"I grow tired," he said. trying to breathe, "of being in my right mind. I much prefer this kind of madness."
"My name," she said, "is Alizeh. I am Alizeh of Saam, the daughter of Siavosh and Kiana. Though you may know me better as the lost queen of Arya"
He stiffened at that, went silent.
Finally he moved, one hand capturing her face, his thumb grazing her cheek in a fleeting moment, there and gone again. His voice was a whisper when he said, "Do you wish to know my name, too, Your Majesty?"
"Kamran," she said softly. "I already know who you are."
"I haven't the slightest idea what we're doing," he said softly. "Though if you mean to take me captive, you need only ask. I would come willingly."
Alizeh almost laughed, grateful for the reprieve. She focused her fractured consciousness on the prince, allowing his voice, his weight, to orient her. He seemed to her so wonderfully concrete, so certain not only of himself, but of the world he occupied. Alizeh, by contrast, often felt like a ship lost at sea, tossed about in every storm, narrowly avoiding disaster at every turn. She was struck, then, by a strange thought: that she might never be shipwrecked if she had such an anchor to steady her.
"My knees are old," she said simply. "Things begin to fall apart when they get old enough. Not much to be done about it. In any case, you need not worry about me when I'm so busy worrying about you." A pause. "Are you merely preoccupied with your regular comings and goings? Or is there something troubling you, my dear?"
Kamran did not answer at first, choosing instead to study the filigree of his teacup. "Are you quite certain," he said finally, "that it is age alone that accounts for our steady decline? If so, I am forced to wonder. Perhaps you and I are the same age, aunt, for I fear I may be falling apart, too."
Long ago she'd ceased living with the hope of being rescued. Even when she was hunted and besieged by the worst of men and women, she no longer cried out for help-not when her many calls had gone unanswered. Alizeh had learned, instead, to rely on herself.
"I see now that your mind is already decided against me. That you refuse even to tell me what crime I have committed is evidence enough. If you wish me imprisoned, so be it. If you desire my head, you may have it. Worry not that I will struggle, Your Majesty. I would not defy the orders of my king."
The prince finally sheathed his sword and bowed.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty." He bowed. "It grows later by the minute, and I must now be gone. Already I have said too much."
He turned to leave.
"Wait," she said softly, grabbing his arm. "Will you not at least tell me your name?"
He stared at her bandaged hand on his arm for a beat too long, and when he looked up, he said, "I am Hazan, Your Majesty. You may depend on me with your life."
✨
Here, Kamran had the advantage.
They needed to keep him alive but to Kamran, his life was worth little, and he was more than willing to lose it in any struggle for his freedom.
Alizeh understood well what it was like to feel scared-so scared you feared even to hope, feared the pitfall of Disappointment.
Pain made people prickly sometimes. It was par for the course; a symptom of the condition.
"What a strange girl you are," she said quietly. "To behold a rose and perceive only its thorns, never the bloom."
Darkness looms in Tobias' eyes, glaring at me from across the room while his mom tends to the pen lodged in his arm.
I feel it, the demonic presence of his dark side filling all my senses, like unpredictable waves surrounding him that are only looking to cause carnage. The evil wants to be known, to be feared, and since all I can think of is how we are all about to die, he's succeeding.
Each step he takes while he angrily paces makes me shiver-the way he twitches his neck to the side, blinks at a rapid speed, and ultimately looks emotionless, like a receptacle full of death and hatred.
With each passing even they became more woven, unintelligible.
It's quite sad actually, that the man opening the door behind me and saying silent while I sob into the coldness has no chance of a proper life. Yet, when he's with me, he's good at keeping himself balanced. When I'm not there, he's somehow capable of murder.
My gaze falls on Aria again, and I wrap a strand of brown around my finger, tsking at the change of color to try and defy me.
She could have any color of hair, and she'd still be mine.
She sleeps so beautifully.
Even if she's covered in another man's blood.
"I wish you'd stop expecting me to use my power to kill people."
He shrugs "I never said you had to, but it will happen along the way: it's an inevitability in war. Killing is statistically impossible to avoid."
"You're joking, right?"
"Absolutely not."
"You can always avoid killing people, Warner. You avoid killing them by not going to war.”
But he grins, so brilliantly, not even paying attention. “I love it when you say my name,” he says. “I don’t even know why.”
“Warner isn’t your name,” I point out. “Your name is Aaron.”
His smile is wide, so wide. “God, I love that.”
“Your name?”
“Only when you say it."
I'm a traitor to myself.
Emptiness is a strange feeling.
It makes me want to feel something. Maybe pain. Maybe guilt. Maybe the way someone's heart stops beating long after I've strangled them.
Well, the last one didn't work. My cellmate stopped breathing an hour ago, and I don't feel any different.
Where is the remorse, the worry of taking one's life?
His once aggressive blue eyes are now filled with something...broken.
Every time I feel like I'm back to normal, pressure builds in my head, and the blip in my brain restarts.
Fear... something I don't often feel. Being confident and powerful in my head has always gotten me through the day. I'm terrified of how I'm feeling.
Is this what it's like to be afraid of your own thoughts?
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