Hope' is the thing with feathers-
That perches in the soul-
And sings the tune without the words-
And never stops at all-
-Emily Dickinson
"Are you scared?"
The words moved over the top of her head.
No, she wasn't scared. She was angry.
"Do you accost girls like this often?" she asked nonchalantly.
He chuckled. "Only the ones that poorly stalk me after mildly threatening me the night before."
Salem rolled her eyes and squirmed, trying to get out of his hold. "Can you let me go?"
His arm stayed solid. "Can I? Yes. Will I? Depends. Why were you following me?"
His words, in that voice that she was realizing had some kind of influence on her, gave her pause. Why did she follow him? It was absurd and she didn't do absurd things.
"I got curious."
Damn curiosity.
Anything that diverted their attention from their own hollow lives and offered distraction was welcomed.
It was certainly a body. She just had to verify if it was animal or human.
Her heart began to pound with each step, the lump taking the shape of a human body, and something giddy filled her veins. She knew it was not the natural reaction to witnessing something like this. She had been told that more than enough times through the two decades she'd been on this earth. It still tore at her sometimes, what she felt and what she was supposed to feel, the dichotomy sending her own moral compass spinning. But the closer she got to the corpse, the more the compass stilled, and for the moment, alone in the night and away from social expectations of who she should be and should have been, she let herself feel exactly what she felt.
Excitement.
I felt a strange delight in causing my decay.
Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.
In all chaos there's a cosmos, in all disorder a secret order.
"If you do not, however, follow my exact instructions at all times, I cannot ensure your safety. Heed your own whims and I will not be responsible for what happens to you, and I will not care."
Slowly. Alizeh looked up to face the stranger. "Did you really feel it necessary to add that last part?"
"Which part?"
"And I will not care," she said, echoing his emotionless tone. "Do you enjoy being needlessly petty?"
"Yes," he said. "I do."
"The Tulanian king will be attending the ball tonight, as you no doubt have heard."
"Yes," he bit out.
King Zaal nodded. "Their young king, Cyrus, is not to be trifled with. He murdered his own father, as you well know, for his seat at the throne, and his attendance at the ball tonight, while not an outright portent of wat, is no doubt an unfriendliness we should approach with caution. "
(HE IS FINALLY INTRODUCED!! 🖤✨)
"I realize we are strangers," Deen said, gently clearing his throat, and as a result you might think me odd for saying so-but I've felt, from the
beginning, a quiet kinship with you, miss." "Kinship?" she said, stunned. "With me?"
"Indeed." He laughed, briefly, but his eyes were dark with some abstruse emotion. "I, too, feel forced to hide who I am from the world. It a difficult thing, is it not? To worry always how you will be perceived for who you are; to wonder always whether you will be accepted if you are truly yourself?"
Alizeh felt a sudden heat behind her eyes, an unexpected prick of emotion. "Yes," she said softly.
I don't know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth.
No, they would certainly not see each other again.
Alizeh felt a pang at that conclusiveness, a sharp pain she could not decipher, it was either longing or grief, or perhaps the two feelings were Identical, split ends of the same sword.
"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.
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