a/n: rumae is in purple, lafticia is in red

H O R E E Y A

arabian ; freedom

～～～

She receives a letter from Sinbad the day before the coup-d'etat is set to happen, for a moment, when she sees the familiarity of his handwriting and the words on the parchment regarding his arrival she can see him—

Violet hair, golden eyes, and a heart who knew no bounds and nothing other than want.

The situation in Balbadd is resolved easily. But to permanently guarantee the peace and freedom of its people, a power higher than Zariah and the Whisperer's Guild is needed. Which is where her husband comes in.

However, looking at the letter in front of her, it is clear he had already anticipated something like this to happen — no doubt through the intelligence channels she opened for him. Sentiments and declarations of love littered the scroll. Only clear instructions interested Zairiah, though, hidden between the lines of useless letters.

You are needed for something I cannot do.

It is clear and true. And the useless words he includes are so exactly like Sinbad — pretty lies and glamourous pretences, like how they never truly acknowledge their true feelings, whether or not observed like prizes by wolves.

I don't love you.

I don't love you.

I don't love you.

～～～

All she tells the children is to prepare a ship for Sindria. When they ask, she gives them the mysterious smile she is so good at. But even without it, they will follow her. To them, kind, marvellous, wise Zariah, who helped them take back Balbadd can do no wrong.

Zariah thinks of how ironic it is. The lies, the summertime sadness, the wintertime madness. Oh the lies.

Her wedding, her people, herself.

Her wedding, her husband, his wife.

Her mother had always told her that the day she got married would belong entirely to herself. Her and the love of her life.

Zariah had locked the bitter laughs in her throat and the punctured wishes in her heart. Even after all the laughter faded and the gazes dimmed, those misplaced, girlhood daydreams remained, the only souvenir of better days: the waterlilies, the droopy willow branches, the emerald pond. The smell of scrolls with the feel of worn leather and her Morrigan, her beautiful, beautiful Morrigan with her blonde hair and tanned skin and rough hands.

The waves sing, the seagulls squeal and Zariah shudders as the rukh flutters.

But that rukh is familiar; the gold is comforting and its masked innocence an elixir of light compared to the black tinted sanguine of the Kou Empire.

Her heart settles, and unwittingly, she smoothes a finger over her wedding ring and lets out a breath.

She is home.

Or is she?

～～～

The horizon is dusty when they arrive back in Sindria.

Zariah gets children settled before she wanders. It's an inn her people owned, a small, homely place a part of an artist's square near enough to be in the walking distance of the Palace but far enough to be away from the chaos caused by the festivals of Sindria.

Robes fluttering, she walks down the beach of Sindria's coast, barefoot. Toes digging into the sand, she stops by the rocks at the dock of the fishermen's boats. A chill runs through her as she breathes in the salty-air and listens to the distant laughter of children running home.

The gentle percussion of the waves lures her away from watching the sunset. The turbulence beneath the waves has calmed. There were no roaring waves, only the long silks of white rolling into the soft gold of the sand that brought Zariah face to face with the sun. The gold streaks in the indigo sky had shrivelled up into a kaleidoscope of stitchings in the blue of the ocean.

Zariah wraps her shawl— silken and warm around her delicate shoulders tighter. Her wedding band glints in the last beams of light, and she suddenly remembers the rough material of a sand-coloured robe, the cold and a man.

As if at her thought, another gold flutters through the air.

He's looking for her, Zariah realized, fingers decorated with intricate, fading tattoos reach for the butterflies—

That hand wavers. Sucking in a breath, a rare rush of indecisiveness coming over her.

Zariah closes her eyes.

And curls her fingers into a fist.

～～～

Trumpets sing as she walks down the path of the Palace, flanked by Lafticia and Rumae, followed by Hisui leading the children.

"Announcing Her Majesty, Queen Zariah of Sindria!"

A swirl of amusement strokes her heart as she listens to the confused chattering behind her before Ja'far is in front of her, bowing.

"It brings me no greater joy than to see you return home safely, My Queen," Ja'far said, smiling gently.

Zariah dips her head. "And I thank you for governing our nation in my absence."

He rises. "It is my pleasure." A flash of mischievousness that could've been a hint of the boy he'd once been crossed his features. "Sin is waiting for you in his study."

Zariah laughs, pure and unadulterated.

～～～

"Sinbad!"

He turns the second she calls his name, and Zariah almost wonders why she ever hated such an exquisite man.

"Riah!"

Laughing, she runs to him, her slippers gliding over the cobblestone. For almost a moment, Zariah wishes she'd trip, wonders what would happen if she does.

But she doesn't—

And Sinbad catches her anyway.

He envelopes her like the waves he loves so, spinning her around from the momentum, he settles her onto the floor, his arm a reassuring weight around her waist. A callused hand tucks under the gentle cage of her bird-like jaw and tilts her face up and kisses her, and the world fell away. Drunk on desire, reeling from a taste she doesn't know, she reaches up and tangles her hand in the thick fringes of his hair as he pulls her close. The hand makes a warm current from her jaw to her cheek and a sense of home comes to her. She knows those hands: the calluses that promise safety and the fire that vows warmth.

The kiss ends, and Sinbad covers her shoulders with a hand, arm still around her waist. He tucks Zariah into his chest and strokes her shoulder gently, his cheek pressed into the side of her tresses, hot breath by her ear.

"I've missed you," he murmurs.

Zariah's hand trembles again. For a second, she leans closer. Closer into that sense of home and security. But then she begins pulling away, and like always, Sinbad doesn't pull her back.

He takes her hand, though. And their wedding bands flash in the sunlight. A different kind of gold than the rukh she sees, a different kind of gold of the ring in the sunset. A different type of lie.

Only now, does she hear the whispers of Alibaba and Aladdin, said boys running up to her.

"Zariah-nee-san," Aladdin said with wide eyes, "are you married—"

"Zariah-san, is he the—"

Morgiana and Lafticia slap them, respectively on the head once. Effectively shutting them up.

Zariah smiles.

"Meet my husband, Alibaba, Aladdin, Morigana. King Sinbad of Sindria."

～～～

What do you seek to be free of?

～～～

oohhh look

another update!

and yes morrigan js based off a court of series

now, off to write for summer winds

sophie xx