SHE IS GOING TO VISIT the dungeons again. Even as the foreshadowing of evening warns her against it, Shahrazad hurriedly smoothens her silks. She had fallen asleep today, tiredness and hollow eyes spurring her face. But the threat of the sliver of moon is not going to stop her. She'll meet Afshar, she'll ask him everything, about the rebellion, about her baba, and most importantly, whether they really mean to kill Shahryar.

She has to.

"Do you ever listen to anyone, Malika?" Laleh sighs, crossing her arms. "You're literally inviting your death. It's almost nighttime."

Shahrazad rests her fingers on the intricate surface of the railing, gripping the ivory edges. The sea of endless sand spins, greying under the cloak of darkness. "I know."

She turns towards the handmaiden, face sombre. "Are you telling me whatever you know about the uprising?"

Hesitation; it flickers across her cocoa dusted eyes. "Of course."

The storyteller's heart sinks. Everyone seems to lie, right through their pearly teeth. She doesn't understand why they aren't willing to tell her the unpolished truth. "Why won't you tell me?"

"Some things are better left in the dark, Shahrazad," she says softly, "Trust me, I know."

It's as she begins to speak that the hinges scrape, the doors are wrenched apart, and she holds her breath all at once.

"News." Anwar. She releases her breath. "The rebels are on their way." And it stops.

His brow is lined with sweat, perspiration sheeted on his forehead. "I came back from the vizier's camp site in the desert. He's sending a small troop to break in."

While Laleh's smile lights up, Shahrazad's stomach churns with an unfamiliar reluctance. All along, she has wanted this, yet it feels like something is so horribly wrong. "Are you sure that they can take on the King?"

Anwar shuts the doors, momentarily pressing his ears against it in preparation of any intruder. "No, this one is to break our prisoner out of the dungeons."

She can simply whisper. "You know him?"

"Not really, but the vizier thinks highly of him," the rider shrugs. "And he's the leader, so we do as he says, and tonight, we attack."

Shahrazad grabs fistfuls of her skirts, nerves shaking. "We aren't ready."

Laleh tucks her hair behind her ears, eyes lighting. "Even if we aren't, we've waited enough for this night, Malika."

Fools, fools, fools.

This is not the night, and it is going to get them all killed. She can feel it. Shahryar's expertise with the sword is something she does not doubt, after all, she had seen it during her first night in the palace. He can, and will slit their throats if provoked. The cover of darkness cannot conceal an entire band of rebels, and she knows it. "You said it's about freeing the prisoner tonight. But that will only put him on alert, and he'll appoint more guards in case of a future outbreak."

He appears to reconsider this. "I am sure your baba has something in mind."

A lumps clogs in her throat, time ticking faster than ever, pale blue skies morphing into a new kind of darkness. This is too soon, too early. "We'll be killed if anything goes wrong."

"That is a risk in any war," the handmaiden pipes, stirring a ceramic pot intently, its boiling water peculiar in shade.

Shahrazad quips her brow, glancing into the contents. "What is that, Laleh?"

"Tea," she utters calmly, a smile snaking her lips, "For the Khalifa. He won't wake up after this surely."

"You poisoned it," she notes, heart thudding. "Why?"

Anwar grabs the maiden's hand, causing the stirrer to clatter against the floor. "You promised that he's not to die. Remove him from his position, yes. Exile him, why not, but there is to be no killing."

Perhaps this man chasing the crown is more reliable than the woman hunting vengeance. Shahrazad understands the difference now. No matter the circumstances, Anwar does not want to slay the King, although his reasons might be selfishly centred. But Laleh, she is a victim of injustice, and it is blood she is after.

The storyteller's head reels.

And then, there is Afshar, her childhood friend, her first love, a reminder of her past wherein she had sworn allegiance in all he does. Feelings were truly ruination, and she had foolishly promised him the one thing she is not willing to fulfil: the King's head.

She is ruin.

She is ruining them all.

"I need to see the prisoner," she demands hurriedly, worrying her lip. "I have to."

Dubiousness crosses their features, Anwar's eyes narrowing into thin slits. "Now of all times? Right as they prepare to free him, and can be here any moment. If Shahryar sees you--"

"How do you expect to take him by surprise?" She asks instead, inhaling sharply. "He's always awake isn't he? I've never heard that he sleeps, so night or day, the rebels can't destroy anything."

Laleh furrows her brows. "What are you trying to say?"

"That we need to know more about him, else this rebellion is futile," Shahrazad explains, exasperated. "And the only one who knows it is baba. I'm positive that Afshar will be aware of it too."

"And how would you know?"

She stares directly at Laleh this time, mouth compressed in a tightly sewn line. "Trust me, some things are better left in the dark."

And, before their amused, disapproving glares, she ushers herself past the doors, past the guards, past the walls, past everything she knows is at the cusp of crumbling.

Of being destroyed.

Including her.

She runs, running, running, running until her sore feet reach the dim lit dungeons. Hand braced against the cement bricks, she breathes harshly. Every expel of oxygen burns, and she is shrouded by veils of pitch black. When her eyes finally adjust to the lack of light in the cavern, she catches the slow, flickering flames near his cell.

And, literally, her heart stops.

"Tell me, why are you here?" She recognises that voice anywhere, cold as the edge of steel, that smooth slice from the sharpened end of a sword. "Must I repeat myself every hour? Why. Are. You. Here."

These last words are gritted through clenched teeth, anger resonating in every pause. She crouches behind the bricks, shutting her eyes at the agonising heaves from the cell. Sobs stifle at the back of her throat, bile crawling intently.

Afshar's quiet chuckles echo, and it is nothing like the soft sounds that had caught her breath in the past. "You're meddling with all the wrong people, Khalifa, or should I even call you that what with your mother being a whore and all?"

Her own fists clench at the humiliation he has hurled. It is unfair, and so, so low, and she wonders why her world is spinning out of control with every passing second.

There is the sharp crack of a whip, and his cries almost compel her to hurl this instant. "I would love to continue this conversation, and watch you bleed, but there is something I have to attend to."

"You mean your pretty bride?"

Shahrazad tenses. No, no, no.

Shahryar hisses, baritone laid cold. "Next time you speak of her, try not to sound like so lecherous, because god forbid, I will end you."

She presses her fingers against her chest, feeling that heightened beating. It's fear. She is sure. It has to be. Before he can discover her eavesdropping, she flees towards the staircase, rushing as fast as she can.

When she hurries back to her chambers, both Anwar and Laleh are facing outside the shutters, looking into the vast stretch of sand, and she sees why. In the distance, almost entirely hidden by the shadows are a small group of riders galloping towards the palace. Imperceptibly, sand and dust softly billows around their figures.

Laleh turns first, smiling wryly. "They are here, Malika. Right on time. As you distract him with your tales, they'll break in. Anwar will stray the guards at the front, and I will show them to the dungeons."

"No, you don't get it," she says, clutching the handmaiden's shoulders "He is in the dungeons with the prisoner."

The moon is a dangerous bait, running slyly along the length of them as she gasps. "What?"

Anwar gives a grim nod, strapping his armour tighter around his frame. "Neither of you move. I'm heading to the stables where I will signal them with a torch. Till then, if my brother comes here, Laleh you will exit, and then join me. Shahrazad, you have to engross him. Keep his attention. Can you do that?"

Shahrazad breathes in. Breathes out. "Yes."

All of her bones rattle in terror, lungs screaming in fear, nerves disarraying in anticipation. It is what she had wanted, isn't it?

As he leaves, masking himself in a pretense of composure, he whispers, "I won't let him die, Malika, I promise."

Calming her frightened being, she unsurely stares at his retreating form, thoroughly confused at the rapidly unfolding events of the night. It is unlike the war she had imagined, far beyond it. And it is led by her father. She should be supportive, but her guts twist, and she wonders, perhaps for the first time whether she is doing the right thing.

Think about those women he has slain.

The families he has shattered.

About Afshar.

The blood on his hands should repel her, yet as she straps her dagger around her forearm, under the material of her sleeves, her thoughts lie elsewhere.

Colder winds replace their warmer undercurrents, and after what seems like hours, her beast slides past the doors, all cold smirks and cruel teeth. "Why, I have been waiting to see you the entire day."

Laleh bows, side-eyeing the storyteller. Dismissed, she carefully exits the room, attempting her best at secrecy.

"Should I be flattered or horrified, Khalifa?"

He laughs, loud and clear, animalistic and amused. "Take your pick."

"Horrified it is, then."

His eyes wander behind her, stretching to the glimpse of the night outside, and distraught that he might discover someone, she mutters, "The second tale of the veiled Princess?"

When he makes no movement to stutter his gaze, she quickly turns his face towards her, palm still pressed against his jaw. She feels the tensed muscle underneath his skin, rippling into her fingertips, icy to the touch. There's a tightening in her chest. "What are you doing?"

"I-," she goads. It's to aid the rebels, it's to aid the rebels, it's to aid the rebels.

"Hm?" Shahryar urges. "You look fierce today, love. Any particular reason?"

She can merely hold her breath for the longest moment, the dagger digging into her arm.

"Fierce," he repeats, softly, the syllables creamily weaving into silken threads. "It looks good on you."

Her reply comes out throaty. "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't," he affirms, hand grazing her lower back.

Everything is silent. The stars, the moon, the night, their breathing resonating quietly.

Then it shatters. All of it.

Arrows shoot into the area, around five of them in immediate succession, followed by the doors slamming open, and a bleeding Anwar staggering inside, his tone impatient and heavy, "We're under siege!"

It's too fast. Nothing is making sense.

Standing to his feet, the King is composed as ever, voice cold, flat. "Do you have weapons with you?"

"Yes, akhi," he answers, applying pressure on the blood stained side of his abdomen.

"Hand me one, and lead the Malika to safety, now."

Shahrazad pulls herself away from his ushering grip, refusing to leave. "I'll stay here, I can fight too, and you know it."

She is not a coward. She can, and will fight.

He looks at her, really looks at her, and she swears she sees something in the bottomless depths of his eyes. "I don't doubt that, love, but they'll use you against me, and I really don't want that happening."

"What do you mean?"

His smile is frigid under the light, even as an arrow barely skims beside him. "Akh, do as I'm saying, and take her to the safe house."

Throwing him a particularly malicious looking sword, Anwar grips her wrist. Shahryar meanwhile pulls down the shutters, motioning to them, mouthing the word, "Leave."

And between the will to stay, the clamour of guards hurrying around their King, and the questions plaguing her mind, Shahrazad finds herself being pulled away from the scene, yet pulled into something deeper than a mere rebellion. "Anwar, what is happening? Aren't these rebels on our side? Weren't they supposed to free the prisoner?"

"Well, they're doing that and more," he answers, biting back curses as he pulls her into a winding corridor, into what seems to be the servants quarters. "These rebels your father has in his cause? They are all traitors, nobody is here for the good of the kingdom. It's a personal vendetta, and I'm not willing to be part of it anymore."

In the dingy room, there is a small huddle of all the workers in the palace, along with Laleh. She embraces the Queen, features flitting with worry at the sight of blood on him. "They did that to you? God, they're all turning against us."

"We have been on the wrong side all along," Anwar spits, face contorting to anger. "Shahryar might be a monster, but these are no different. They've killed everyone in their way, and it wasn't part of the deal."

He pulls his quiver of arrows, stringing his bow. "I have to go now. Stay safe, please."

"Where are you going?" Laleh asks, stuttering.

"To fight beside my brother."

a/n: welcome to early update no. 1, guys, which is to be followed by other random ones, any time of the week ;)
no story time in this one, but action because like, rebellion + it's important for the plot. also, we're almost halfway through this storyyy. tbh i never thought anyone would read it :') but the response is so overwhelming. literally your comments make my day, and i love replying to them

until next time, asha out x