, by no means, simple. The streets teemed with liveliness, the usually inky starry night was ablaze with lanterns, candles and big campfires projected difform shadows everywhere.
The streets of Balbadd were always buzzing with activities; there were street vendors who screamed at top of their lungs, deeply tanned fishermen with gleaming eyes, mischievous children who loved to run in the middle of the crowd, dancers were practicing their art, music, and laughter.
But tonight, it was multiplied by ten.
The sweet scents of fishes grilling and spices masked the usual smell of the streets. Children were playing in the fountain, spraying cold water on passersby and laughing about it. The clinking of glasses together meshed with the ambient happiness in a showcase of how truly prosperous Balbadd was.
A flash of fire.
He stopped, admiring the fire eaters from afar doing their usual routines, breathing in and spouting flames.
The return of the Mahujir tribe was just another excuse to sin away until the night ebbed away to dawn. Though, with them in town, the party only promised to be more exciting.
This nomad tribe was particularly well-liked among his citizens. Besides the history between the city and them, they were the best entertainers out there.
They usually brought the best storytellers who ensnared the mind and send it into another dimension, capable of dazing even the more down to earth man. They had a way with words that was beyond a simple man's capacity and that only those with years of practice and wisdom had.
Even he could never hope to reach their mastery.
But if something had to be mentioned about them, it was their dancers. Beyond their graceful movements, it was their incorporation of the fire in it that made them so exotics.
His eyes narrowed as he pushed through the crowd, slipping forward, hoping to get a good look. The music, a sweet symphony of drums, flutes, and harps was pulsating - a deep, bone-shaking thrum of beats that echoed along with his heart. The tone was still merry, not that sensually rhythmic melody that was particular to their dance of fire.
Crowd's movement.
Someone stumbled against him, he helped them back up. Their eyes met. The child gasped, eyes round and bulging from his head. He smiled, a small finger raising to his mouth, conveying his message. Hush, child, don't say a word. I might get caught too.
A nod and a pat on the head.
In the middle of the crowd, with his people, he felt the safest. But all it would take was one single moment of awareness for him to be discovered and this illusion of safety to shatter. All it would take was one person watching him, recognizing him and gasping his name in utter disbelief for it to spread like wildfire and alerted the guards.
He would really prefer it if the guards were not made aware of his presence yet. He liked roaming freely and he was with his citizens. It was mostly safe. His guards were just worrywarts.
The crowd kept pushing and he lost the child to the sea of bodies, unintendedly ending at the front of the crowd.
He had the best view.
A shift in the air, a change in the rhythm and the dance began.
Colorful bedlah stormed to the middle of the ring, each dancer's position around the colossal campfire held carefully still.
The music died down.
Their costumes were all similar, a fitted bra wrapped around the breast, a fitted hip belt hanging loosely around wide sinfully tanned hips and a full-length skirt covering long and fit legs. Yet, they were so different, a color for each dancer, some were richly decorated with beads that clinked together, crystals, coins or embroidery.
His own father once told him that the costume represented the personality and the dance, the soul.
A sway of hips, the start of a song.
He found himself wrapped within the melody, the tempo wild and thrumming through his veins, the notes grazing his skin with a powerful embrace. It soothed him, it gave him a moment to forget everything else, his duties and this royal bride's chase that his attendants were orchestrating.
His eyes were following amusedly their movements.
It was a devious trap, their dance. One that, caught unaware, you were bond to fell in.
Hands thrown in different directions caught the attention, drawing their prey slowly, carefully. Following the curves of slender or pudgy arms led to the next attraction, the second part of the trap.
It was the complex movement of the torso, the breast moving along, pushing against the fabrics and the arch of a strong back that hypnotized, blinding them to the danger.
Finally, it was the bellies -soft, toned or potbelly- and the hips, snaking and gyrating, that captivated further.
At that point, it was too late. The shackles were already put and the attention was solely on the hips, exacerbating heated minds and arousing.
But he, the 22nd King of Balbadd, knew better.
It wasn't the main attraction. It would only start when the fire dancers would take positions.
The drums' beats slowed, the flute ceased and four figures rose from the flames. Exclamations fussed from all sides. The other dancers fell to the floor in a flutter of clothes.
The flames licked their feet and legs. They jumped through it, each landing at one cardinal point.
The tempo picked up from slow and controlled to intense and wild.
The fire dancer on their side wasn't the curviest woman; while easy on the eye, she had a soft belly and not enough breast to be considered drop-dead gorgeous. Compared to the others, she was taller, almost reaching his nose.
And yet, he couldn't help but be enticed. She had charming eyes, steel grey or silver - depending on the light. A mysterious woman with her lower face hidden behind a cloth that bore the embroidery of a flame only designed to trap him further.
Her patterned loincloth revealed at times, almost teasingly, long and meaty legs glistening under the fire's light, daring him to discover what others wonder those legs could do.
Pink eyes met silver. Rashid swallowed, his throat felt strangely dry.
Dangling from her hands, she carried a pair of flaming scales, with thin cords running from her fingertips to the sides of the scales, that she held them in an almost puppeteer-like fashion. It drew his attention an instant, following their trajectories, but his eyes were immediately pulled back to her own.
The soft curve of her back greeted his eyes, the spine undulating and arching this way and that, revealing some of her tricks while keeping the rest secret. She shook her shoulders, arching her back more and more until she was looking upside down at him.
His breath hitched. He swore she was doing this on purpose, the sly seductress.
She turned around again.
What other wonders can you do?
His gaze held her own. He chuckled breathlessly, the eyes really were the windows to the soul. The warmth from the fire was probably getting to him but he felt like the night was getting warmer and the sweat-slicked his shirt.
How could one move like she was moving? It was ethereal, unhuman, graceful beyond the imagination and unfair to every being that walked on this earth and could never hope to achieve such a feat.
He felt it in his heart, his blood, and his bones. The way she moved, the secrets she held in her eyes, he wanted to know it. He wanted to know everything about her. Her mystery would become their mystery.
He wanted her and everything she could offer.
He was wrapped in her melody. He would let her choose the tempo, matching her every move and instead of walking in her footsteps - desperately following her-, he would walk alongside her. Rashid prided himself in being a jack of all trades, and he wasn't a bad dancer himself, he surely could follow. They could be the best duet this country has ever seen, topping even the 15th King and his Mahujir's bride.
It was at this exact instance he knew, this woman would be his Queen.
The dance ended. Too soon.
They stared at each other, refusing to back down. He took one step forward then another and-
"My King!"
His stomach dropped. He jerked back as his guards flopped on him and he lost track of the woman. "Don't leave us behind, something could have happened!" Anma, his most trusted and loyal guard, nagged.
Of course, the crowd, hearing that, bowed down and surrounded them, throwing compliments and blessings at him, trying to touch him. The king loved his country and his country loved him back but right now, he couldn't care less. He needed to find her.
"I'm safe among my people," Rashid exclaimed with no second thought and slipped through them, losing his protectors again. The crowd closed on him, shielding him again.
He moved in a circle around the place. The dancer wasn't there; people who looked like her, yes, but not his dancer.
He turned around- Not here.
Did he lose her?
No.
No, no nonono. He couldn't lose her already. Their time together was too short, a fleeting moment. He couldn't- not when he barely tasted it. He couldn't cherish that. He needed more!
Where could she have gone? Left? Right? Behind? Forward?
He needed to find her; if she slipped further, he might not be able to see her ever again.
The Mahujir tribe came and went with the wind, years could pass before he met her again. He needed to-
He needed to-.
He didn't want to-
And-
Blood pumping fiercely and turning on himself over and over again, he hoped to catch a glimpse of her. Faces moved and blurred but he couldn't find her. He sidestepped someone and eyed a familiar back, blood singing his elation.
That woman turned around, green eyes watching curiously his hand on her shoulder.
"Can I… help you?"
Beautiful as the woman was, it wasn't her. His heart sank.
He shook his head. "Sorry, I mistook you for someone else." And he was gone.
He bit his lip. He couldn't find her.
So that was it, that was how he lost this woman, this kindred spirit. He shouldn't feel this much disappointment, so why? Why did his heart hurt? Why did he feel like he lost a part of him?
He had felt something during the dance, a connection that went deeper than carnal desire. He felt it in his guts, the knot of unease he felt each time his advisor talk about marriage and brides eased.
He sighed, eyes cast downward.
A push and a whisper. This way, she's here. And when he turned around, there was no one.
He shouldn't trust the voice but this feverish hope pushed him forward, walking further down the alley, ending in an adjacent street and-
There she was, in the middle of a group of kids, smiling and simply being beautiful.
How did he know it was her? She wasn't wearing her mask anymore. He had no idea but something deep within him told him so. It was the same bubbly warm feeling when he knew he could hassle prices down. He just knew.
Without her cloth hiding her face, she looked different, younger and more childish. She had a round face and a cute nose and two moles, he realized surprised, one under her eyes and another on her cheek.
But the must was her wild smile as she listened to the young. Her eyes were half-lidded, warm and sparkling.
He would have kept his distance, content with observing her from afar, if she didn't rose her eyes, catching sight of him.
The startled look on her face just made her cuter, which was unfair for all the other women.
She surprisingly was the first to make a move, excusing herself and joining him, a shy smile adorning her lips.
"My king." She bowed, tripped and would have eaten the ground if it wasn't for Rashid.
Taking her hand, he stabilized her with a warm smile.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded, cheeks rosing.
"You danced beautifully tonight." He continued, eyes glued on her face, drinking in all her expressions. She was incredibly expressive, a brow or the corner of her lips always moving.
"Thank you, my King." She squeaked, cheeks reddening. How cute, she couldn't even hold his gaze anymore.
How different she was, all shy and bashful when she had been a seductress just a few minutes ago.
"You may call me Rashid. And you are…?"
She took a deep breath and held his gaze. "I'm Haybana of the Mahujar tribe."
Haybana, shyness, and respect. How fitting.
"There you are!"
Rashid jumped out of his skin. "My King, you're more slippery than an eel, stop disappear- Oh!" Anma stopped, blinking before a smirk bloomed on his face. "I'm sorry for interrupting."
He bowed, turning away. Not without wiggling his brows at Rashid though.
A woman, Anma thought, watching from within the shadows. I should have expected that.
Birds chirped and sang, the wind whistled and the water lapped in the fountain. The flowers - red carnations, yellow daffodils, and blue violets- bowed down as the breeze rattled the palm tree’s leaves, The woman watched them as they swirled and twirled in the air until some fell on top of the fruit’s basket.
Sprawled on the couch in the middle of the garden, she was happily munching on a grape, feet hooked under her brother’s tight. She sighed contently.
Today was a good day.
The door closed with a powerful bang, shaking awake the sleepy guards who, upon seeing their master, kept to the shadows and chased the birds away. The siblings jumped on their feet, hands joined together in greeting.
Councilmember Ali Albas strode through the garden, cape billowing behind him as his blank face turned furious. His wrinkles deepened the more he looked at his children.
Shérine, his firstborn, was his pride and his greatest success. She was pretty enough, not too stupid, meek - just like a woman should be - and silent. A diamond in the pile of shit his other children were.
And yet…
“A gypsy…” Ali growled, teeth bared and spit flying. “You lost to a gypsy .”
Shérine had the gall to open wide, innocent eyes, failing to understand. It made his blood boil. How could she not understand how much she failed him? He had looked like a fool in the middle of the Council when he - the King - had announced that he had found his wife. He rejected his daughter for a traveler of the desert, a sand walker, a gypsy.
“Father, I don’t understand… What-”
He threw the basket of fruit at her, flipping the low table. It hit her across the face and the screech she made wasn’t satisfying enough. Her legs gave out from under her, eyes filling with fear and tears.
“Father-” One of his boys - who was he again? - tried to step in. He pushed him away. He had no business with him.
“Ta-” Shérine cried out but was quickly shut by her father’s hand.
“You DON’T understand? How can you be so dense? How could you fail me so?” He knelt, fingers digging in her cheeks. “The King will hand the country to a gypsy. You did not manage to seduce him. We, the Albas, will never be much more than a council family. Because. Of. You.”
He stepped back, sending her one last look before turning on his heels.
Sometimes, even the greatest achievement can be the worst failure.
It started with a rumor, a simple observation and words carelessly thrown in the wind.
The Queen was sick, she didn’t go outside as much as she used to and then-
Balbadd city was on fire. Earlier that day, a citizen saw the Queen in the northern market.
It wasn’t that much of a rare occurrence. Since she has taken the position of Queen, Haybana has always taken the time to go out, watching and inquiring merchants about their goods.
Kindness was a feature they started associating the Queen with. She was kind, always smiling and ruffling children’s hair. She was a patron of artists and merchants, and sometimes even the poor as she encouraged them with finding jobs.
So seeing the Queen, while always intimidating, wasn’t rare.
No. But this time, the Queen had a bump.
Right. On. The. Belly.
A royal child was on the way and everyone was excited about it.
Haybana was worried.
These last few days, her dreams had been plagued with will-o-wisps, feather's crowns and broken clocks: omens of death. And even now, laid on the bed with her legs opened, she couldn't entirely focus on her task at hand.
Pained groans echoed in the room. She gripped the sheets and blinked the tears away as trickles of sweat ran down her neck.
Haybana was raving, pain turning her mad and furious as her breathing grew more labored.
The nerves of this man! He put her in this situation and he wasn't even there to see her through. What. An. Ass!
Biting back an insult, tears and sweats pearling on her skin, she clenched her eyes and gritted her teeth.
Deep breath,
The moment she sees him, she will break his hand. And that was a promise!
Deep breath and-
Why did she agree? Forcing her father to leave her behind for him was bad enough and now, that? No one told her it would be this bad! It felt like her bottom was torn apart!
PUSH!
This was so humiliating, opening her most sacred place for these women to see and she was pretty sure she just pooped a bit.
"My Queen, you're almost there! Just a bit more! Push. Push!"
She groaned some pained mumblings supposed to be insults. She was doing her best already, okay? She needed a break. Just a small break to catch her breath. Was it too much to ask?
She arched her back as pain shoot through her yet again. It felt like tendrils of lightning shooting inside of her, going up to her spine and right to her brain. She fell back on the bed as the contraction ended.
Haybana was tired. It felt like the only thing that kept her going was her will and even then, it was just shreds of it.
She was tired, in pain and slightly excited; she was going to meet the tiny human being Rashid and her made, that their love conceived. This child would be the paroxysm of their love, a being half-her half-him, a blank canvas that will be colored by only the best glow.
But a small almost nonexistent part of her worried. There was something else at work here. She could feel it deep in her marrow, it was like someone was behind her, breathing down her neck, feeding her strength and magoï.
She knew, in any other case, she would have faltered midway, tired and terrified of dying, of not giving birth to a healthy child and everything else that plagued her dreams. But beyond her motherly love for the soon to be born baby, something kept her going.
Something else. Something big. Something waiting for that birth to happen.
And Haybana had no other choice but to keep going.
Though, all the embarrassment, the pain, and sweat were forgotten soon enough.
The moment the midwife presented them the child and Rashid -he arrived somewhere in the middle of her screams and grunts- held it, rocking the squealing child slowly was the purest and most joyful moment in her life.
Haybana never thought she would see her husband losing composure, eager, trembling and peppering the child with kisses. It did wonder to her heart, seizing and luring it deeper into that sweet madness that was love.
"What…?"
Rashid finally brought the bloodied small being in her awaiting arms, kneeling at her bedside, peppering her forehead with kisses and declarations of love.
"It's a girl."
Together they admired the soft, round face and trembling mouth. There were only a few wisps of blond hair, blond hair just like her father.
Around them, maids and midwives gathered the dirty sheets and towels, throwing the bloody water before rearranging the room, returning to its former glory.
"She's beautiful, Haybana." He tenderly brushed sweaty locks away from her forehead, tears pricking his eyes. "You did amazingly well."
Their little girl calmed down, pressed against the fast-beating heart of her mother, nestling in her warmth and yawning.
Such a small creature. Frail and tiny and at the mercy of all in a world full of danger and magic.
And darkness.
There was darkness deeply rooted in this world, that stained everything: the heart, the soul and the rukh. Haybana knew it, she could hear it.
And gazing at the sleepy face of her daughter illuminated by the soft glow of the sunset, Haybana could only think of one thing: the baby had to be protected from this world.
This world had to be protected.
This world was too beautiful and full of wonders to be left dying. The pests infesting it, though, were quite tenacious and spread the plague alarmingly fast. It would be hard to get rid of them. And he was afraid that only a miracle could stop them now.
Humming softly to himself, he gazed outside, watching the sun setting over the rift, the sky a canvas of red, yellow, orange and dark blue.
But he couldn't lose hope now. He feared that the moment he did, the moment everyone on this planet lost hope, they all will be doomed. And he didn't live through nine lives to see that.
A sigh. But he couldn't do it. He needed someone else, someone strong and worthy. A miracle. A King vess-
Blue eyes framed with dark lashes widened. Whispered chirping of birds caught his attention. He tilted his head, focusing.
Something happened, something had changed. The rukh was… singing? Vibrating?... Thrumming. The rukh was thrumming with glee, dancing around his limbs, playing with his tress.
Yunan blinked, the eagerness of the rukh bubbling inside him. Someone had appeared? Someone important?
The magi was baffled. It wasn't a strong enough reaction for him to call that being a miracle, not enough for everyone to feel but enough for those really in tune with the rukh. The changes were more subtle, like the axis of their earth changed ever so slightly.
It was that fragrance, that small shift in the atmosphere that screamed 'change is on its way'.
Slowly, a smile inched its way on his lips. "Ahaha… That's interesting!"
Yunan couldn't wait for it.
"What should we name her?"
Haybana turned her impossibly bright silver eyes to him. "Sania for a girl and Altair for a boy." She reminded him gently, puffing and frowning when Rashid winced. "Those aren't bad names my love and you agreed to them."
"Of course, my Queen." He turned his attention back to the infant, a finger poking her chubby cheek until she opened small, bleary silver eyes, just like her mother.
"Welcome home, Sania Saluja, Crown Princess of Balbadd."
Roughly a year later, in a desert.
He opened his eyes to the ceiling of his tent, the fabric swaying with the wind. He felt nauseous, guts twisting and wrenching so violently he almost puked, heart beating abnormally fast.
It was an hour or so past twilight, and the rays of bleak moonlight filtered hazily through the cracks in the thick woolen curtains of the tent; the other side of the bed was empty but still warm. He frowned, his wife slept with the sun, she shouldn't have left the nest.
Where did this foolish woman go again?
Arif sat on the edge, shivering in the cold and pulling on his garb, his movements weary and robotic. He stood up and groaned -a sharp, hollow sound of a pain only the old age brings. In the cold, his joints ached.
"Arif, are you up?" Asma asked from beyond the tent.
"Yes, habibata. What is it?"
"You come outside, something is happening."
Arif frowned, groaned and pestered but joined her nonetheless.
"I swear habibata, if it's because you believe again a star has appeared, there will be-" The rest of his sentence died in his throat.
The night was supposed to be devoid of stars, black as ink, with only a crescent-shaped moon to guide.
But...
The stars… The stars were present, shining brighter than ever, shooting stars filling the sky. Beautiful but highly impossible. And yet…
"Can you hear something?"
His mouth shut with a click. If he focuses enough perhaps he could…
Loud chirps of invisible birds drowned out every other noise, filling his mind, heart, and marrow with a pleasant warmth. Running wild, the rukh - the birds of life - danced merrily around him, squealing with renewed glee.
This had never happened before. How…? Why…?
"Arif?"
He was gaping, overwhelmed by the sheer loudness of the rukh.
"It's… a miracle."
And what a miracle...
After witnessing it, when the stars finally faded away, they stayed outside, basking in the calm together and watching the last embers of the fire cackling madly as it burnt the last twigs with sadistic glee, the roundness of Asma's body catching the last orange glows.
"Something is bothering you, my dear." His wife stated, busying herself with bringing the fire back to life.
"How can you tell?"
"You have that far away look and you're rubbing your hands." Kneeling, she waved the copper kettle. "Tea? It will warm your joints."
"Yes, please."
He had to give it to her, Asma may be foolish at a time but she had a kind heart and Arif never regretted marrying her. Well, perhaps at first, when all he could think about was Saida, his first love but not anymore.
The woman also didn't mind the silence, never asking for much just like their daughter.
The moon continued her travel across the sky while the fire died down and only when she was at her highest point, Arif broke the silence.
"I had a dream," he began, Asma humming encouragingly, still next to him. " About two birds fighting. One was stuck on the ground, enormous. His body was strangely shaped, with two bumps on the back and two tusks. He had blood-red eyes. Furious. On the other hand, there was a bird that could never come to rest, stuck flying for eternity. He was on fire, feathers red and gold, looking exactly like the body of an eagle."
He stopped, reliving in the silence enough to collect his thoughts.
"And what do you suppose it means?"
Arif sighed. "I don't know, only that one is a miracle and the other, an omen of death."
The dream took his full meaning only a few days later when someone interrupted their communal dinner. Red, gold, and white adorned his garb. An emissary of Balbadd.
"Chief Arif?" He nodded. "I am Abd'al-Ilah, a guard from Balbadd platoon. I am deeply sorry, Queen Haybana passed away."
The trail he held in his hand fell on the ground, red liquid spilling from his cup.
A miracle and a death.
Fourteen years later- Balbadd city
The Princess Sania of Balbadd, fifteen years old, stormed through the corridor, scowling at nothing particular and feeling particularly irritated.
The meeting didn't end as she had hoped it would. Vaughn, the slimy, sneaky attendant of her father had brought, once again, the topic of marriage when all she wanted was discussing plans with him. Alone with him and hidden from all these heavy stares.
But he pushed his way in and her father let him. And all she managed to get out of this meeting was a mission, a headache, and a month worth of frustration.
Sania will be the one reaching them out instead of her father to assess the situation and offer financial help in exchange for trade and discounts on their sculptures and frescos.
She rolled her shoulders, easing her muscles into a more relaxed position. Her bangles chimed as she massaged a particularly tensed spot in her neck.
It is said that the tinkle of a bangle in a house kept the negative at bay. Sometimes she was really tempted to just shake her arms in the face of some of her attendant, chasing them away with the tinkles.
She chuckled before sighing. that would be something to see.
She heard it too late, the characteristic sound of a fork scraping a plate.
"A proper lady does not sigh openly," Tassos tutted, appearing from behind a highly decorated pillar. "Swipe this ugly expression from your face, you're shaming us."
She barely stopped a roll of her eyes. If Vaughn wasn't criticizing her every move, it was Tassos, the plague and cholera of her life.
His big belly bounced with each step he took, rolling his shirt higher and higher until she could see his fat, redbelly button. His neck was so big, it fussed with his chin and he was sparkling with jewels and sweat.
"You should take examples of Prince Ahbmad, he knows how to act at least."
Sania almost snorted. Ahbmad? Proper? Now that was a good joke.
"I'm sorry, your Haughtiness," she curtsied. "I will be sure to act just like my brother. Now if you will excuse me, I have a sailing to prepare."
Tassos growled behind her, "This is exactly why our king should not have mingled with that gypsy. He ended with an unfitting princess."
Sania froze, nails sinking into her palms.
Deep breath...
How dare he?
She turned around, fist painfully clenched.
But the fury that surged through her veins died down soon enough. At that moment, her courage escaped her. That folly outburst had been all but an impulse, one she hadn’t fully considered the consequences of and thus when all of these outcomes bubbled in her mind, she clammed up, cowering back into her comfort zone.
Sending a last glare, she stomped away, blood boiling. This fat, horrible man…
She passed through arched door and gold corridors without a second glance, too used to the finest things and too angry, servants swiftly getting out of her way.
Sania stopped, though, when a windy complaint grazed her ears. It was soft and so deeply scared. A punch in the gut. She never heard someone with that kind of inner voice before, so expressive and raw. It was directly connected to her feelings.
She blinked. She wasn't in the corridor anymore, facing a room from where she could hear screamings. Pig-like screaming and the tingling of coins.
Are you kidding?...
She sighed, face crumpling into one of long-suffering, before throwing the door opened, mask carefully back in place.
"Ahbmad!" She growled, scowling. "Enough!"
His face was purple with anger, puffing, and huffing and glaring at a maid on the floor. He turned to her, small black beads beaming with fury. If anything, Ahmad was the carbon copy of his mother: pudgy and small with an ego too big to fit in this size of body.
As the first prince and the heir to the throne, Ahbmad had been spoiled rotten by both of his parents and when people keep saying how wonderful you are all your life, your personality suffers in answer.
He was insufferable.
He hadn't always been like that though. Sania remembered a time when he was following her like a lost kitten. He had been nice - sweet even -, offering her his drawings, cuddling against her when she read him bed stories. He had nice and pudgy cheeks and Sania had always a hand on one of them, pinching them red. They played a lot together.
He was an attention-seeker, thriving under the gaze of the other, under her gaze until it wasn't enough and he started to believe every nice word thrown at him.
He changed.
At her sight, the maid started to sob even louder, spluttering that she was sorry and didn't mean to wake him, the tray just slipped from her hands and please let her keep her work, her family was counting on her.
"Father wants to see you." Sania lied through gritted teeth.
Ahbmad almost snarled at her before turning toward the maid. "You better stay here! I'm not done with you."
He brushed past her, barely acknowledging her. A sad pang pierced her heart and for just a second, her mask crumbled again, revealing that melancholic glint and bitter smile.
Sometimes, Sania wondered what she did to get on the wrong end of his temper. To this day, she still had no idea when the change occurred. It hadn't been an overnight transformation. It had been sneaky, insidious even, and Sania realized it too late. Her little brother had left her grasp.
A hiccup.
Sania turned toward the maid who was still laid on the floor in a heap of skirts and heartfelt apologies.
"You're new here, uh?" Sania knelt, giving up her handkerchief.
The maid sniffed, "How do you know?" Blue eyes brimming with tears watched her curiously before remembering her manners and casting her eyes downward.
"Ahbmad is particularly known for his temper-tantrums and lashing out at the servants but it's Father that has a say regarding the staff." Sania smiled gently, "Ahbmad can threaten as much as he wants, he could never fire you. So clean your mess and go back to your duties, Ahbmad won't do anything."
They rose back together and turned to leave.
"Princess Sania. You really are what they say you are." The brown-haired girl smiled and left a puzzled Sania behind.
For a second, all she felt was dread. What did they say about her? Who were 'they'? Did they talk about how a horrible princess she was too?
But then, the maid seemed to mean it as a compliment, something she should be proud of…?
It didn't add up.
...
"Lying to your own brother? It's very unlike you."
She squeaked, hands flying to her chest, checking her heart was still here and still beating.
The sweet sound of a laugh.
"Naksh! Will you- Could you stop appearing behind me? One day, I swear I will put a bell on you."
His stormy blue eyes shone with mirth and his lips trembled, almost drawing a smile on his face before they fell in their usual flat line.
Naksh - or "that gorgeous attendant of the Princess" as rumors have it - was unfairly beautiful. Among them all, he was the prettiest: fair skin, freckles, brown hair, and a perfectly symmetrical face. And because of his function as her guard and one of her attendants, he was slender and fit: wide shoulders, small hips, and long legs.
At one point in her life, Sania had the biggest crush on him: he was nice, gave her all of his attention and good-looking.
What was she supposed to do?
She tried to confess - at the wee age of nine - that she hoped he would be her lover. He had laughed, patted her head and called her cute. And that was it. She couldn't face him for the rest of the day and after a goodnight of sleep, she forgot about it.
On the surface. Didn't mean she didn't groan about it in the middle of the night, trying to asphyxiate herself with her pillow.
"How did you know?" She asked, "About my brother?"
He snorted in his own way: his breath hitched as he looked vaguely entertained. "I met him as he was scourging your name."
She vaguely smiled, "He threw a fit, I had to get him away."
Naksh hummed and the rest of the walk to her room was spent in silence.
She liked him, this attendant of her, he always treated her well and was never shy to give praises or lectures. He had always been by her side.
He was her companion, her comrade… Her friend.
They stopped in front of her door. "Well, Princess Sania, I shall take my lea-."
"Could you arrange a party? I have been tasked with meeting the Parthevian Emperor to discuss opening a special trade road between our two countries."
"Parthevia, uh?" He nodded, "The men?"
"Less than twenty. Choose whoever seems the fittest for this travel." She paused, thinking. "Make us enter through Contastia Harbour, will you?"
"Understood. When should we leave?"
"Within the week, in three days if possible." Hopefully, she would be able to get back on time for Sadhmad's birthday.
"Very well, Princess. Should I fetch a maid for a bath?"
He knew her too well.
Sania smiled and nodded before bidding him goodnight.
And as her door closed, so did her eyes.
In the secret of her room, behind closed doors and curtains, her mask - that awful, useful mask, perfected over the years along with her lies - fell. She breathed. Each day, she wore this mask, smiled good naturally - not a real happy smile, it was for commoners - and each time it became harder to take it down.
To be a good Princess is to be able to always keep it on. She had to keep going. The citizens didn't need a carefree girl, a girl that can't protect them. They didn't need her emotions, sadness, and pain. They needed her to be strong, smart and fair. Smiles careful and calculated.
A pretty face with a silver tongue.
"Princess? You ask?" A maid asked from the threshold of the door.
Sania smiled, inclining her head toward the empty bathtub. "Could you fill the bathtub? I'm not in the mood for the royal bathroom."
"Of course!"
Sania took in a sharp breath. She heard something, heart wrenching and familiar. A cry for help that cut her deep and crawled under her skin. She needed-
-Who?
-Where?
Another.
Sania turned on herself, trying to locate it. It needed her to-
Follow. Find. Protect.
These three words sunk into her flesh, burning deep into her soul and taking over her mind.
Follow. Find. Protect.
The first thing she registered was the pain, a peddle sunk into her foot. And in the next instance, there was almost too much to comprehend. Sounds, smells, feels, sight. They all just reported everything back at her at the same time. Noisy, mixed scent of shit, cheap perfume, and food, cold air hitting her skin.
It took her a bit longer to understand what was happening.
The daily chatter finally got to her, grounding her. The sun was setting, the stores were closing and what the hell just happened? She had been in her room when she heard the voice. And then…
And then she was in a street in the red district - and in front of a whorehouse nonetheless.
She raked her fingers through her hair, pushing them out of her face. Did she… Did she run? Her heart was beating far too strong and she was a bit out of breath.
How strange… It was the first time it happened. She never had felt that sense of urgency before. And the voice… It felt so nostalgic, a sweet and soft tinkle that twisted her heart. Did she know the person? Should she know them?
She shook her head as her toes sunk a bit into the ground.
She eyed the entrance and the customers - men with leering eyes - and-
Someone bumped into her.
“Oh, I’m sor-”
She saw in the way his brows kneaded that he knew her and might recognize her and she simply couldn’t afford that. A princess couldn’t be seen in such a place.
She turned around.
Better get back to the palace or else someone might go after her.
Mellow and clear, the echo of the bell lasted seven seconds.
“I start my worship ringing the bell praying that the divine may enter me and all demonic forces within and without depart.”
Seating crossed legs, Sania let the chiming sound resonated within her. While never being a believer, she couldn’t refute the harmony the bell brought her. It shook her deep, touching some parts she never thought it could. It calmed her mind and stopped her thoughts for just a few seconds.
She exhaled loudly.
If there is someone up there, give me some lucks… Please?
Joining her hands together, she opened her eyes. The ever watching, albeit a bit creepy, owl idol was staring back and written on the lotus as its feet: Sri, good fortune, prosperity, and beauty. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she felt herself starting to sweat.
She had always felt a bit unnerved by them, torn by the part that wanted to believe in gods and goddesses and the other that would feel sick if they did exist.
She knew it was time to go because she heard the slight movement of feet against stones and that laugh but she stalled.
Her heart felt heavy, a small tremor shook her hands and she played with her hair almost unconsciously.
Going to Parthevia and maybe securing a possible trade… That was pretty important. Her father letting her do it just proved how much he trusted her judgment.
She had done it before with merchants and small countries but… It was Parthevia, an empire and a big one, strong enough to challenge Reim.
It stressed her even more.
Someone cleared their throat and Sania deflated a bit.
It was time to go.
Please make everything go smoothly.
Taking a dime from her pouch, she threw it in the fountain, clapped her hands and finally got up.
Naksh was waiting for her, knelt at the bottom of the stairs. “Princess?”
“Let’s go.” She answered with more faith than she felt.
Hopefully, everything would be fine.