Dawn had arrived behind the Mehmet, in all its horrifying glory.

A single perfect arc performed the execution. First Haleema and then Seif, chopped off with the sun's rays setting fire to the desert sand. The red dawn sky screamed with pain and loss, a fitting end to our journey.

The trip back home was short, crisp and fast. Almost as if we were running away from the truth of what had been discovered that night in the desert.

I sat in my tent, watching Ayesha, who'd joined our party from Tunis, shuffle around with my things. It seemed surreal, just the two of us. She hadn't asked much, but the pain in her eyes was enough to crack open my heart. Haleema had been an important part of routine and an integral part of my life, before I had even consciously recognized it. She'd been there when my own mother had not.

Even with her betrayal, her loss rippled throughout my days.

Afet had become another silent spectator, her pain shining through her eyes. Seif had been one of hers. Her confidant. Her brother. They'd fought together, planned Mehmet's campaign together. The wound he'd given her was going to take some time to heal. 

Mehmet however seemed to have woken up from whatever trance he had been in. He came over every night to hammer out the details of our negotiation, outlining the main points and highlighting the ones he felt the Caliph was going to disagree on. I sat with him, trying my best to guide him, trying to be the moral compass, trying to secure the best deal for both parties.

On the tenth day, Mehmet finally broke. "Maybe we should invite Ali to our meetings. We'll be in Cairo in two days. It'll be better to have an ally on our side."

I didn't look at him, my hands focused on crushing the set of herbs Ayesha had brought over. "You should focus on your case."

He rolled over, his fist placed under his chin and gave me a stern look. "You are my case."

"Mehmet we've been over this. You can not be a good leader if you keep getting distracted with personal issues."

"Says the woman who hasn't spoken to her husband for the past ten days," Eleven, but who was counting?

"Mehmet?"

"Hmm?" He looked at me his feet propped up on the richly appointed cushion of darkest blue near the center.

"Mehmet, Zaynab is..."

"Far more smart and capable then you realize. She's the Caliph's daughter Laila, she was born in a pit of snakes," his lip twisted bitterly. "She knows how to survive. People like you and I are the ones who struggle to find our footing. The ones born on the outside."

I laughed lightly. "You underestimate yourself and me."

"I wish. What your mother did. You and I could never have done that. She rebelled against the very land that had given her protection. Who's going to trust any refugee family now? Who's going to trust you and I?" I blinked back tears. "She didn't stop to consider that she had a family, a young daughter, a loving husband and she faked her death? For what? Power?"

Breathing hard, I fought for control of my churning emotions. "Mehmet... "

"No, let me say this Laila. She faked her death, abandoned you, abandoned us, for her personal gain. Would she have won anything? No. Did she have any plan aside from causing skirmishes? No," he still sounded heated, but there was a new hesitation in his voice.

New pain.

He rocked back, running a hand through his hair, his face distraught. "You and I will never understand the lure, the addiction of power. We don't know how to hold on to it. Your husband does, his sister does. They all do."

"That's not what I meant Mehmet. Zaynab is still a girl. A girl who'll be married off to a stranger."

"A stranger she has been prepared for. Not like you. You got married off with out any prior preparation," I opened my mouth to argue.

"Don't Laila," he interrupted. "Your sympathies are with the wrong person. You want to sympathize with anyone in that family? Sympathize with your husband."

I paused, the mallet poised above the crush, only seeing frustrated sympathy in Mehmet's green eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Your mother made her choice. The wrong one, but she made hers. What would yours be?"

"I don't understand..." I mumbled, looking away, letting my veil cover my face.

"Your husband has left you to make your choice. He's waiting for your verdict. To be fair, our negotiations hinge on your verdict," My body clenched at his words and I nodded."Not everyone has what you have with him. Even I can say that much," Mehmet's eyes met mine, an apology in them. "Hate to be the one to say this, but having him on our side is the biggest leverage we can have right now."

"The Caliph would think I've corrupted him."

"He would never go against his son."

"You'll use me? Just like the rest?"

"Aren't you using me? You know I would never go against you." His words didn't vanquish my anger, but I felt a little flare of hope at the promise, even if it was slightly ridiculous now.

"We'll arrive in Cairo soon. Be ready for anything."

The Palace seemed to be the same place I had left a month ago and yet it wasn't. So much had changed. My heart sank at the sight of my chambers, untouched and empty. Just like me.

Sighing, I watched as Ayesha placed the final touches on my outfit for the meeting. My wavy hair fell to my shoulders, underneath my Turkish styled veil, my body unadorned, save for the jeweled dagger at my hip. My mother's crest fixed at the hilt. A recent gift from Mehmet.

A warrior's look.

Taking a deep breath, we made our way towards the great hall, Hamza walking behind me, his posture fierce and protective. As we turned a corner, I paused, watching the scene in front of me.

Mehmet and Afet stood together, their heads lowered, voices low.  My gaze flicked over the sweeping curves of the girl before me—always lovely—and now even more resplendent, in a dress of amethyst silk, gathered at both shoulders by copper cuffs forming shimmering folds. Those silken folds fell to Afet's feet in streams of lilac and mauve. The deep cut of the garment only accentuated her beautiful shape, as did the high waist and the copper sash, embellished with brilliant gemstones of vivid purple and blush pink, encircled in rose gold.

A true Turkish beauty. Shame that she'd chosen to give her heart to someone who was now getting married to someone else. I stepped closer, watching her shift away from him, her eyes lowered.

"Are you ready?"

"How is it always us against the world?" Mehmet smirked leaning against the wall, his eyes wary.

I sighed. "We have a talent of getting into trouble."

"Of that I have no doubt. Ready?" He said, gesturing towards his generals.

"Never," I answered, standing beside him.

Once we made our way inside, we found the Caliph, Baba, Ail and the court waiting for us, seated at a long, low table. The Caliph was positioned at the table's center, Ali by his side.

Lamps hung from sandstone columns at either end, and behind the table stood an intricately carved screen dividing the room in two. A place for me to listen. Hidden and not to be seen.

The Caliph's sharp eyes raked up and down me, gauging their adversary, weighing their options. I set my jaw, drawing on a sudden reserve of impudence.

A heart-stopping minute passed.

"Sit," The Caliph gestured to the silken cushions across from him.

Barely managing to conceal his irritation, Mehmet sank down, his generals at either side of him.

Afet and I moved towards the screen, waiting for the game to unfold.

"And finally, we'll be taking our refugees with us. They belong to their rightful lands, lands that you will grant back to us."

Ali nodded sagely, his eyes fixed on the courtiers around him.

The silence hung in the space like a specter. The Caliph's fists were balled tight, his body coiled as though he were ready to lunge at any moment.

The man at Ali's left spoke up, clutching an armful of scrolls. "He's right sayyidi. The boy makes good points."

Ali sat watching his father, his expression cool and composed, not giving an inch.

I watched with bitter satisfaction while the Caliph was undone, by Mehmet's case and then by his son. First one, then the other.

"All in favour?" A chorus of ayes rang through the hall and I looked at the heavens, gratitude flowing through me, smiling as everything fell back in place.

Though it did little to fill the hollow left in my chest after all the death and destruction I'd witnessed, I did feel a shadowed sort of satisfaction to see the Caliph fall at the hands of the very he'd tried to crush and subdue. Especially at the hands of those he'd been so willing to cast aside or use as pawns.

It was time for the Caliph to learn that Ali and I were much more than objects to be used and discarded at his whim.

"I leave today."

I turned to watch him enter our chambers, my heart threatening to burst from my throat.

"I just wanted to let you know that I know I can't change what has happened in the past. I can't change my actions no matter how I much I wish to do so. But you can change the future. You have proven today that you can do what your mother could not," a lump clogged up my throat forcing any ability to form legible sentence.

I opened my mouth to try and the words came out dry and raspy. "Don't. Please don't. I was told to be silently seated behind a screen."

"And yet you, the silent player, made the biggest impact. Except for a few clauses, you won," he stepped closer, his hazel eyes burning with wild emotion. "You won this Laila. Every time Baba agreed with Mehmet, it was a win for you."

How did he know me so well? He didn't just beat with my heart, he coursed in my veins, flowed with my blood. "Yes, but who knows that?"

"I do. You do. Mehmet does," his eyes, now a warm gold, met mine. Oh how I had missed him. I didn't reply, my lip quivering. "You managed to outwit my father and after what he did you to that day? I am glad he got a taste of his own medicine."

"How could you say that? You're his son!"

"I can say that because I'm his son," he said, his eyes on my unbound hair. When I didn't answer, he cleared his throat to dispel the silence.

"I came to say goodbye. I don't know how long this war would take. You never know. So I wanted to say a few things, with your permission," I fought for a response, not missing the fear blooming in my heart. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry and that you're free."

"I'm what?" The ground seemed to sway underneath my feet.

"You're free to do what you want with your life."

"How..."

"I've arranged some property in your name. I've also asked your father to give several of his lands and holding to you," I stared at him, frozen in shock.

Freedom. At last. That's what I had always wanted.

To be my own master.

To make my own decisions.

Yet now, all of that seemed hollow.

"You wanted freedom Laila. Atleast one of us should get to achieve our dreams," A single knock struck the door of the chamber. He took a slow step back before striding to the doors.

No. Please. Stop!

I had not known my heart could experience this level of anxiety and panic after being kidnapped and almost killed. This was not the kind of good-bye I wanted.

This was not what I had wanted at all.

"What was your dream?" I blurted out.

Stay for just one more minute.

Just one more second.

He made his way toward the entrance and disappointment began eking a hole in my spirits. He reached for the handle and paused without turning to look at me. "You."

I strode forward, my feet carrying me to him, on their own accord. My hands came up and grabbed the front of his qamis to pull him down for a kiss.

He froze for a moment, then reached a hand behind my waist to pull me closer. He kissed me, kept kissing me, and I knew this was more than a kiss. It went beyond that, beyond how he felt and how he made me feel. His words had touched the deepest part of me, and it was thrilling. I felt alive, like I was finally waking up.

And I never wanted it to stop.

Not when he was looking at me as if he were soaking in every inch of me, locking me in his memory as he left for war.

As if he'd never see me again.

Tomorrow, I could worry about such a thing as loyalty.

Tomorrow, I could worry about the price of such a weakness.

Right now, all that mattered was this, him and us.

Watching from the distance, a sea of Arabian stallions surrounded by a glittering cloud of sand marched toward Konya. The people of the desert. Led by a man born and bred in the light of its scorching sun. Fearless and proud. A true man. Named after a true warrior of Allah. The sand around their stallions' hooves rose into a dusky haze and tears skimmed down my cheeks.

"Ila likaa," I whispered, placing my fingers to my lips, watching Ali leave with my heart in his hands.

The midsummer's sun beat down on us as the attendant pushed the curtains of the litter aside. After several minutes of traversing in silence, deeper into Cairo itself, through the crowded streets that led toward the hills and past neighborhoods of new migrants, we came to a building with a series of arched double doors.

"Is this what you want to show me?" Zaynab shook her head and kept walking. "Where are we going?"

Zaynab grabbed my hand and led me down a series of polished sandstone steps into a cavernous room of pale pink granite veined with deep threads of burgundy. A single long table stretched through its center, lit by lengthy tapers perfumed in rose water and myrrh. The tablecloth looked to be spun from the finest spider-silk, gleaming lustrous in the warm light cast from the tapers' glow.

"What is this?" I asked, spinning around, my eyes open wide in awe. Zaynab grinned and took me to the other room.

"Thank God for that smile. If I'd known this place would have brought you so much joy, I would have brought you here much sooner and I wouldn't have had to see you wallow for my brother."

I ignored her comment and took in the room.

About half the size of the enormous great hall, the infirmary was a spartan room of plain whitewashed walls, a blue stone floor, and a lofty domed ceiling made entirely of tempered glass that let in sunlight. One wall was given over to apothecary ingredients, hundreds of glass and copper shelves of varying sizes. Another section of the room was a workplace: a scattering of low tables crowded with tools and failed pharmaceutical attempts, and a heavy sandblasted glass desk.

"Ali had ordered this to be converted into a fully functioning hospital."

"What? When?"

"Two months ago," Right after the attack. The day I'd been kidnapped. My heart squeezed as if it were captured in a fist.

"And you knew about this?"

"He asked me to oversee the whole project. Said you had a talent for this," she sniffed dismissively. "I've never read such a long letter from him. At first I thought he'd accidentally sent your letter to me. Ah, love. It makes even the best of us go insane."

My hand fluttered over the walls, not wanting to believe. Not daring to believe."All of this... is mine?"

"Well he did give it to you and you own this and so yes, it's yours," she said, flicking a fly off her hand. "Thank God I'll be leaving soon. I can't imagine having to visit you over here."

I rolled my eyes. "You loved fixing it."

"Consider it my part in this noble cause. Now that you're all settled in, I shall be leaving. I'm sure you want to be left alone with your drills and needy people."

"Wait, how did the Calpih agree?" I asked, trying to ignore how Ali's act tugged at my heart.

"Please, Baba had no option. He wasn't going to lose his best general and the future Emir of Cairo because he decided to gift a piece of land to his wife. Although, to be fair, I have never seen him so rattled," She looked back at me, every bit as mishevious as ever—her mahogany hair a profusion of waves down her back, and her emerald skirt's gentle sway hinting at the sort of grace no amount of practice could ever perfect—  her eyes filled up with sadness. "Don't feel sorry for him. He'll recover, after all, he owns half of the world. Besides, you have something far more precious tied to you."

"What?"

"His son."

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Final chapter will be out soon! Maybe sooner if you'd be nice. As always, thoughts, comments? How'd you like the gift? Laila's progression? Ali's part? Mehmet? The Caliph? Let me know!