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Speaking in Tongues: Part Two | Yang Jeongin

◤“This was how you would face the world. You would wear his horrors like the nobility did their jewelry. Proud. Unbroken. And you would see to his downfall, even if your initial plan had failed.”

After a siege goes wrong, the general hastens to remedy the disaster and find the lost victims while the rogue dancer left behind continues to fight the ghosts of her past.

◤Disclaimers: From the world of Danse macabre (no need to read beforehand). Fantasy inspired by Arabian mythology. Lots of angst, no fluff really. Includes descriptions of violence and injury, as well as murder and death. Please proceed with caution. Depictions of a human trade. Alludes to mature themes (not explicit) and recalls occurrences of sexual assault (not romanticized, obviously). This does not refer to a historical event of my knowledge, nor does it reference real life nations or people. Female reader insert. View the glossary here. Playlist.

◤Word count: 13.6K

◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. masterlist.

Part One | Part Two: Sword and Storm | Part Three

“Mawlati!” Jeongin crashed through the door of the elegant office, terror making disarray of his appearance.

The queen stood from her ornate velvet chair, both startled and confused. She didn’t recall seeing the general perturbed like that before. “What’s wrong?”

“We need...to send a message to the governors,” he spoke through strained breaths as though he’d run across the palace to find her.

“Of course.” she motioned for her messenger, though the frown of confusion never left her graceful features. She knew that the general had an important mission that night. “What happened at the Junayna?”

He looked at her as though it shamed him to admit his next words. “They abandoned it. I’ve dispatched several squads to find them. We need to alert the other cities and the harbor before they make it too far.”

She slid a piece of parchment toward him and Jeongin began writing his note instantly. There was no time he could waste on formalities. Important fugitives have escaped the crown city. Hold anyone who tries to leave or enter. They must not get out of Darilmalek.

After signing the note and blowing on it twice for the ink to dry, the general rolled the parchment and handed it to the messenger.

The man’s tall figure drowned in heavy green robes. He seemed to look at the world as if he saw more than the rest of them did, eyes always wandering. The messenger received the note and pounded the staff he held against the floor, muttering a short incantation.

In a blink, a creature of fire and blood materialized next to him. Its ebony horns and wicked claws made an unwelcome sense of Deja Vu wash over the general. A Jinni stood in the room.

The queen had introduced magic to the court like no one had done before. Sahara had become an integral part of the royal clinic, the Architects’ Association, and the budding team of inventors and engineers. The messengers could’ve been her most valuable addition yet. Men and women who used their knowledge of Jinn to deliver messages across the kingdom at incomparable speeds. The note Jeongin had scribbled would reach the harbors and every established city in a matter of moments.

The messenger held out the note for the Jinni to take then commanded, “Ith’hab.”

And the creature did, disappearing between one heartbeat and the other.

Jeongin didn’t dare to exhale. There was still so much work to do.

“They took everyone?” the queen asked, and he shook his head. “All of them but one.”

“One? Why?”

Jeongin gritted his teeth, something ached deep in his heart. “I don’t know. She’s receiving the care she needs right now.”

•ꕥ•

You woke to deep oud and a terrible burning sensation on your face.

For a moment, you thought that you were floating. Everything around you felt soft, light, cold.

Then a reality seemed to close in on you suddenly. Your surroundings were soft, but heavy. You were entrapped in a cocoon of sickly warmth.

You moved your head and stared at an expanse of gold and black tiles. A piece of art depicting a repeating pattern of golden blossoms against a dark backdrop. You’d never seen something like it before. It was beautiful. It was dizzying to look at.

You breathed, then pain crashed into you like a boulder. You sat upright, hissing as you brought a hand to the sore area. What happened to me?

Your fingers came in contact with a fine fabric, and you remembered.

You remembered everything.

Like plunging headfirst into cold water; the music, the burlap pouch, Hijris’ sneer, the searing iron rod. It all rushed into your consciousness.

You found that you were in a bed, bigger than any you’d seen before, surrounded by a heavy blanket and an array of pillows. You pushed yourself under the covers, scrambling to your feet. Meeting the cold floor with a careless thud, your knees buckled lousily as a fabric fell over your legs.

Someone had changed you into a comfortable cotton thawb, white garment lightly embroidered with blue lines on the sleeves.

You looked around you. You were in a strange room. Furniture of an oak so dark it gleamed black was elegantly positioned in the vast space. Similarly dark curtains were open to reveal the vibrant morning sky. Where am I?

A fraction of light caught your attention and you rushed toward it. You had spotted a mirror hung over a long dressing table.

Though, you supposed you should’ve approached it slowly. For what was reflected back at you made you inhale sharply.

The left side of your face was completely bandaged from below your jaw and over your head. The feel of the scorching iron on your skin echoed in your memory.

No sound left your throat as a stillness settled in your lungs. The sight before you was difficult to absorb. You hated to think of what lay behind the bandage.

When you raised a tentative hand to touch the cloth again, a kind voice stopped you. “Try not to mess with it.”

You swiveled around, eyes landing on a woman walking through an archway that linked the bedroom to a sitting room.

A beige thawb hugged her full figure, rich orange thread accenting the hems and the waist. Her black curls were pulled into a thick braid that fell over her shoulder. The woman smiled at you, brown eyes twinkling against sun-kissed skin. She carried a tray with rolled bandages and some ointment. “Why don’t you sit down?”

You did as she told you, gingerly placing yourself at the edge of the bed as you watched her move across the room. She set the tray on a close nightstand then came to stand before you, her hands holding your face like one would a fragile vase. “I’ll remove the bandage and you’ll be able to see it for yourself.”

You nodded and felt the layers being peeled off swiftly, exposing your skin to the air. The weight on your right eye didn’t wane when she stepped away, tossing the bundle of used bandages on the tray.

The warmth in her expression didn’t change when she looked back at you. It reminded you so much of a mother’s loving gaze. “You can go ahead.”

You stood and stepped toward the vanity again. You made sure to prepare yourself this time before lifting your gaze to your reflection. A deep inhale. An exhale.

Your legs seemed to liquefy. You had to hold on to the edge of the table to stay on your feet.

The skin on the left side of your face was raw, a thick discolored line that stretched from the side of your jaw and over your eye to the beginning of your brow. It tingled in the air, throbbing with pain. You bit back a sob. You weren’t going to cry, not in front of that woman.

You forced your left eye to blink. It was a slow movement that sent jolts of pain through your head. It felt heavy. Wrong. You leaned closer to the mirror, examining your eye with a trembling heart.

That was when you noticed the gem-like shards in the iris. They caught the barest light and winked as though your eye was forged from precious stone. Is it...gone? You stepped away from the table as panic seized your chest, merciless in its grip.

With a restrained breath, you raised a hand over your right eye, afraid of what you might see. Or what you wouldn’t see.

It was nothing. You saw nothing.

It was as though someone had obscured your vision with a blindfold. As though you had both eyes covered.

A hand flew to your mouth as a gasp entangled with a breathless sob escaped. You turned to face the woman. It hurt to speak. “M-My eye!”

She gave you a sorrowful smile. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened to it?!”

“I could tell you, but I’ll need you to sit first.”

You didn’t want to sit. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream until your vocal cords snapped.

Hijris did this to you. He was the reason behind all your misery. You didn’t ask for this life, but he chose it for you. He created it. Did he think himself a god to pick you out of your quiet life and force you into his vision of paradise? All you did was try to survive. Try to escape.

But this was what he did. He broke the strong. He killed the hopeful. Anger squeezed its way through your anguish, fizzing, crackling.

You willed yourself to sit down. Tears brimmed your healthy eye, but you kept a firm expression, staring at the woman intently as she transferred some of the ointment to her hand.

“This will sting,” she warned before applying the medicine on the swollen flesh. It did sting. Terribly. But you wallowed in the pain. It was all you could do.

“You came with a burn across your face,” she started, a sadness to her tone, as though she was the one suffering the injury. “The Sahara and Atiba’a did their best to restore the skin and the nerves in the area. It will heal, but it will scar. Your eye, on the other hand...”

She stopped with a shake of her head. “Your eye was too damaged to heal. They decided to infuse it with a gemstone such that it doesn’t need to be removed.”

“Infuse it?” you frowned, and it hurt.

“Don’t make too many faces,” she chided gently, throwing her braid behind her shoulder and grabbing the fresh bandages. “Yes, infuse it. It’s a technique developed by the medic Sahara. They use pieces of stone and mend them with bone or other organs in order to fix fractures or faults. The injury left your eye defective, but the infusion procedure was done to restore its shape and appearance.”

“So,” your voice seemed to grow fainter by the syllable. “It’s gone.”

She gave you the barest nod.

The heaviness you felt in your right eye was exhaustion. A load too heavy for it to carry alone. A certain confusion. The reality of the situation felt like sand to swallow. You needed water.

The woman finished bandaging the burn and stepped away, admiring her work. “All done. You can rest now.”

But you didn’t want to rest. “Where am I?”

She gave you a surprised look. “You’re in the palace.”

“The palace?” you repeated, eyes wide. What were you doing in the palace out of all places?

“Na’am.”

“Why? How did I get here?”

“They rescued you from that horrible place last night,” she said, and you held your breath. The Junayna.

“What about the rest? Are they here too?”

She shook her head. “You were the only one they came back with. I hear the culprit has escaped along with the victims.”

Any relief you hoped to gain was put out like a dying candle. Hijris left you to die while he ran away with his dancers and his riches. Or maybe he left you to be found by the general and his men and become a different kind of prisoner again.

No matter where you went, what you did, nothing changed. “I see...”

“They’ll find them, I’m sure,” she assured you as she gathered her materials, readying to leave. Picking up the tray, she looked at you one last time, embarrassed. “I was wondering...”

“I know you aren’t in the best condition right now but, um,” she cleared her throat, “Are you and, well, the general...perhaps?”

Her question flew over your head. You could only stare at her, blank.

She rambled, “I just thought...since he brought you here that maybe—”

Why did everyone assume your association with this general? You diverted your gaze to the polished floor. A mutter, “I don’t know the general.”

She silenced herself, taking your answer with no argument. When your eyes flitted upwards, you saw a hand stretched out to you. The young woman was smiling. “I’m Kayan.”

You hesitated before briefly shaking her hand. “Y/n.”

She bowed her head in acknowledgment before asking you to rest and disappearing through the archway. The resonant sound of a closing door soon followed her, and you were alone again.

It were as if you’d barely been clutching the reins of your composure and they slipped out of your weak hands. A herd of anger, despair, and anguish rampaged toward you, not allowing you to pick yourself up before trampling you over, crushing your will under their unforgiving hooves.

Meeting the soft covers, you let the cry wring itself out of your lips. Tired. Hopeless. Broken.

The embrace of calming oud carried you to your slumber. The salt of your tears was still fresh on the tip of your tongue.

•ꕥ•

There was a moment when your breaths finally calmed and your eyes dried. You didn’t notice it at first as though your mind and body were both too exhausted to process anything beyond the simple fact of your existence.

Kayan had entered the room several times throughout the day, attempting to get you to eat the food she brought with her. You caught the delicious waft of lamb, soups, pastries, but nothing had you sitting up to eat. You declined each of her trays, unwilling to do anything besides drown in the covers and your bitter misery.

It was sometime late during the night when you heard a knock on the door. You were wide awake, courtesy of having your sleep schedule permanently altered by working in the Junayna, but you didn’t answer. You had no heart to eat, when will they accept that?

After a few beats, you heard the door open anyway. You didn’t lift your head from the pillows. “I don’t want food.”

But this wasn’t Kayan, you realized when a strong oud pierced your senses, inviting, it almost pulled you out of the bed. You caught a hint of yasmeen in the blend. “You must eat in order to heal properly. I’ve been told you declined all the food delivered to your room today.”

That voice.

You stilled, fingers clenching around the fabric of the blanket covering you. It was him.

The man behind the blank veil. The man who saved you and Kadi. The man who caught you sneaking around Hijris’ office. The man who lied to you.

You thought that the tears were returning, but instead, newfound anger spilled into your words. “Did you bring me here so I can be your prisoner too?”

He placed something on the small coffee table with a gentle clink. A tray, most probably. You didn’t bother to turn around, continuing to give him your back when he spoke, “I brought you here to make sure you were safe and being taken care of. You are not a prisoner, Y/n.”

That was the first time you heard him say your name. In another lifetime, you might’ve reveled at the way his voice carried each syllable with the grace of a thousand starry skies. As if serenading it with every breath.

You wanted to turn around, see the face behind the voice and the veil. Would he frown at you or smile? Would he apologize? Would he see anything besides the dancer from the Junayna?

“You lied to me.” your voice was a frail whisper, engraved with betrayal. You’d trusted him. Only because he showed you the barest, simplest decency. You’d foolishly trusted him, even when you knew you shouldn’t have.

The general was quiet before a single statement left his lips. It cut through the distressed remains of your heart like a khanjar. “I had to.”

He left the room then, a breeze of oud and anbar, adding with a murmur on his way, “Please eat.”

You didn’t want to. You wanted nothing but to stay where you were, cooped up in your turbulent sorrow. But then your stomach twisted in sharp hunger, a prickly pain that had you squeezing your eyes shut. You hadn’t eaten for a day and a night, and if you waited any longer, you would complete a second night.

You pushed yourself to sit, and your weakness hit you like a storm ravaging the sea. You rested your fidgety arms in your lap, looking sideways to where the tray was placed.

Atop the low table was a silver tray carrying dishes of lamb, rice, bread, and soup, but what caught your attention was the small plate on the side.

Fresh buqsumat lay in a pretty assortment on the plate, dusted with sukkar, garnished with crushed fustuq, and topped with a single purple blossom of rayhan.

•ꕥ•

“Goodnight, Y/n,” Kayan bowed her head before leaving your room with a tray of empty dishes in her grasp.

You gave her a small smile. She had fussed over you throughout the day, ever since she visited you in the morning and saw the tray the general had left you. You had eaten, and it seemed to fill her with glee.

She was too kind. You almost felt bad for what you were going to do.

She will forget about it, you assured yourself as you slipped out of the bed, bare feet meeting the cool floor. People like me come and go, anyway.

You needed to leave the palace. You couldn’t stay there, safe and sound, knowing that your friends—knowing that Bara’a and Kadi were out there, lost in the vastness of the desert and at Hijris’ mercy.

You were allowed to leave. Isn’t that what the general had told you the previous night? You are not a prisoner.

You were about to test that statement.

Slipping your feet into the sandals Kayan had brought in hopes of encouraging you to take a stroll around the gardens, you walked toward the archway connecting the bedroom to the sitting room. The chamber you were in was grand and a little too much for a guest like you. Or so you thought, catching a glimmer of your reflection in the mirror. The white bandaging on your face stared back at you.

You halted, fingers itching.

You hadn’t looked at your burn since that wretched morning. It hurt to think about it. It hurt to think about what Hijris had done to you, about what you’d lost.

Sadly so, you were used to pain.

With careful hands, you unwrapped the bandages that stretched across the left side of your face, letting them fall to the floor as you gazed at yourself. The burn had barely healed, but whatever ointment Kayan was applying to your skin was doing its job perfectly. In a month or so, nothing would be left of the injury but a jarring scar. You couldn’t silence the echo of Hijris’ words when the searing iron had lifted.

No one will look at that pretty face of yours ever again. And when you’re rejected across the city, you’ll remember how kind Amm Hijris had been to you before you decided to steal from him.

Your face had felt alight yet cold, numb. You spat at his crooked nose then, but he only stepped away, letting them drop you on the floor before disappearing amid the haze of your suffering.

You shut your eyes, forcefully pushing the memory away. No. He would not break you like this. Instead, the splash of Bara’a’s laugh reverberated in your mind, the painful melody of Kadi’s cries.

If he thought he could shame you into hiding, shun you from the world by scarring your outside, then he was dreadfully wrong.

This was how you would face the world. You would wear his horrors like the nobility did their jewelry. Proud. Unbroken. And you would see to his downfall, even if your initial plan had failed.

You only needed to get out of the palace first.

•ꕥ•

The two guards at your door let you pass with nothing but the merest glance. You had almost hesitated, expecting them to shout and force you back inside, but they did no such thing.

So the general’s words were true, you tasted bitterness on the tip of your tongue. If only he didn’t lie to me first.

That thought was soon forgotten when you realized that you didn’t know where to go. The palace was a huge, complicated web of hallways and doors that looked alike, and the more you wandered, the more anxious you became. You had no place in the palace. What if a guard found you and mistook you for a trespasser?

You didn’t want to wait and find out.

You decided to follow a group of servants making their way down the hallway. If anything, they could lead you to the servants’ quarters, which you supposed you could easily find an exit from.

And they did. You soon found yourself rounding the corner into bustling quarters. Men and women in shades of white and brown moved like bees in a hive, an eerie harmony to them.

You separated from the group to drift toward the night peeking through an open door. It was connected to the stables, and you ignored the stink of dung as you made your way past the sleeping mammals and curious stable hands, steps quickening with each breath. You had spotted greenery at the mouth of the stable. That must be it! You would be out of the palace in a matter of minutes.

Striding into a neatly groomed garden, your eyes trailed over the looming wall enclosing the palace and the great gate in the middle. Guards patrolled the area with sheathed suyoof and grim expressions. You hoped they would let you pass as easily as those by your room did.

But before you could take a step farther, a voice broke through the clarity of your thoughts and sent them into upheaval.

“You’re leaving.”

That alluring oud permeated the crisp air. Him again.

What is he doing here? You closed your fists on air, welcoming unforgotten anger. You didn’t want to see him. But at the same time, you did. You deserved to know the face behind the voice. You deserved to know, so you could remember him, curse him when you looked at the scar he was responsible for.

So, you turned around, gaze landing on the famed Grand General of the Darilmalekan Army.

The words melted on your tongue.

He was a shard of moonlight.

All the sharpest angles shaped his face in a brush of excellence that was almost overwhelming. The stern rise of his cheekbones cushioned the pointed blades of his eyes so elegantly, it was as though he was sculpted by the most skilled hands. An artist who had sought perfection and had clearly achieved it.

He stood there with the poise of a royal, the pride of a soldier, a combination that made you feel smaller by the moment. Rather than the plain attire he’d worn in the Junayna, he was dressed in a uniform expertly tailored to his frame, silver shoulder pads reflecting the generous light around you. The wide piece of cloth wrapped around his middle supported a belt that held two sheathed swords, one fixed at each hip. It was a battle technique, you remembered Bara’a telling you once, soldiers on horseback brandished twin swords to clear a line through enemy troops with ease.

His litham was long gone, exposing dark hair that was neatly tucked behind his ears. He was handsome in a way that reminded you of the press of a dagger, sharp, wounding.

All the confidence you’d scraped previously crumbled before you, leaving you defenseless, bare, with a burn disfiguring your features and helplessness twisting your heart. You stepped back, turning your head to the side in an attempt to hide your face. “Don’t...look at me. I-”

The words caught like rocks in your throat, rough and difficult. Bitter. Always bitter. Hot tears pricked at your one eye, angry or embarrassed, you couldn’t tell. They didn’t fall.

“You?” the general prompted, his tone measured, that one word calculated.

The ghost of a breeze kissed your cheeks, the sensation sending chills down your spine. Why did fate place you in the general’s path? A liar’s path? Had you not suffered enough?

You wanted your words to sound blameful. It was his doing after all. “I’m hideous.”

The statement didn’t hang in the air but fell flat to the ground instead, almost painfully. It made you cringe inwardly. You conformed to Hijris’ hurtful words in a breath of vulnerability. No one will look at that pretty face of yours again.

The general seemed to ponder for a fleeting moment before he spoke, unflustered by your statement, “I’ve seen men with torn arms and shredded faces, tripping over their own innards. You look nothing short of pleasant to me.”

“Don’t romance me.”

“I am not romancing you.”

You snapped your head to face him angrily, noticing that the guards surrounding the area were nowhere to be found. You didn’t think any better before hurling the accusation at him, “You lied to me! You caused this!”

He was taken aback, and you took pleasure in the sight of the crack in his composure. But it was short-lived. Understanding eased his expression, and his demeanor was recomposed in the same moment as if practiced. “I lied about the reason I was in Hijris’ office, never about our encounter. Regardless of the way he found out, it was not initiated by me. Purposely, that is.”

You hated that you heard the truth in his words, loud and clear. You’d heard enough lies to discern the difference. Yet, there was ample, undirected anger festering in your heart. You weren’t ready to forgive him yet. “I don’t need your pity.”

“If I pitied you, I would’ve given you a fortune, found you a good prince to marry and a castle far away. I do not pity you, Y/n.”

It felt as though you were slamming your fists against a wall repeatedly, as though you were trying to break a boulder with your bare hands. Every response you pulled out of the general was sure and resolute, unfazed and unbothered. You could only stare at him, having run out of harsh sentiments to utter, and he held your gaze in return, not challenging but rather patient.

You searched his face for any giveaway of hidden intentions. Trusting him came easy at first, natural despite your doubtful nature. But once you fractured that one-sided trust, you didn’t know if you were capable of putting the pieces back together. You wanted to trust him badly enough that it hurt. You wanted to feel safe. You wanted to believe that you weren’t fighting alone, with nothing but your secrets and tears, anymore.

The general must’ve sensed the troubled whirlwind of thought overbearing your mind, for he asked, “Do you want him dead?”

And you heard the silent continuation of his question. It told you everything you needed to know. Because I can arrange that for you.

Did you want Hijris dead?

You’d dreamt of the day you left the Junayna with Bara’a and Kadi, relishing the thought of his helpless anger. You’d wished he would wake up one day to empty coffers and lose the authority he cherished so much. You knew that you wanted him to suffer the same way you did, scramble to grasp any kind of dignity left for himself in the face of a cruel and unforgiving world. But dead? The possibility circled your mind restlessly.

Letting out a breath, you admitted, “I don’t know.”

He considered your words carefully then tilted his head toward the gates of the palace. “You can leave, of course. None of my men will stand in your way.

“But,” he paused, and you wondered if anyone had ever intruded into the fortress of his perfect calm, “I hear the royal garden is a great place to think.”

•ꕥ•

When Kayan entered your room the following day, she didn’t inquire about your exposed injury or the dirt on your sandals. She simply set her kit down, and you didn’t miss the relief twinkling in her eyes when she smiled at you. “Did you sleep well?”

You could only offer a hesitant nod. After your encounter with the general the previous night, you stood outside the stables alone, conflicted. You had wanted to leave the palace because you believed that the general had wronged you, and you couldn’t bear the thought of staying under the wing of a liar while your friends were lost with Hijris. But it was all a misunderstanding rooted in your shaky trust and the shock of your distress. You supposed you owed him an apology. After all, the general had helped you several times out of nothing but his untouched morality.

Or maybe it was guilt for having allowed an establishment as vile as the Junayna to thrive unnoticed for so long.

You found your way back to your rooms later that night and met the blankets with a sigh. Though it was more of an exhale of relief. What good would walking back to Al Qa’er do you anyway? You thought that maybe, just this one time, you should stand back, hand over the weight of your problem to someone else. Someone who was more than capable of handling the weight.

You had slept peacefully that night, albeit for a short while until the sun rose.

Kayan made quick work of bandaging the burn, skilled hands moving in trained swiftness. When she was done, she clasped her hands, pleased with her work before announcing, “The general asked to see you. I will let him in if you’re ready.”

“The general?” your heart sputtered, why?

“Na’am,” she nodded. “If you would follow me?”

Kayan had you settle on one of the settees in the adjacent sitting room while she made her way to the door. A murmur passed between her and the guards when she opened it, and shortly after, the general stepped into the frame of dark wood.

He looked as he had the previous night. The same elegant uniform and stoic presence. He acknowledged Kayan with a nod, “Shukran, ya Kayan.”

She responded with a short bow before exiting the room and closing the door behind her. You were left alone with the general.

Your single eye followed him as he stepped toward a long desk by the large window. He moved with a certain ease, as though he knew the place like the back of his hand.

Standing behind the desk, he pulled out a roll of parchment and a silver inkwell from one of the drawers. The silence in the room was only disturbed by your wandering thoughts. You’d wanted to apologize to the general after your encounter. Now that the chance was there, you didn’t know how to utter the word.

What would you apologize for anyway? Mistrusting him when he was a complete stranger? Accusing him of taking advantage of you when that was all you experienced? The more you thought about it, the less sure you were of the apology.

So, you decided to blurt it out instead and let fate decide the consequences, “Asifa.”

The general’s gaze snapped up from the desk to land on you, unreadable. He was quiet for a moment, as if contemplative, before he pressed his lips into a thin line. You saw the shadow of failure pass over his features. “I, too.”

His words seeped into the air and settled like warm honey in your heart. No one had ever apologized to you. Not after shoving past you in the streets. Not after shouting obscenities at you over the music of the Junayna. You deserved no apology in the minds of those who thought themselves entitled to your body and spirit.

You never realized how sweet those words were.

After a beat of silence, the general unrolled the parchment and uncorked the silver bottle, gently dipping a wooden qalam in the ink then scribing something on the paper. He sounded remorseful when he spoke, “I know we haven’t met in the most ideal circumstances...”

“Perhaps we could start anew?” he gave you a polite smile, clasping his hands behind his back as he introduced himself, “I’m General Jeongin, Commander of the Darilmalekan Army.”

You returned his smile to the best of your ability, but it felt more like a grimace. You had no title nor occupation to embellish your name with. It felt incomplete. “Y/n.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Aanisa Y/n. As you might’ve heard, Hijris has managed to predict our plans and escape with the victims of the Junayna,” he said, stepping around the desk. “I admit to having underestimated him.”

“He is a cunning man,” you acknowledged in a hushed tone, recalling how he had you trapped in his web of deceit so easily.

“We are currently on the lookout for any unregistered caravans,” the general continued after a nod of consideration toward your statement. He stopped to stand before you, keeping a generous distance in between. “However, we lack the means to accurately identify the victims.”

You saw the request glinting in his knife-like eyes before you heard it fall from his lips. “If it isn’t much to ask, we need your help in compiling a list of the runaways.”

You didn’t pause to think about your answer, determination guiding you as your posture straightened. “What should I do?”

“I need you to write the names of everyone you remember. Include the gender, age group, and major physical attributes of each if you can. Hijris will most likely have them lie, so the more details we have, the better.”

You took in his instructions with a firm nod, and he mirrored you. “Good. Once you’re finished, hand the scroll to one of the guards at your door, and he’ll deliver it to me.”

With that, you watched as the general made his way toward the door, his gait easy yet measured. You wondered if he had felt your gaze on him at that moment, for he turned to face you one last time. A certain tenacity clenched at his jaw when he spoke, “We will find them, Y/n. You have my word.”

•ꕥ•

Bara’a missed the simplicity of the past.

The days before he lost his father to the deceitful pleasures of khamr and qimar. The life before he lost his freedom to Hijris’ boundless greed. He missed a time when the weight of sorrow and helplessness wasn’t familiar on his heart.

He had traveled to Darilmalek in hopes of joining the kingdom’s famed academy for swordsmanship. There was a fire in him that yearned to build some sense of financial stability for his family after his father left them in ruins. He was a fighter after all, and wielding a sword was what he did best. But nothing had prepared him for the villainous conman and his underground empire.

In less than a month after his arrival, Bara’a found himself entangled within Hijris’ web, and his heinous job at the Junayna began.

At first, the nights were long.

Those hooded gazes and embellished veils chased him in his scarce slumber. He loathed himself and every inch of skin covering his body. His body, which was simply presented like livestock in the market and used only to be discarded like a soiled rag. It was as though he was helpless once more, watching his father spiral into madness again, watching his life fall apart before him.

That young fire in him died, heartlessly suffocated, and he had no means of reviving it.

He felt their touches no longer, mind clouding with numbness whenever the ensemble began. The nights passed, and the days became a blur of misery and despair. A piece of him died with every lying letter Hijris had him write to his family in Tallilmalek. He wasn’t sure if any of the real him would survive by the end of that damned month.

Until he saw you in that corridor, stunned and unable to fight the man forcing himself upon you.

The cold, forgotten tinder in his soul birthed fire once more, brighter, mightier than it had ever been.

He was a fighter, and Hijris couldn’t take that from him. It was the part of him that never died and had refused to quieten once it acknowledged the vulnerable souls around him.

There was always a need for fighters, and Bara’a was going to be one until all hope was wrenched out of his grasp.

“Oh, no...” Kadi mumbled beside him, frowning at the empty qurba she gripped. Almost instinctively, Bara’a reached for his own waterskin and held it toward her. “Here.”

“Shukran.” the girl smiled at him, tentatively receiving the container before taking one quick gulp of water.

They’d been aimlessly trudging across the sand for three days, prey to the cruel sun and arid desert. The man who led their small caravan was one Bara’a was quite familiar with. Museeb, Hijris’ prized punisher and lapdog. He was an omen of misfortune and torture and seemed to take pleasure in being so.

If there was one person Bara’a despised the most after Hijris, it was him.

The young man knew that they were running away, most likely from someone powerful in the crown city, but if Museeb knew anything, he shared none of it.

It was a budding night at the Junayna when Hijris emerged from his office, flanked by several of his men, and started shouting at the ensemble to stop and the guests to leave immediately. Bara’a had seen one of the guards usher you to that office a short while prior, but you didn’t leave when the men did. Dreading the worst, he managed to slip away when chaos erupted in the clearing and search for you.

Alas, his search was hindered when he neared the office and felt the tip of a saif against the thin fabric covering his back. Hijris’ voice boomed from behind him, “You will not move any farther.”

He protested then, “But what about Y/n? Where is she?”

“I’ll take care of that,” Hijris had answered, displeasure clear in his voice. “You will pack your necessities and move with the guards. Don’t create trouble, Bara’a.”

He had wanted to argue, but then he caught the sight of Kadi from the corner of his eye. She had followed them and watched the ordeal unfold, fear and confusion wrinkling the pale skin between her dark brows. Whatever was happening, he knew he couldn’t risk leaving her to fend for herself. You would never forgive him if he did.

As much as his heart screamed at him otherwise, Bara’a capitulated to Hijris’ commands and walked away from the wretched door. In no way were you weak, and he trusted in that knowledge. You could handle all Hijris threw at you, right?

Please be okay, he prayed now, squinting at the orb of fire crowning the depthless blue. Only the Aliha knew where they were headed or when their miserable trek would end.

When a chorus of murmurs rose at the back of the group, Museeb halted, raising a hand to signal the rest of them to do the same. From atop the dune they were stood, an approaching troop was visible in the distance. They were moving on horseback, and moving hastily at that, sending dense clouds of sand into the air surrounding them.

Someone seemed to vaguely recognize those people, for they shouted from behind, “Soldiers!”

Darilmalekan soldiers? Bara’a looked back at the dark silhouettes in the dusty yonder, curious. He’d never seen soldiers during his stay in Darilmalek, Hijris had made sure that his so-called staff remained hidden from the outer world.

Perhaps... A foreign hope fluttered in his heart. Perhaps they’re here to rescue us.

Museeb seemed to recognize them too, for he remained still for a beat before reaching for the ghastly knife strapped to his middle. He moved in a blur. Between one breath and the other. The blade glinted in the light when he swiveled, striking down the first person within his reach.

Kadi toppled to the ground with a noise of choked horror.

“Kadi!” the shout was ripped raw from Bara’a’s chest. All at once, terrified clamor rose around him as the defenseless men and women of the Junayna scattered. He could barely grasp the reigns of his awareness before the knife flashed again. Museeb had chosen his next target.

Dazed, Bara’a’s hands raised to intercept his aim a beat too late, gripping Museeb’s forearm and directing the knife upwards instead. It caught skin and slashed a deep line across the side of his nose. With a strain of his strength, he hurled the lanky man unto the sand and heaved a difficult breath.

Blood trickled down his face, leaving a trail of gruesome red on his honeyed skin. Sand and air assaulted the fresh cut, but the bite of pain was what he needed to bring him back to his senses.

He should have known that was Hijris’ plan all along. That scoundrel wanted to escape with his corrupt empire, and he was willing to do anything to avoid capture and retribution. He had ordered his men to kill them all if the circumstances called, and Museeb was doing just that.

All the other caravans… The realization struck him roughly. Wherever you were, he could only hope you were safe.

Bara’a didn’t wait to let Museeb stand back up, immediately launching himself at the disoriented man. There was no one there but them. No guards, no rules, no friends to hold him back. He would gladly give that bastard kalb his overdue fight, and he swore to himself that only one of them would emerge alive.

And it would be him.

Museeb snarled as his arm was pinned down, rendering the knife in his grip unusable. Bara’a was using all his weight against his gaunt figure, so clear effort contorted the man’s features when he salvaged all his strength to kick him off. It was barely a success, for the young man was back on his feet in a fraction of a second, but it got his arm free.

Bara’a wanted to laugh when he lunged at the man unsparingly. He had thought that he was a powerful name in the Junayna. Believed so. He had fear. He bred it and nurtured it then used it to break anyone at Hijris’ command. He was so lost in that false sense of superiority.

But where was that now?

Out there in the desert, nothing stood between him and Bara’a. Nothing. Not even that crooked knife.

Because Bara’a knew. He knew who he was, and he knew himself.

He was a fighter, in blood and spirit, born to a family of knights and soldiers and raised as such. Museeb, on the other hand, was a coward and a brute who leeched off Hijris and the Junayna, who knew no honor nor compassion. He undermined them all, and he would regret ever doing so. He would pay for every sliver of tears and pool of blood he’d shed. Bara’a was going to make sure that man carried the shame and guilt with him to the grave.

Their brawl was messy. Sand was obscuring his vision, blood was stinging his eyes, yet Bara’a knew that he wasn’t the one fighting to survive. It was Museeb. His punches and swings landed frantically and thoughtlessly as the obvious gap in skill became increasingly evident. Perhaps he had gotten used to the ease by which he delivered his punishments—guards holding the target down, fear paralyzing them as he had his way.

Bara’a almost relished the look of increasing panic dusting his face as he wrestled him back into the golden sand. He didn’t try to pry the knife out of his grip, instead twisting Museeb’s arm to press his own weapon against him. The latter thrashed, kicking and flailing, but it was a fruitless effort.

With the blade pressed against the base of his neck, Museeb dared to bare his teeth in a sickening sneer. They were slick with blood from his busted lip. He spoke in staggered breaths, eyes bulging with pain, “Ya nakira, ya Bara’a.”

The insult met the walls of Bara’a’s memory and faded, lost between recollections of the suffering and the unfeeling words hurled at him whenever he disobeyed Hijris. You’re nobody. You’re nothing.

He knew that Museeb was trying to fracture his resolve, reawaken the harrowing memories to disturb him, so Bara’a returned the smile, tasting blood and sand. He would play the coward no longer. “Adri.”

He drove the knife into his paper-like neck, pressuring the man’s twisted arm enough to pop his shoulder in the process.

The howl of distress that left his bruised lips came to a choked stop as he gurgled up dark blood, eyes rolling back to welcome death.

Bara’a stayed there for one labored breath, then another, hands unmoving on the now lifeless man. The scarlet liquid trickling from his neck dampened the yellow grains of sand, dyeing them in that macabre hue, letting the earth drain his tainted blood.

A certain stillness settled into Bara’a’s heart as he stared at the trauma-stricken face. He’d caused that, and somehow, he felt no remorse.

The men and women that had circled him wore the same grim expressions of silent realization. They, too, acknowledged the graveness of his doing, but they couldn’t find it in themselves to shed a tear for that man. They only watched as Death carried him in its cruel embrace. And for the first time in years, they felt free. Safe.

Bara’a dared to let go and stand up, breathing in slowly. He was aware of his grisly appearance, hands that were sticky with blood and a face that was caked with the same foul substance, but he couldn’t be bothered to tend to that. Not when there were more pressing matters at hand.

“Kadi!” he called over the sandy breeze, voice charged with a forgotten ferocity. Death had loomed over the caravan of lost travelers a little longer, readying to collect another soul on that tragic noon. Its mocking cackle reverberated endlessly in the chamber of Bara’a’s thoughts.

The girl was struggling against the face of the sahra’a, panicked, trying to push herself up and seize the life that was gradually seeping through the shallow slash on her neck. Strength was abandoning her weakened body faster than she wished.

Bara’a dropped to her side, knees sinking into the parched earth as he gathered her in his arms. Any surge of vicious energy he had felt was gone in a fearful flutter. “Kadi, speak to me!”

When nothing but a muddled noise left her lips, he pressed a palm against the wound, frantically shouting into the unforgiving distance, “Help! Someone help us, please!”

His eyes met the mourning gazes of his companions. They stood helpless there. They weren’t medics nor scholars. They were only unfortunate enough to be plucked out of the miserable streets of Al Qa’er by Hijris. There was nothing they could do to help the dying girl.

“Please,” his plea was broken, a ruptured sob. He couldn’t lose Kadi. Not after all they’d been through. Not after all her bravery and woe in the Junayna. There was still so much life ahead of her. It was unfair. To him, and to her.

Over their joyless years in Hijris’ custody, Kadi had become the closest thing to a little sister he had in Darilmalek. Her safety, her happiness, it was an oath he took and vowed to honor against all odds. It was a sense of purpose that grounded him, anchored him to reason whenever a rash thought crossed his mind. He couldn’t lose her now.

Bara’a debated carrying her to the proclaimed soldiers for aid when he felt the barest tug at his wrist. Looking down, he noticed her glazed-over eyes laboring to fixate on him. A dying moon in his arms, she strained to utter, “I w-want...home.”

He was weak. He was too weak for the universe to torment him like that. Blinking away the blood trickling into his right, he could only whisper, “We’ll go home, Kadi. I promise you.”

His answer seemed to ease a conflict in her young heart, for at that moment, she stopped grappling for breath, at rest in his weary arms. Peace smoothened the ever-creased space between her delicate brows and she bid her cold world a final farewell.

The sun whispered to the moon about the young man when day bled into night. She carried the echo of the anguished cry that tore through his lips, coarse and haunting, wrought with the purest grief. The sand would remember, and so would she, the suffering souls of that dark day.

•ꕥ•

Jeongin felt uneasy in the presence of magic, though it was a weakness he’d never reveal to his soldiers.

It was an unpredictable, tremendous power that had brought him to the brink of death many times. It also saved him, but the memories he lived to carry were meshed in fear and a desperation he never wanted to experience again.

He was too small in the eye of the world, insignificant to the giant shrouded in myth and mystery.

Yet, he would be a damned liar to deny his thankfulness for the messenger Sahara. The first report reached his desk a day after he sent out copies of the list you made. A few of the fugitives have been found and taken into custody this morning. We accounted for three men and four girls. Three persons were dead by the time of our arrival. As it appears, their leader has ordered his subordinates to kill their companions upon sensing a threat from the authorities. I believe this is critical information that must be relayed to the soldiers on duty.

The letter was signed by the general in Arba.

Similar reports from neighboring cities arrived throughout the day, confirming the capture of small groups of men and women who matched some of the descriptions on the list. And with a cruel twist of fate, the tally of the fatalities only increased. A letter from a city to the north reported that an entire caravan was found dead by one of the search squads.

Jeongin felt sick. It seemed that once he’d failed, he had no chance of redeeming himself. Hijris didn’t want to be captured alive, and he was taking his victims down with him. He’d made it exceptionally clear. Leaving you injured in the Junayna was a message to the general. A mere hint of the extremes the conman was willing to go to.

The memory of the promise Jeongin had given you began to taste sour on his tongue. Was this ordeal only a pending failure?

The answer came in the form of an urgent rap on the door of his office, to which the general responded, “Come in!”

A guard stepped into the room, bowing slightly before handing the general the folded piece of parchment in his hands. “Sir, this message has reached us from the base in Ramwah.”

Anticipating the worst, Jeongin received the note and let his gaze run over the rushed scrawl. A chill fogged his thoughts. He was out of his seat and shouting commands at his men before he could finish reading the letter crumpled in his grasp.

As of the time of writing this letter, a man fitting the descriptions of the fugitive Hijris has been captured and taken into custody by the governor’s office. He was identified while trying to enter the city with a caravan of four. The suspect attempted to take his life after murdering his companions once faced by the authorities. Your urgent presence is necessary as we are uncertain of his intentions.

Signed, General Murad.

•ꕥ•

The royal garden truly was a great place to think. A paradise in the heart of the palace with its swaying trees and glorious nakheel.

You sat in the shade of the palm trees, watching two desert birds hop across the finely trimmed grass as a gentle breeze tickled your cheeks. There was a tranquility to the place that could only leave you wandering in your thoughts. Forever lost.

A tranquility that was unceremoniously disrupted by the approaching sound of chatter. “Oh, but Dina, whatever will you do with him?”

You spotted the group of ladies who shared gossip as they walked into the garden. They moved with such a grace they appeared to be gliding over the polished pathway, swathed in rich silks and striking jewelry. Your nose itched from the sharpness of their perfumes.

A lady in the center answered, shrugging, “The general is like any man after all, is he not?”

And perhaps they understood an implication to her words, for her companions erupted in scandalous giggles and fits of teasing.

You felt your brows furrow, suddenly curious at the mention of the general. What do they mean?

But before they could settle on the benches nearby and before that lady could delve deeper into her plans, you snapped back into your senses and stood up. Whatever the general did in his personal life and whomever he was sharing it with was none of your business. You ignored that foolish intrigue and a silent twinge of hurt as you made your way out of the garden, wishing to avoid the women and any kind of trouble they may bring about. Perhaps you thought too fondly of the general’s kindnesses toward you that the revelation in those musical giggles stung faintly.

You were only his guest. Leverage against Hijris and evidence of the Junayna. Nothing more and nothing less, and those ladies were the reminder you needed.

You weren’t surprised when you found the guard that had escorted you to the garden earlier waiting for you under the palace’s magnificent archways. When you questioned him that morning for following you, his answer came gruff. “General’s orders. For your safety.”

You had been conscious of his stoic, watchful eye throughout your brief visit.

The way back to your room was one you took with Kayan twice before, passing doors and rounding corners until you reached a secluded wing of the palace. There, the vaulted ceiling reached a bit higher, and the tiled floor gleamed a bit brighter. Two impressive doors on adjacent walls stared back at you, one slightly smaller than the other, both continuously watched by a team of stern guards. You turned to your right, pushing the smaller door open and stepping into the new familiarity of the room you’d been occupying for the past week.

That wonderful scent of oud and yasmeen hit you immediately.

Everywhere you’d been to in the palace—which wasn’t much—smelled like wealth and influence and foreign spices, but you’d grown to find a strange comfort in the fragrance that seemed to cling onto the soul of that room. Ever so rich, ever so alluring, and you found its source when you poked your head into your bedroom.

Kayan had part of the heavy curtain gathered in one arm while carrying a golden mibkharah in the other hand and passing it under the fabric. The delicate tendrils of incense danced, only to be suffocated by the velvet on their rise. She noticed you standing at the archway and remarked with a quirk of her dark brow, “You’re back early.”

You could only lift a shoulder in response, lightly plopping on the edge of the bed to watch her work. If you told Kayan the truth behind your abrupt return, she would march you right back into the garden while lecturing you about not permitting others to ruin your fun. She’ll have to accept your silence for now.

Kayan passed the burner under the other side of the curtain as silence stretched between the two of you, then she moved to open the linked bathroom’s door and let the wisps of incense settle in the air for a moment. When she turned back, she smiled apologetically as though needing to justify her actions. “The general prefers to have his rooms incensed regularly.”

You were about to nod to her statement without much thought when her words dawned over you, almost heart-dropping. You echoed with a slight frown, “His rooms?”

“Na’am.” She had set the mibkharah on the coffee table and took over fluffing the cushions on the miniature divan, laughing when she noticed your vivid horror, “I thought you knew?”

You could only shake your head mutely, almost grimacing as you recalled how you spilled your anguish on the pillows after your arrival and how easily the general had walked through the room.

That only seemed to humor Kayan further. Placing her hands on her hips, she regarded you like one would a confused pupil. “See, we all assumed that the general had finally taken on a lover since he brought you here. All of that was quickly brushed off once he had the rooms cleared, the sheets changed, all to accommodate a guest while he took a guest room for himself.”

“But…why?” you dared to venture, and she shrugged. “Security? My best guess is yours. Knowing him, he has no ill intentions.”

She picked up the golden mibkharah to carry it to the sitting room and you trailed after her. It seemed as though all you knew were ill intentions. Twisted, heinous intentions. All Kayan had done so far was speak well of the general, but you weren’t ready to take her words for truth yet. “Why do you love the general so much?”

She let out a surprised chuckle. It was like stepping into sunshine. “I don’t love him. I simply admire his work and his temperament and that is all.”

“Well, then, how could you be so sure of his intentions?”

She turned to face you, an unmistakable glint of fierceness in her almond-like eyes. “He chose me to be part of his medic crew when he was first assigned general. We’ve seen him over the years, we’ve worked with him and grown alongside him. I may not know his exact plans, but you can trust me when I say: you’re in safe hands. All of your friends will be once he finds them.”

You had no response for her, and she didn’t wait for one, swiftly resuming her work of incensing the room. She was lucky, you couldn’t help but conclude with a pang of envy. To be so confident in that trust, to believe in it wholly and fiercely. She made it seem so simple. So foolishly simple.

You drifted toward the window behind the desk, letting your eyes settle on the view of the outer garden and the crown city stretching afar. Somewhere among the closely huddled buildings, the Junayna hid, abandoned after years of exploitation. Though it looked insignificant from that height.

When you spoke again, it was lined with vulnerability. Oh, how fickle was your trust. And yet, in many ways, you wanted to be like Kayan. “What is he like?”

“Hmm?”

“The general. What is he like—since you speak so well of him?”

She took a moment before answering, and you heard the rustle of cushions as she rearranged the settee. Even though you gave her your back, the truth of her admiration for him was relevant to you in the soft cadence that overtook her voice. “He is kind and thoughtful…but he delivers his justice with an ease that earned him undeniable respect across the kingdom despite his young age.”

A pause.

“He is patient, remarkably so. One could even argue that his self-discipline is unsettling. Never have I heard him make a sound as his wounds were stitched closed or ask for help afterward over my years of being part of his staff,” an amused huff interrupted her words, “Some people claim that he would never take on a partner despite the king and queen’s attempts because his only love is his job. However, I find that to be one of his admirable traits. He is aware of the overwhelming duty on his shoulders, and he is not in a rush to appease the romantics of the court. Not to say that that would be a despicable thing to do.”

Her conclusion caught your attention like a fisherman’s experienced net. “But that seems to be his nature—stern over his responsibilities both as a prince and a general.”

“He’s a prince?” you had to turn away from the window to stare at her, dumbfounded at that small detail. Suddenly, Hijris’ words made sense. You can’t even recognize a royal when you see one!

With a twinge of bitterness, you remembered Kadi remarking that he spoke like a prince. It is true that my tutor had taught princes.

“Na’am, the sole son of the former king’s youngest brother. His mother died after childbirth, and his father refused to wed another, so he was raised by the former queen alongside King Minho,” she explained. “He doesn’t refer to himself as a prince often, but it is public knowledge.”

Kayan straightened to look at you, an eyebrow raised teasingly as she added, “Which is why him giving up his quarters for you garnered a lot of attention. Not just anybody enters a prince’s rooms.”

You decided to gaze out the window again, ignoring the heat that threatened to rise up your face. “I am not interested in courting the general.”

“Yet you ask an awful lot of questions for someone who is uninterested,” she joked before clearing her throat, suddenly becoming serious. “Don’t worry, though. It seems that this misfortune is coming to an end. The general left the palace with a group of his men yesterday. Word has it that they’ve found them.”

Kayan was great at relaying news about Hijris to you, and you were thankful for the change of topic. They found them! Soon enough you’ll be reunited with Bara’a and Kadi and the nightmare will be over. You’ll be finally, truly free from the Junayna.

Keeping your voice even, you asked, “How long do you think they’ll take to return?”

“Not less than a week, that’s certain,” she replied, and a restlessness exploded in your veins.

A week.

A week and they’ll be safe in the palace. A week and they’ll be with you.

You could wait a week. You would wait with your heart in your throat, but you would wait, nevertheless.

•ꕥ•

A week it took for the clamor of soldiers to disrupt the palace’s anxious peace.

You were in the royal garden again—you seemed to spend the majority of your mornings there before retreating to bed when sleepiness overwhelmed you. This time, you had invited Kayan to picnic with you, sharing disks of soft khubz along with bowls of vibrant zaytoon and cups of warm haleeb. The sun was greedily centering the sky, not a cloudy wisp tinged the gentle blue.

The guard who had accompanied you earlier rushed to where the two of you were settled on the grass. When he spoke, it was directed at Kayan, “You must return to your rooms. General Jeongin has ordered that the palace hallways be cleared of roamers.”

At that, she immediately stood, bundling the cloth that your food lay upon and giving you an urgent glance. “Hurry.”

But you were too dazed to process her words, drifting after her like the memory of a tayf. Your heartbeat was suddenly too loud, louder than the beat of the cruel daff that was ingrained in your memory, louder than the singe of iron. Jeongin being in the palace only meant one thing.

They are here. They are here. They are all here.

When you were back within the familiar walls of your rooms, you found the nearest seat to settle into and calm the bells of distress causing mayhem in your mind. But you found it difficult to relax. It was almost impossible. You felt the unexplainable urge to move, run, find them, do anything but stay in your rooms.

So, you stood and walked toward the window, peering out in hopes of seeing them, or their caravan, hell, you would settle for any sign. Yet, no matter how you twisted your neck or raised your stature, only the expanse of the crown city and a silver of the outer gardens were visible.

For a fleeting moment there, you forgot that Kayan was in the room with you. You were startled when she said, “The general would not have them enter through the main entrance. You won’t see anything from there.”

You slowly turned to look at her, ripping your desperate gaze away from the view outside. Her statement made sense. They wouldn’t be paraded through the same door that royals and nobility step through.

You willed your lungs to expand once, taking in as much air as possible before letting it out slowly. It was not the time to lose your patience or your focus.

Soon, you assured yourself, finding the settee once more and busying yourself with the silver tray of sugared buqsumat on the low table. The freshly baked biscuits were delivered to your room on a daily basis, which you supposed was Kayan’s doing. Dusted impeccably and topped with that fragrant, purple blossom of rayhan each time.

It took longer than you wished before you were clear to move about the palace again. The guard that had relayed the information seemed to understand the trembling desperation in your eyes as Kayan excused herself. There was a semblance of apology in his tone. “The victims are currently receiving care in the royal clinic. You will be able to see them once all formal procedures are over and they are settled in their rooms. Be assured that we will inform you then, Aanisa.”

And so, you waited further, your uneasy impatience keeping you sharply awake and conscious of every passing minute. The sky’s soft blue was beginning to bleed into purple, the loss of light casting long shadows across the sitting room. Kayan would be entering to oil the light fixtures soon, and you hoped she would carry some helpful news with her.

When a knock finally echoed in the room, you hurried to answer it, swinging the door open with a question ready to fall out of your lips. Where you expected to find the young lady tasked with taking care of you stood a certain Grand General, hands folded behind his back as he regarded you with that calm, fortified gaze.

The question was pulled under the flood of thoughts violently crashing into your mind. You suddenly remembered the conversation you had with Kayan on that strange morning a week past.

“Good evening, Aanisa Y/n,” his lips stretched into a vague smile, and if you stared enough, you would have noticed the weariness tugging at his eyes, “I hope you’ve been well.”

“I have, shukran,” you managed to croak out after a beat of awkward silence, flustered by his presence. What was he doing there of all people?

But before you could carry the awkward exchange further, your thoughts snapped into focus again and you cleared your throat, urgency dancing in the lilt of your syllables. “Where are they? Are they safe?”

At that, the general closed his eyes and a silent sigh slipped out of his lips. “That is what I came here to talk to you about. If you would follow me, please.”

You obliged wordlessly, trailing behind him as he led you through the somewhat familiar maze of hallways. You couldn’t imagine him growing up behind those walls, running from room to room in the palace with a prince training to be king one day. It felt almost wrong to reduce his current guarded and calculated demeanor to that of a curious, carefree child. Then again, how much did you know about the lives of princes?

You reached an area that didn’t seem to be part of the palace. Low ceilings and dim lighting, dull walls and an unmistakable tang of steel, the general stopped before a small yet heavily guarded door at the end of the hall.

He turned to look at you, speaking carefully, “Behind this door and at the end of the tunnel is Hijris’ dungeon. I can take you there if you wish to see him. If not, I will walk you to where your friends are in the palace.”

Despite the unease that washed over you, you found yourself nodding. “I would like to see him.”

La, you didn’t want to see him. You wanted him to see you. You wanted Hijris to see you and let his impending demise sink into his skin, into every filthy fiber of his being. You wanted him to see you, standing, unbroken, alive, the survivor he tried so hard to snuff out, while he himself was chained to the ground, helpless, defeated, doomed. And it would be the last time he laid his hateful gaze on you. May it burn with scorn, you thought. You would gladly let your pride feast on that image for the rest of your life.

With a firm nod in your direction, Jeongin mentioned for one of the guards to open the door before stepping into the narrow tunnel of dungeons.

“Stay close. Hathari,” he instructed, and you did, keeping your eyes trained on the silver-bladed shoulders of his uniform as you made your way past blank-faced guards and countless cells.

Eventually, he stopped before a dungeon that was more secluded than the rest. You hadn’t the time to peer at the dark dungeon before you heard the wet noise of spit shooting out of the prisoner’s mouth. It narrowly missed your sandaled feet.

Hijris was sneering behind the bars. “Here’s your gift returned. How did you like your stay at the palace, ya—”

The guard on duty rattled the bars in warning before he got to finish, and the general’s words cut through right after, the hostility in them foreign to you. “I would consider my next words with the utmost care were I you, Hijris.”

Yet the threat seemed to affect him none. Hijris’ sneer was still present, still directed at you with relentless malice.

But you would not give him the satisfaction of your fear or the unease that you felt around him. He was defeated. He was nothing anymore and he could not do anything to you any longer. You would make him understand. You would see that smugness wiped from his face and you will relish it.

So, you lifted your gaze and let it crash on him, stone on broken earth. You would not even grant him an answer.

He was in a threadbare thawb, his expensive silk abaya and turban long discarded, presenting him as he truly was. His graying hair was matted to his head in layers of sweat and grime, and you supposed it was a splatter of dried blood that darkened a tip of his mustache. You fought to keep your repulsion in check. He was a displeasure to look at.

A memory echoed.

Do you want him dead?

Your hands formed fists on the sides of your thawb. This time, you had an answer, and it was sending tremors of fury across your tensed muscles.

And as though he could sense it, Jeongin shook his head, his tone coming out oddly gentle, “As much as I would like to let you have this, this vengeance isn’t yours alone to take.

“We should leave now.” he signaled to the guards on duty and turned toward the direction you came from. Without a last glance, without a goodbye, without a parting insult, you whirled around and followed the general out, keeping your head up. You refused to break in those dungeons.

Only when the heavy doors creaked shut behind you did you dare to let out a single wavering breath. Hijris was there. That fact did not dawn over you lightly. It crashed over you violently, stealing the air from your lungs. You almost buckled under its weight. As if previously oblivious, your insides churned, threatening to spill the day’s food at the revelation. Panic clawed at your chest, sudden, cold, relentless. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.

“The trial will commence once interrogations are finished,” you heard the general say, but he felt distant, imagined.

What was happening to you? You tried to grasp onto any piece of reality, but it was all too slippery. The walls seemed to close in, both those of your surroundings and your mind’s. The brown and black of the guards’ uniforms swirled like washed away paint, dizzying, a blotch of silver seemed to bloom in the mess.

The world tipped over, and you were a drowning sailor, flailing for any raft to hold on to.

Then…

“Y/n.”

There! You threw your arms over that voice, grasping it as though your life depended on it.

“Breathe.”

But you were, so much that the rapid succession had muddled your thoughts.

“Slowly. He will not harm you now, nobody will. I swear it.”

Something prodded at you to believe the voice. There was a reason buried at the back of your mind you couldn’t retrieve.

“There, slowly, Y/n. You’re safe. You’re all right.”

You had a reason to be safe around him. It was clear as a crystal for a breath, bright, then gone the next. A shudder rattled your ribs. You were suddenly all too aware of your palms pressed against the cold floor, your knees uncomfortable against the hard tiles.

“You’re safe here, Y/n.”

A murmur, gentle, intimate, the words meshed together with a thread of deep empathy. Slowly, you encouraged yourself. Slowly.

You blinked. The world began to clear.

“Safe… There you are…”

No, it wasn’t empathy. You caught the raw tinge of painful memory in his tone. Something personal. Vulnerability, a weakness he seemed to understand differently.

You inhaled, and it felt like your first real breath in a tortured decade.

“Aanisa Y/n?” the general was kneeling beside where you were huddled on the ground, eyebrows knotted in concern as his gaze searched your face. Decision settled on his countenance when he spoke, “You should return to your rooms and rest.”

Your breathing had finally calmed, and you shook your head. Despite that excruciating fit of panic, you could not rest. Not without seeing your friends again. Your voice was a mere whisper. “La. I need to see them.”

The tender understanding that soothed the furrow of his brows engrained itself into your mind. He was beautiful in a way that made you let your walls down, lay down your vulnerability freely. Maybe it was your conflicted state, or your unease, or your silent fear that made you see him with such unprecedented affection. He understood, and he didn’t fight your wishes. It meant more to you than it should’ve anyone else.

You shook your thoughts away, unwilling to dwell in those intrusive feelings further, and pushed yourself to your feet. The farther you were from the dungeons, the better you would be.

The general followed you, righting his posture and smiling softly as though you were a bird he didn’t want to scare away. “I’ll walk you to your friends.”

•ꕥ•

All throughout the past two weeks, you had imagined your reunion with Bara’a and Kadi, turned the scene over and over again until it became a muddled mess in your drowsy mind. It was a lullaby that drove you to sleep every night, one twisted with timid hope and bitter guilt.

They would understand, wouldn’t they? Bara’a would understand the decisions you had to make, right?

They were gone by the time you had awakened. Whether or not you stayed at the palace wouldn’t have made a difference.

They would understand.

Now, as your steps quickened after the general’s sure strides, the reunion panned out in your mind again, lush, vivid, yet clouded by your anxiousness. You thought of what you would do once you spotted them. Would you run to them? Call out? Would you pull them into an embrace or stare wordlessly? What could you even say when you finally met their gazes? I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re here. I missed you. We’re all safe now.

Then, an unease settled at the bottom of your stomach, killing the swarm of butterflies. What if they weren’t as excited to see you again as you were to see them? What if, instead of relief and joy, you spotted hurt and betrayal in their eyes?

La! You pushed those thoughts away forcefully, hurrying such that you were a step ahead of the general. La, that won’t happen…

But that wasn’t enough to calm the restless buzzing in your heart. It didn’t help that the palace felt like an endless maze right then. You walked with Jeongin, passing through long hallways swarmed with guards and under magnificent archways, holding your breath in anticipation whenever you rounded a corner or spotted a cluster of people. It was almost driving you mad.

You glanced at the general, preparing to ask about your destination when you found yourself walking into a crowded hallway. Like second nature, your eyes found him among the people instantly, and you forgot your pointless agitation.

His back was to you as he spoke to a passing guard, but you would recognize his frame anywhere, anytime, void of all your senses if you had to.

“Bara’a!”

He turned at your voice, and it was a flicker in his eyes, like a spring breaking through rock—recognition, relief, joy. You were stood there for a breath, running the next, then in his arms finally. Cool air rushed past you before melting into pure warmth, and you drew in a shaky breath as you held him tight. It felt like your first real breath in weeks.

You pulled away, just enough to see his face, and your eye welled with tears again. Everything that happened up until that moment came rushing to you, ready to spill out the moment you dared to blink.

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to do anything that would distort your sight of him, grasping onto every thread of his being as though to reassure yourself of this being a reality.

There was your friend, and you could finally exhale. There was Bara’a, with his ocean-like gaze and breezy smile. A cut ran across the side of his nose, haphazardly nearing his eye and dipping into his brow. It didn’t look new, the healing ends were only interrupted by delicate stitching. Concern bloomed cold in your heart.

You wanted to ask, but then you saw the set of your friend’s eyes darken, the stillness of water hiding awaiting perils. He beat you to the question, his voice coming out hoarse, “What happened—who did this to you?”

Somehow, amidst that day’s events, you’d forgotten that your burn was bare for any and all to see. Kayan had undone the bandages that morning, stating that there was no further need of covering the injury. Perhaps, in another lifetime, you would’ve grimaced and attempted to hide it. But you only shook your head as a tear slid across your right cheek, choking out, “It doesn’t matter,” before the words came tumbling after, the syllables tripping over one another, “I was so worried when I woke up and learned that he took you all and ran away. I thought— I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. There was nothing I could do. I’m just so relieved that you’re here and that you’re safe—”

You paused, hiccupping a breath before you realized, “Where is Kadi?”

You’d been so relieved to see Bara’a that you nearly overlooked the fact that he was alone. Kadi would always trail after one of you. The more you thought of it, the odder her absence seemed.

He was silent for a moment, and you watched the turbulent waves of conflict twist his eyebrows and moisten his eyes. Sorrow, so immense and raw tugged at his every feature you almost berated yourself for not noticing it earlier. It seemed as though he could barely muster out the will to whisper, “Y/n…”

No… Something was wrong, terribly so. Uneasiness weighed down your feet as you stepped away from your friend, turning around unthinkingly to find Jeongin. He was standing a short distance away, conversing with one of his soldiers when he caught your look of distress. A frown, so slight you would have missed it, seemed to ask, what’s wrong?

You looked around, searching and failing, before you frowned, “My friend Kadi… She’s not here…”

There was a tug at your wrist, and you moved to see Bara’a shaking his head. “Y/n, don’t.”

“What’s going on, Bara’a?” you didn’t like any of what was happening. His worn expression, his anguished tone, you had never heard him sound so broken. A different kind of panic began to rise in your chest. Where’s Kadi?

You were suddenly aware of all the eyes trained on you, the familiar faces of your friends that were morphed into expressions of mourning and woe. You hurled your gaze back to the general and found him pursing his lips in solemn remorse. You turned back to Bara’a, desperate for anything to soothe the unease threatening to pull your heart apart. “Why isn’t Kadi with you? Where is she?”

His next words came strained, as though each letter were a khanjar thrust deeper into his chest, as though he were admitting a truth he’d denied for so long. Any joy you felt moments prior was washed away in a harrowing instant.

“Kadi is gone, Y/n.”

Part One | Part Two: Sword and Storm | Part Three

If you have read this far then you are contractually obligated to tell me your thoughts! Well, not really, but do drop by sometime! Please anticipate the final part in 2022. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful day! ♡

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chaninfused · 3 years

Text

Speaking in Tongues: Part One | Yang Jeongin

◤“When he said nothing, you felt a familiar mute anger rise in your chest. He must think you were pathetic. Maybe a fool. But you were doing everything you could to survive this horrible place.”

Something terrible is unfolding in the slums of the crown city, and as the general hurries to put an end to it, he crosses paths with a rogue dancer who is willing to sacrifice everything for her freedom.

◤Disclaimers: From the world of Danse macabre (no need to read beforehand). Fantasy inspired by Arabian mythology. A blend of fluff and angst. Includes descriptions of violence and injury. Depictions of a human trade. Alludes to mature themes (not explicit) and recalls occurrences of sexual assault (not romanticized, obviously). This does not refer to a historical event of my knowledge, nor does it reference real life nations or people. Female reader insert. View the glossary here. Playlist.

◤Word count: 10.2K

◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. masterlist.

◤Dedicated to @blueprint-han, happy birthday, dawn! Please enjoy this day to the fullest because you deserve it! Always remember that you are loved and appreciated by us all, and that you’re absolutely amazing! Happy reading! ♥

Part One: Little Heaven | Part Two | Part Three

“Ah, there you are!” Minho clapped a hand on his cousin’s shoulder when he spotted him amongst the crowd. “I was almost sure you weren’t going to make an appearance.”

Jeongin gave him an easy smile, hands clasped neatly at his back as his twin swords swayed with his steps. “I thought I’d give the prince my well wishes.”

It was young Prince Seungmin’s ninth birthday that night, and the nobility of Darilmalek had gathered for a celebratory dinner. However, the general’s words were only part of the truth. He walked into the party with urgent news to deliver to the king.

But before Jeongin could ask for a private word, Minho was already directing him toward a small gathering where the queen stood with a lady he vaguely recognized. “Dearest cousin, allow me to introduce you to Sayeda Dina, heir to the southern Nasri business.”

The woman stood tall, stiff in posture, the darkest waves of hair elegantly hidden under a veil of bright turquoise. A headpiece of thinly pressed gold coins framed her kohl-lined eyes, a grave contrast to her moon-like skin. Her gaze skittered to the ground when she bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, general.”

Jeongin threw a single disappointed look toward his cousin before acknowledging her. “Likewise.”

It was yet another attempt at finding him a bride. He was well aware. The king and queen weren’t exactly discrete with their motives.

The general noticed the disapproval woven in the king’s expression and dared to hold his gaze back. What were they expecting him to do? Kiss her hand and ask to meet her father?

An exasperated sigh fought to leave his lips.

Instead, he turned to fully face Minho, making sure to stand close enough for his words to meet the king’s ears alone. “A word, please.”

The king shook his head, a clear sign of disappointment, before taking hold of his wife’s hand and excusing himself. “A moment, hubbi.”

The queen looked at him then at the general, the smallest hint of amusement curving her tinted lips. “Of course.”

Only when they were away from the gathering, alone in the hallway after dismissing the guards, did Jeongin let out that sigh. He folded his arms, the silver blades of his shoulder pads glinting in the moonlight streaming from the windows. A long strand of black hair fell over his left eye when he glared at his cousin. “When will you stop trying to introduce me to the ladies of the court?”

Minho barked a laugh. “I know you didn’t bring me here to berate me about that.”

Instantly, his demeanor changed, and his eyes scanned the hallway for any eavesdroppers before saying, “We have a lead.”

“A lead?” Minho repeated, voice dropping into a hushed whisper. Over the span of two weeks, rumors of a thriving human trade based in the crown city reached the royal family. Jeongin and his men were working toward finding the culprits, if there were any and the rumors were true, and bringing them to face trial.

“Na’am. We managed to intercept an invite to the Junayna.”

The Little Garden. The Little Heaven. That was the name of the pleasure house hidden deep within the slums of the crown city. Entry was only granted to those carrying an invite, issued by the owner of the establishment.

It was a suspicious business, promising anonymity and secrecy for its clients. The sudden emergence of the Junayna perfectly coincided with the increasing reports of missing men and women. Jeongin knew that there was scarcely anything honest about such businesses.

“You’re sending men undercover?” Minho asked, to which Jeongin shook his head. “We don’t want to raise their suspicions. I’m going alone.”

A silence stretched between them as the king considered his words, to be broken by a cough as the general added, “Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Minho’s gaze snapped to meet his. Though, he wasn’t surprised to find nothing but resolute decision in the calm sea of his eyes. Jeongin had grown to become a leader of his own, a general willing to go beyond the specifications of his duty to see a mission done. He was nothing like the easygoing, remiss cousin Minho knew ten years ago.

He also knew that he was being told this information out of nothing but mere protocol. Jeongin didn’t really require his advice on the matter.

“Alright,” the king gave him a solemn nod, his permission acquired. “May the Aliha grant you their luck.”

•ꕥ•

Jeongin didn’t need luck. He needed patience to tolerate this slum.

Al Qa’er was what the locals called it. A lawless neighborhood ruled by thieves, conmen, and drunkards. Nothing would save him here but the tip of his saif. Not a title and not any kind of dignity.

It wasn’t the buildings that seemed to lean into each other, or the ground that seemed to be caked in grime — what Jeongin hated about Al Qa’er was the knowledge of what lay behind those walls and hid in those alleys. There was an injustice that always seemed to return, no matter how many times the crown tried to annihilate it. The exploitive minds of Al Qa’er always found a way to oppress the less fortunate and the unsuspecting.

The general couldn’t tell if the searing rush of emotion that clouded his mind was disgust or anger. Or both.

Jeongin adjusted the black veil he wore and turned into an alley on his right. The route he memorized was courtesy of his assistant. A maze within the alleyways that would finally lead him to the Junayna.

From the edges of his vision, he spotted a couple of people following his path. They, too, wore veils to conceal their identities. They were dark pieces of garment, secured at the back of the head, with a single slit across to allow vision. The rich liked to decorate them with gems and golden embroidery portraying the mouths of various animals or intricate shapes. Jeongin had settled for plain black, embellished with three small pearls at each end of the slit.

It was a requisite for entering the pleasure house, in order to give the visitors the anonymity they sought.

The mere concept of the veils made the hairs at the back of Jeongin’s neck rise in repulsion. Though he supposed it worked for his particular situation. The Commander of the Darilmalekan army was too recognizable a face to saunter undetected into Al Qa’er’s horrific establishments.

The closer Jeongin was to his destination, the more masked figures he noticed. They all walked in silence, as though the veils demanded it. He wondered about them. Who were they? Did he know any of these people? Were they men and women he dined with? Invited to his home? Was it mere curiosity that brought them there or were they regulars?

Finally, Jeongin spotted a dimly lit entrance guarded by one man and realized he wasn’t ready to witness whatever obscenity the Junayna offered.

The muffled beat of the daff reached his ears. Too bad he never waited to be ready.

Jeongin watched as the guard let a couple pass through before pulling out the folded piece of parchment he secured in his belt. He studied the man’s face as he handed him his invitation. He, too, maintained an unnatural silence. His dark hair was pulled into a short braid at the base of his neck, and the bronze of his skin shimmered in the meager moonlight. A heavy sword was sheathed at his hip. No man walked the streets of Al Qa’er unarmed.

The man flipped the parchment over, and over again, frowning as though something was wrong. He grunted, wrinkling the invitation in his grip as he regarded the general. His words were accented by the unruly streets. “Who are you?”

Jeongin raised a brow, his words shooting through the air like lethal arrows despite the winds of nervousness that breezed over his heart, “Is this your promise of secrecy?”

“I’ve never seen-”

“What is all this commotion about?” a voice boomed from somewhere behind the guard, and soon, a stout man came into view. A heavy, bejeweled turban balanced on his head, grey strands of hair escaping the white silk. He wore a similarly white thawb, and a ridiculously yellow abaya over it, studded with zumurrud. He almost resembled a lemon. A khanjar was strapped to his belt, and the enormous precious gems on the rings suffocating his fingers told Jeongin that this man had never needed to wield a weapon in his life.

He was the target.

Jeongin let out an annoyed breath, gesturing to the guard while his other hand rested casually on the hilt of his saif. He’d had to ditch his twin swords for the occasion. “Your guard is denying the validity of my invitation.”

“Give me that,” the man snarled as he ripped the parchment out of the guard’s fist. He took a glance at it, then directed his gaze toward Jeongin. The latter tilted his head, the lie spilling like smooth honey on fresh bread, “A good friend of mine gave me this invite. I do not wish to disclose his identity.”

His age-worn mustache seemed to twitch with something akin to annoyance as he slammed the invite into the guard’s chest. An unsettling smile then stretched his plump lips as he beckoned Jeongin forward. “Right, of course. Pardon the insolence of my guard. Allow me to walk you in personally.”

Jeongin followed him without acknowledgment. A question danced at his lips, but he elected to stay silent. Better maintain the facade of a nonchalant nobleman than raise eyebrows with his curiosity.

They walked through a dimly lit tunnel, and the farther they went, the clearer the daff became. The catchy tune of the habban drifted through the air, complemented by steady clapping and harmonious singing. Jeongin realized they must’ve had a fully-fledged ensemble at the end of that tunnel.

The Junayna was nothing like Jeongin expected. When he stepped through the archway, the general was greeted by the flurry of colorful silks and the hypnotic beat of the daff and its sisters. He was standing in an enormous clearing that seemed to be carved out of the heart of a great building. The moon and the stars shone above, witnesses or maybe an audience to this underground party.

At the center of the court, a group of female dancers moved in a graceful whirlwind of silks, skin, and hair, perfectly illuminated by the lanterns hung above them. Around them, Jeongin noticed the veiled figures. They sat in groups or alone, relaxed on lavish cushions with glasses of khamr and plates of exotic fruit. The lights were scarce on them, but Jeongin still saw the hunger by which they ogled the dancers.

A sting of disgust made him grimace, and he was thankful for the veil that hid his expressions.

“Ah, front row!” the man exclaimed as he pointed Jeongin towards an empty majlis closest to the center. He wanted to decline, already spotting a place hidden in the shadows at a far corner before he silenced the thought urgently. People don’t come here to be modest.

“Enjoy your night.” the turban tipped haphazardly when the man bowed his head and sauntered away, hollering a comment at the dancers that created a rupture of laughter amongst the audience. Jeongin allowed himself to sit, forced himself to loosen up. If he were to learn anything from this visit, then he’d better try to blend in.

A serving boy soon rushed over to his majlis, placing down a bottle of khamr and a silver plate of grapes and pomegranate. Jeongin regarded him. He couldn’t have been much older than Seungmin. His clothes fell over his figure lousily. Oversized, or maybe he was too underfed.

When the boy offered to fill his cup, Jeongin let him. He wouldn’t drink, he never did, let alone on a job, but that would be enough to complete his facade. He murmured a short ‘shukran’ before the boy scampered away, the sleeves of his tunic billowing around his bony arms.

What now? Jeongin thought as he shifted in his position, eyes trailing over the round structure he was in. The circular wall was three stories tall. He noticed a veiled figure disappear through a staircase at the opposite side of the court, accompanied by a dash of purple silks, then appear at the open hallway on the first floor. He didn’t bother to see what room the two walked into.

There were women among the audience. He noticed eyes deeply lined with kohl, veiled heads crowned with beautiful headpieces. He also noticed the men standing near them, purple vests open to flaunt toned torsos and sculpted arms.

Jeongin had begun to feel as though his veil was crawling with ants.

The dancing had stopped with a final shrill of the habban, and the dancers left the wide arena in perfect unison. They held their skirts firmly and pressed their arms to their sides as they passed through the thin space separating the ensemble from the audience’s seats. It was as though they were protecting themselves, Jeongin realized when he saw a man lean forward and grab a fistful of one of the girls’ silks. His veil bore the embroidered mouth of a lion.

The girl froze in place. The rest scurried past her, a stampede of blue and red, green and gold, a panicked jingle to their steps, and huddled in an empty space behind the ensemble.

All Jeongin could see from his place was the rigid hunch of her bare shoulders, ivory against the deep blood of her fustan. The glorious waves of her black hair were slightly tousled from dancing, but they reached the small of her back like the other dancers.

For a moment there, Jeongin thought she would storm off. He hoped she would. But then he saw the man in the obnoxious yellow abaya, a look he could only describe as the impending storm shadowing his awful face.

The girl dropped her shoulders and turned around to face the veiled man, letting him guide her to the majlis he shared with several other girls.

Jeongin looked away. This was vile. He knew little of the workings of harems and concubines, but this was entirely different.

He needed to talk to someone. He needed to gather all the information he could before he fled this place in sheer horror.

The serving boy from earlier strode past him, an empty bottle in hand. Should he try to stop him? Wring out a few answers?

No, Jeongin thought, eyes searching the open court, too conspicuous.

“In need of company?”

Jeongin’s eyes snapped towards the owner of the voice. The horrible man in yellow stood near his majlis. The same unsettling smile was drawn on his lips. Though it felt more like the sneer of a prowling predator, now that Jeongin had seen what the Junayna was like.

Every instinct of his screamed at him to decline, but the general’s mind bloomed at the chance. Perfect.

He didn’t respond, letting his silence do the work for him.

“May I interest you in one of our girls?” he offered and didn’t wait for an answer when he turned to look at the group of resting dancers. He took a moment as if to contemplate before calling above the music, “Y/n!”

Almost immediately, a young woman stood, her embellished fustan flaring around her due to the sudden movement. She stared, dazed, as though she couldn’t quite believe her ears. The man repeated, loud, his tone harsh command rather than kind invite, “Y/n!”

She started walking, her steps stiff and quick, abrupt jingles sounding from the sash on her hips. Jeongin noticed some eyes among the audience following her, then noticed the way she clutched her dress. Not protective or afraid, but harsh, displeased. Angry, he realized.

She came to stand before him, eyes fixed on the ground. Jeongin didn’t miss the way she stiffened when the man grabbed her arm and forced her forward. “Of course, there are younger girls, but I think you will find our Y/n quite delightful. She’s of Tajilmalekan roots.”

Jeongin forced his cool gaze to land on her. The deep blue of her fustan mimicked the night sky, cascading gracefully over her figure. It was designed to make a spectacle of its wearer with layers of silk that danced and flared with each little movement. A line of careful embroidery traced the dangerously plunging neckline to the belt of small, coin-like, pressed gold pieces tied around her hip. The accessory was meant to clink like a thousand little bells with each movement.

She was beautiful. Jeongin wasn’t going to lie to himself.

When he dragged his gaze back to the man in yellow, the latter clasped his hands behind his back and turned to leave. He barely caught what he said to the young woman on his way. “Behave.”

Moments of silence passed after he left. Jeongin released his gaze, letting it roam anywhere but her as he reached for the full cup on the table. She stood still, fists tight around her silks. Her sudden words could’ve easily been lost in the music surrounding them. “I don’t care what Hijris told you. I can offer you conversation but that is all I’m willing to give.”

What? Jeongin felt as though he was being suffocated by his veil when he realized what she was insinuating. She spoke with the lilting syllables of Tajilmalekan seafarers.

“Conversation would be great,” he responded when he regained his composure. He looked at the majalis around him and caught the gaze of one of those men in purple vests. He was staring right at him, pure murder in his handsome features.

Jeongin didn’t wait to see him divert his eyes, letting himself look at the girl again instead. “Why don’t you...sit?”

•ꕥ•

You wanted nothing more than to murder the mercenary scumbag who called himself Hijris.

You were a dancer, were you not? Your job was to dance. Why then were you sitting by the majlis of a veiled man, legs folded neatly under your body, mind racing through a thousand possibilities of what could happen next? Why?

“You’re from Tajilmalek,” the man said. He spoke like no one you’d met before. Clear, perfectly measured syllables that ended with sharp cases, free of any accent you recognized.

Your eyes stayed trained on the hard ground. “Na’am.”

He hummed, a low sound. Then asked, “Do you like it here?”

The question made your gaze snap up, finally taking in the man who sat like a king on his cushions. He was dressed in black from the carefully swathed fabric of his litham to the tips of his hitha’a. A single sword was sheathed at his hip. But perhaps what intrigued you the most was his underwhelming choice of veil. While the other men and women chose to embellish theirs with gems and complex embroidery, his was a starless night sky, save for a few small pearls.

He was watching you, knife-like eyes shrouded in fittingly dark kohl awaiting an answer. You looked away. “It’s fine.”

You didn’t hear the rustle of clothes when he stood up, not offering a hand but simply deciding, “I’ll walk you back to your group.”

That’s it? You didn’t know if you wanted to cry in relief or laugh at this strange man. Wordlessly, you stood up and fell in step behind him. You didn’t want to try and figure out his motives for doing that. You were simply grateful for his silent company. It kept the eyes following you in their place.

You parted ways by the ensemble. He made a clear line toward Hijris, who stood near a group of guards overlooking the arena, while you quickly joined the rest of the dancers resting on the ground.

Your friends didn’t say anything but looked at you with relief in their sorrow worn, kohl-lined eyes.

You brought your hands to your aching foot, massaging it to relieve the pain that resulted from hours of constant dancing on the rough ground. A shadow fell over you when you switched to the other foot and you didn’t bother to look up when you heard him demand, voice an ugly hiss, “What did he tell you?”

“He said he would never sleep with a woman in cheap silks and fake gold.”

Whether or not he believed your lie, you didn’t care. The satisfaction of a man who sold the bodies of others to fill his coffers was beyond your concerns.

He could go crack his skull against the walls of his pleasure house for all you cared.

•ꕥ•

Your nights were always long. The Junayna was bursting with music and dance and hell until the sun’s graceful rays chased the stars.

You watched the sunrise from the window of your cramped room while braiding your damp hair. The bothersome fustan you’d donned all night was discarded in a pile alongside the rest of your fasateen, awaiting to be collected by the laundry girls. You were comfortably changed into a wide cream thawb, lightly embroidered at the collar and the cuffs with red thread instead.

A faint knock sounded at your door, and you stepped to open it, glad to be greeted by a familiar face.

Bara’a gave you a small, sad smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you breathed, letting him into your room and closing the door. There was barely enough room for the two of you in the narrow space, but you managed.

You heard the soft clink of coins as he set something on the small dressing table he leaned against. “This is all I could get.”

Five Dinar. You counted the bronze before gathering it in your fist and kneeling beside the large chest on the floor.

You, Bara’a, and a third friend of yours had begun picking up money from Hijris’ earnings. One might call it theft, but you supposed you deserved more than the terrible excuse for a salary he gave you. Especially when that money was the product of the blood, tears, and anguish of people like you.

You opened the chest and dug between layers of colorful, cheap silks until your fingers found that familiar rough fabric. You pulled out the pouch. You’d fashioned it such that it looked like a folded roughspun thawb. Perfectly uninteresting.

You unfolded the layers of the dress to find that hidden pocket. After untying the thread that held it shut, you dropped the coins with the rest that the three of you had collected over the past eight months. The pouch would soon be too heavy, and you’ll have to make a new one.

Soon enough, you’ll be free to run away where no one could find you again.

You couldn’t wait to see the anger on Hijris’ face.

Behind you, Bara’a let out a quiet breath. “What happened down there?”

You didn’t have to ask to know what he was talking about, and you shrugged, burying the pouch under the mass of silks and closing the chest. “Nothing. He asked me two questions and sent me back...himself.”

“I saw,” he acknowledged with a murmur. You rested your back against the wall, letting your gaze settle on him with the lightness of a feather.

You first met Bara’a nearly two years ago. A veiled man who’d had more khamr than his system could handle had followed you as you made your way to your room. You were new and afraid, and you couldn’t fight him off when his filthy hands clamped on your bare arms.

That was when someone wrestled him off you, and amid your panicked fear, you barely registered the voice telling you to run away and hide.

You didn’t know why he’d done that, but you soon learned that it was the sense of unity that tied those of you in the Junayna. The knowledge that you were all fighting the same evil.

Whispers about the incident skittered between the girls like mice the following day. They said that weapons were drawn, and that Hijris whipped Bara’a until his back bled for his actions. Though, he never spoke of it to you.

You’d become friends ever since, looking after each other in silence when no one else did.

Bara’a was like you. He’d traveled to Darilmalek for a future he sought, only to find himself entangled in the webs of Al Qa’er. Looking at him, you hated that you knew why Hijris’ men targeted him.

In the shy light of dawn, he looked every bit a prince. The gentle brown waves of his hair reached past his ears, framing his face elegantly like one would a painting. The crooked tip of a thin scar peeked from under his chin, warm honey cutting through light stubble. His eyes were a blue you could only liken to the mesmerizing deep of the ocean, graying over when the sun shone at them directly.

He was beautiful. Perhaps that was why he was a favorite among the women who visited the Junayna.

Bara’a returned your gaze, eyes like troubled waters. They always were. “Do you think...”

“No. Not at all,” you shook your head instantly. There was no way you were catching someone’s eye. Not when you were so close to reclaiming your freedom.

He nodded as if telling himself, of course not. He then said, “Kadi is in her room.”

“Is she okay?” you asked with a start. Poor, sweet Kadi. You had no choice but to rush after the girls when that man grabbed her fustan. All you could do was watch with the rest, horror and desperation etched on your faces as she stepped into his majlis.

There was nothing any of you could do. You had no voice to deny the veiled visitors.

Bara’a shook his head. “I overheard her crying when I passed by.”

You didn’t spare a second to run out of your room and down the hallway when you heard that. Oh, Kadi.

Her room was unlocked, and you stepped in, Bara’a following and shutting the door behind you. In the narrow space, you spotted Kadi, tangled in her blood red silks, huddled on the thin mattress of her bed. Her sobs were muffled, pained hiccups ricocheting off the walls.

“Oh, Kadi.” you dropped on the side of the bed and gathered her in your arms. The girl was much younger than you and Bara’a were. Barely turning sixteen when she was forced to join the Junayna a year ago.

Hijris had taken advantage of her innocence, her dewy charm. She was lucky enough to end up with the dancers, but even that label didn’t protect her from the desires of some monsters. Much like it almost did to you.

Kadi wept in your arms. She didn’t speak, didn’t say what happened to her, but you heard it in her anguish. You felt it in the echo of your own cries some years ago.

“I want t-to leave this place,” she croaked, her voice broken and raw. You hugged her close, murmuring as you fought back tears, “I know.”

A warm hand settled on your shoulder. Bara’a’s voice was weighed down by sorrow. It always was. “We will. Soon.”

•ꕥ•

Jeongin eyed the invitation on his desk. One of his soldiers was sent to collect and deliver it to him earlier that day.

The general had seen atrocities on his visit to the Junayna during the previous night. It was clear to any observer that it was a business that ran on exploiting vulnerable people. Many of them are kids, he reminded himself, remembering the girl in the red fustan and the serving boy.

Hijris was the name. He was the man responsible for that, unfortunately, thriving business.

Feigning interest, Jeongin had asked if there was any chance he could receive his own invitation. The man seemed to be guided by nothing but greed, for he quickly added a new drop-off location to his list and demanded a large sum of money.

Jeongin tossed a heavy pouch of silver in his open hands and turned around, leaving the grim establishment to be swallowed by the night behind him.

The general sighed, eyeing the drawer where he’d stashed the black veil.

He was going back tonight. But he was bringing one of his spies along.

•ꕥ•

“Ya bint!”

A panic rose in your heart and you quickly grabbed Kadi’s hand, diverting from the group.

It was time for your first break of the night. Normally, you’d look forward to resting your blistered feet. This time, however, you were dreading the moment you left the arena.

You’d promised Kadi that nothing would happen to her tonight. You swore it. So when you heard that shout and noticed that it came from the majlis of the man with a veil resembling a lion’s mouth, you had to turn away.

You weren’t going to let him have his way with the girl again.

You thought of taking the route between the majalis and then around the perimeter of the court, but then you spotted Hijris. He was making his way toward you like an angry bull.

No, no, no! You looked around you, trying to keep your composure. Kadi was sobbing silently by your side.

There must be another solution.

Then you saw him. Blank black veil, somewhere in the middle row, all alone.

Was it foolish of you to take your chances with a complete stranger? Definitely. But it was that or let Kadi go and face Hijris’ fury when the sun rose.

So, you acted as though you’d meant to go to him all along, dragging Kadi with you in hurried steps.

His gaze fell on the two of you like the tip of a saif on soft skin. If he was confused, he hid it perfectly. Or maybe the veil hid it for him.

You ushered Kadi toward one side of the divan, speaking under your breath before dropping yourself to the man’s other side, “Sit!”

•ꕥ•

To say Jeongin was confused would be a laughable understatement.

You’d plunked yourself on the cushions beside him and wrapped your arm around his, posing like the women in purple silks on the other majalis. The girl you dragged with you sat neatly on his other side. She kept a small distance, as if to avoid making contact, and picked up the plate of fruits to place on her lap.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice even and low.

“Please...” your muttered answer explained nothing, but Jeongin understood enough when he caught the sight of a veiled man walking his way. He was flanked by women in purple silks and donned a veil resembling a lion’s mouth in its embroidery.

Jeongin remembered him. He was the man who’d forced one of the dancers to join his majlis.

The young girl.

He glanced to his left, finding that she’d hung her head low to let her hair fall like curtains on her face. He still saw the glisten of tears on her pale cheeks. It all made sense in a moment.

“Why would you run away like that?” the man’s tone should’ve been lighthearted, but Jeongin saw beyond that. He wanted to corner them, fluster them into doing what he wanted.

The general let a cool gaze settle on him. “Can I help you?”

“No. But sweet Kadi over here,” he leaned. The veil seemed to be swallowing his difficult breaths, “Why don’t you let me see that pretty face of yours?”

“So, you’re disturbing my company.”

“Not at all. I’d just wanted Kadi at my majlis.”

“So, you’re willing to share?” Jeongin wanted to find the nearest wall and bash his head against it. But he knew the effect of his suggestion. This man’s greed and ego wouldn’t let him depart with the women.

It was evident in the way he glared at Jeongin, a large hand fisted around the silver hilt of his small saif.

“I am not fond of the idea either,” he confessed. It was true. Jeongin didn’t like any of what was happening.

“Sadati, what is bothering you?” a voice rose from behind the veiled man. Jeongin saw the lemon abaya before he spotted the face.

Hijris spared one glance at his majlis, something akin to approval in his expression, then turned his attention to the man with the lion’s veil. “Nadia is coming down soon. I’ll let her find you.”

“The girls told me she was sick,” the man said, starting to follow Hijris back to his divan.

“Sick? Oh, no, no! She’ll be here in moments.”

Something told Jeongin that was a complete lie.

You let go of his arm before he could shrug you off. You’d been silent throughout the exchange, training your eyes on the ground as though you didn’t know how to speak.

The girl you brought with you was the same. Though her silence was nothing but the restraint of her sobs.

“She’s crying,” he said to no one in particular.

“She’s afraid,” you responded after a beat. When Jeongin turned his focus on you, he found your gaze searching his blank veil. You spoke with an anger that had been silenced long ago, but never lost its voice, “I will not let you lay a single finger on her.”

He pinned your wandering gaze down. If there was nothing he could do, he could at least offer this simple protection. “I will not lay a finger on either of you.”

He pulled a black handkerchief from his overcoat and held it out for you. “Give it to her.”

You stared at it. It was a modest piece of cloth. No emblem, no name. You picked it up carefully before standing up to crouch before the girl in a red fustan. When you lifted her chin, Jeongin saw the redness in her dark eyes. She couldn’t have been older than seventeen. That would’ve made her a decade younger than Jeongin. A child, he thought with a frown. A child whose only defense from a strange man was another stranger.

He looked away. Any longer and he would’ve pulled out his saif and charged toward that Hijris. He couldn’t afford to blow their cover so soon.

He caught the shadow of the spy he brought with him somewhere at the top of the circular building. He was to look around, gather information, while Jeongin observed the Junayna from the perspective of a visitor, perhaps speak to a few of the supposed employees.

He noticed someone glaring at him among the audience. It was the same man from the previous night. Though, he was seated this time. A lady in a white veil was leaning into him, a cup of khamr in her jeweled hand.

The purple vest he wore stood bright against the honey glaze of his skin. He had the physique of a fighter, but he sat like nothing but an obedient servant.

The veiled woman brushed back his brown hair, probably whispering something in his ear, but he didn’t acknowledge her. His eyes were fixed on Jeongin.

“He’s staring.”

You looked up, a flicker of recognition crossing your face when you saw who he was talking about. You’d reassumed your place next to him. “He’s...making sure we’re okay.”

“You’re friends?”

You hesitated. “Na’am.”

Jeongin considered that with a hum. He wondered about the men and women in purple. “Are these uniforms?”

“Yes. Purple is for...” you couldn’t say it, Jeongin heard it in the way your voice drifted into a troubled silence. But he didn’t need you to utter it. Purple was for the men and women who disappeared behind doors on the first floor, whispering sweet nothings to veiled visitors. “I understand.”

A solemn silence settled between the two of you. When he glanced to his left, he saw Kadi drop her gaze to her lap as though it burned. She was looking at him with a hint of wonder. As if she saw something behind that veil.

She busied herself with carving open a bright red pomegranate, unprompted. Jeongin was observing the buzzing ensemble when he heard her small voice. “Sayyidi, you...you speak like a prince.”

A flare of alarm shot up in his system at that, and he heard you whisper shout, “Kadi!”

“It is true that my tutor had taught princes,” he responded, hoping his voice didn’t waver. It was the truth. Though it would mean nothing to the two of you other than it being a testimony of his wealth.

The daff started with a clap, and the dancers flooded into the arena in a stream of color. Jeongin saw the look you exchanged with Kadi. Uneasy.

He looked at neither of you when he said, “You can stay.”

And neither of you said anything. But when the beat picked up, you didn’t move. Kadi resumed picking at the fruit, and you kept your attention on the show in front of you.

“I’m not going to have that.” Jeongin looked at the silver plate of fruit. The crimson pomegranate seeds were piled like crystals next to clusters of white and red grapes. Kadi snapped her head up, the faint shadow of dejection depressing her youthful features before realization sparked in her eyes. Bright.

Her gaze traveled back to the plate, contemplative, then she shook her head. “Hijris says we can’t eat at night.”

“Why?”

“Because it will hinder our dancing.”

He frowned. “You won’t be dancing tonight if you want to stay away from that man. You might as well eat.”

“She’s right,” you spoke beside him. A murmur. “He won’t like it.”

And who does he think he is? Jeongin scoffed inwardly. He found his horrible yellow abaya behind the ensemble, and as though he sensed his gaze, Hijris looked back at him.

Good. Let him watch. Jeongin leaned forward, plucking a single grape and holding it between his fingers before turning to face you. He hoped you would understand. “Asif.”

Your confused gaze traveled from his veiled face to Hijris in the distance, to Kadi’s curious stare, the young hope in her, and back to him. Understanding firmed your jaw.

You let him feed you the grape as Hijris watched.

“He can’t complain now.” Jeongin lifted a shoulder, reclining and looking back at the girl in red. “Go ahead.”

She was unsure, then carefully, she plucked a red berry from its stem and munched on it quietly. The music continued around them.

A presence only Jeongin felt stood behind them. His spy.

The general lifted his hand, a minuscule, insignificant movement. Though it was an order to his spy. Leave. You can return.

And he was gone. A fragment of shadow. A silent breeze.

Jeongin was supposed to leave with him, but he didn’t. He stayed until the music dimmed and the dancing stopped. He stayed until the light swallowed the stars and the court emptied into a barren desert.

He stayed until he made sure you could leave undisturbed.

•ꕥ•

“Why did you go to him?”

Bara’a fell in step behind you as you were making your way back to your room from the baths.

You kept your eyes forward. “I don’t know.”

“You took a chance.”

“I had to.”

You reached your room. A sigh left your lips when you placed a palm on the door to push it open. “Nothing happened to us, Bara’a. You don’t have to worry.”

He followed you in, always welcome. “I know… I was watching.”

A laugh bubbled up your chest as you dumped the fustan in your arms in a corner. “You should stop glaring at people from across the court, by the way.”

When you turned toward him, you found that a smile had graced his lips. Rare, calming, like a cold breeze against the face of a traveler who’d ventured across the sand for endless days. You poked his shoulder with a grin, “That lady was getting quite frustrated with you.”

He laughed, a splash of water on a hot day. “Let her be.”

But like it came, his laugh faded, and you found yourself facing troubled waters again. “You still need to be safe. Ashanya.”

For me. The way he spoke reminded you of home. He was from southwestern Tallilmalek, raised by the coast where people spoke with the salt of the sea on their tongues. The dialect of pearlers, fishermen, and seafarers.

It was a culture almost identical to yours by the shores of Tajilmalek.

“Adri.” you gave him a small smile and turned to your dressing table. It had no mirror, but it provided adequate storing space. You pulled out a comb to tend to your damp hair.

“You always know, Y/n,” Bara’a shook his head, folding his arms and leaning against the table, “What happens when you don’t?”

“Then it’s ma’adri.”

He scrunched his brows, an amused look that said both ‘Seriously?’ and ‘What did I expect’ etched on his face. You could only shrug, a certain mischief sparkling in your eyes.

When you set your comb down, Bara’a pointed to your hair with his eyes. “May I?”

You hummed your permission, and he pushed himself off the edge of the narrow table to stand behind you. With gentle hands, he held the length of your hair and began braiding it. Hijris had insisted that it be long. Something about dancing and ridiculous beauty standards.

“You know, I would call that man strange, but,” he paused, having almost finished the braid, and pulled out the band he used to tie his own hair back. You didn’t see the way it fell around his face, perfect in its elegance despite everything. He secured the end of the braid. “there’s nothing strange about not taking advantage of others.”

“It’s strange in this place,” you remarked.

“Can we trust him?”

You’d turned around then and grabbed a small pouch thrown on the bed. Bara’a looked at you expectantly, waiting for an answer he could direct his concerns to.

You could only shrug. You didn’t know if you could trust the stranger in the plain veil. You thought you simply got lucky. Twice.

It didn’t matter anyway, you thought as you slung the pouch across your chest and left the room. You wouldn’t need to trust him again.

•ꕥ•

“He conceals it by calling it employment,” Hyunjae said as he slid a couple of papers across the meeting table. “I managed to pick up a few empty contracts last night.”

“But the contract ensures that they remain in debt,” Minho murmured, his eyes running over the text inked on the so-called contracts. Standing on his right, Jeongin nodded. “They are practically unable to pay the debt.”

Him, the king, and his lieutenants were gathered to discuss the findings of the previous night and decide on their next move. There was no more time to waste.

“We know this. But we’ll need to gather testimonies from the victims to represent in trial.” Minho set the papers down.

“We seize the establishment. That’s how we get both Hijris and anyone inside,” one of the lieutenants suggested.

“Right,” the general leaned in. “We must also prepare proper housing for them once we evacuate the building.”

“Of course,” the king nodded thoughtfully.

An hour later, the meeting room emptied. They’d finished discussing the details of the plan. Jeongin and his men were to take hold of the Junayna at midnight. When it was the most active.

It would be too full for a fight to breakout, and Hijris wouldn’t be able to hide the truth of his establishment when his men and women were in the middle of their work.

Only Jeongin and his spy remained in the meeting room. They had something to discuss.

Hyunjae rolled the contracts, securing them with a leather band when he said, “You made company yesterday.”

That was not what they had to discuss.

Jeongin gave him an unimpressed look. “They came to me on their own accord.”

“Always a charmer, sir.”

“They needed help, Hyunjae.”

The mentioned man looked at him questioningly. “From you? How did they know?”

Jeongin sighed. Hyunjae was a good friend of his, a fellow soldier. They worked together. Though, sometimes, the general felt as though the spy found enjoyment in asking too many questions. “They don’t know. I’m assuming one of them trusted me enough after my first visit.”

He arched a brow, facing the spy with a challenging grin, “Why? Is it so farfetched to believe that your general is a man with morals?”

“Not at all, sir,” Hyunjae gave a quick salute. “I’m rather impressed.”

“I’m sure you are. We need to return to the Junayna. I want to find a list of all the clients, as well as assess the buildings surrounding it.”

All lightheartedness left Hyunjae’s countenance. He gave him a firm nod. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

•ꕥ•

There was one problem with trusting others to do your work for you.

You snuck past a dozing guard into the dark hallway, your bare feet moving over the floor soundlessly.

They never did the job right.

You pressed your back to the wall, listening, waiting, until you decided it was safe enough to poke your head out the window.

The climb to Hijris’ office should’ve been terrifying and undoable, but you, Bara’a, and Kadi had done it every day of the past eight months. You knew the ridges between the brick like the back of your hand.

Before the guards could know any better and look into the hallway, you lifted yourself over the edge of the open window, welcoming the gentle morning breeze.

You felt weightless in your cotton thawb as your feet found the familiar dents and you held onto them, transferring your weight carefully. Your hands found grip above and you moved, one cautious foot after the other, one trained breath after the other.

This was your least favorite part of the task. Falling from this height would mean lying broken and bleeding to your death without anyone’s knowledge. This part of the building was secluded, surrounded by high, windowless walls. It was to ward off thieves and hide the room that was a short climb away from you.

You knew you’d arrived at your destination when you felt no more cracks to latch onto. The opening above you was wide enough for one person to squeeze through, a humble window for the office of the least humble man you knew.

You slammed a sweaty palm against the ledge, gripping it with all your might and pulling yourself up and into the office. You landed with a soft thud, back on solid floor again.

It was empty, as you came to learn of Hijris’ schedule long ago.

After all the guests left the Junayna, you rested. The house slept until the sun was the highest in the sky. During that time, Hijris left the establishment to rest at his own house, trusting a few guards to watch over the slumbering men and women, boys and girls of the Junayna.

He expected nothing of you. In his mind, you were all weak and helpless. You wouldn’t dare do anything during his absence.

He was incredibly foolish to think so of the three of you.

While the people slept, you snuck out, alternating days. One of you scaled the wall every morning to return with a few extra coins to add to your pouch. Never too much to catch Hijris’ unwanted attention.

The carpet under your feet felt soft. A luxury only one man in the Junayna could afford. A desk of dark wood stood regally in the middle of the room, a plate of sweet buqsumat resting near an empty finjan on its surface.

He didn’t even bother cleaning up before he left.

You wasted no time, sneaking toward the desk and easing open a drawer on the bottom right. Pouches of money were stacked together like fresh bread on display. The sight of them was like the waft of a welcoming bakery to your senses.

Hijris reserved ample coin for the daily purchase of food for the Junayna’s nightly visitors. The pouches were refilled every morning before he left his office. It wasn’t money you minded taking.

You worked with nimble fingers, untying one of the pouches and palming whatever you could in a passing moment. Not too much.

You shoved the coins into the small bag slung across your chest and stood up, grabbing one of the sugary biscuits off the desk on your way.

You were going to shove the treat into your mouth when your gaze landed on a figure swathed in black standing in the office.

You swore your heart stopped for a moment.

He stared at you, sharp, kohl-framed eyes curious through his blank veil. You couldn’t breathe, frozen, caught red-handed.

He tilted his head, his voice drifting through the air ever so quietly. A whisper of wind. “You’re stealing.”

What is he doing here? You wanted to disappear like those genies in your grandfather’s tales. Instead, you dared to blink. Once, twice. Let the air seep out of your nose slowly and back in again. “I’m not stealing. I’m simply taking back what’s mine.”

At that, his demeanor seemed to change. Something akin to the triumphant feeling of good revelation lining his words. “Why?”

So, he wants conversation, you clutched your pouch with your free hand. You’d give him conversation. Isn’t that what you offered two days ago?

“Because I need to.”

“Doesn’t he pay you?”

“Not enough. Never enough for sad folk like myself.”

When he said nothing, you felt a familiar mute anger rise in your chest. He must think you were pathetic. Maybe a fool. But you were doing everything you could to survive this horrible place.

He had to understand that. You didn’t know why, but he had to.

“There’s no hope for people like me and Kadi in this place. If I don’t do this, then we’ll be stuck here — I’ll be stuck here until we grow old and ugly. Or until some sorry sob looks at me and thinks to make a wife of me,” you whispered in frustration. “Then he’ll ask me to dance for him. Undressed, probably! And that will be my life. Forever. Until death sows its seeds.”

He didn’t look surprised when you blurted all that. “So, you steal.”

“So I steal.”

“And the buqsumat?” he pointed at the biscuit that made your fingers sticky with its sugary powder.

“I just like baghsam.” you shrugged and waited for him to say something. Anything.

After a beat that felt like three, he motioned with his head to the window, “Go. This conversation never happened.”

So you turned to leave, shoving the biscuit in your mouth and preparing to climb down. But before you dangled your legs over the ledge, you looked back at him, the question leaving your lips before you could think better. “What are you doing here?”

“I came here to talk to Hijris.”

You nodded and found the familiar ridge outside the window, pulling yourself out. You didn’t want to be in that office any longer.

On your way down, you couldn’t shake off a thought that perturbed you.

How did you not hear him come into the office?

•ꕥ•

Hijris considered himself to be a man of wits. It was what helped him survive Al Qa’er and become one of its lords.

The Junayna was the crown jewel of his empire. The product of careful planning, scheming, and trickery. He’d managed to gather the finest and the most unfortunate men and women of the crown city and bend them to his will. He’d created a masterpiece of an establishment that rained money on him like a king.

Now, he felt as though his crown was being threatened.

It began with rumors, people speculating about a possible human trade happening in the city, then he appeared at the doorstep of his little heaven.

Blank veil, calculated words, but Hijris knew that he was no common man of the slums. He spoke with the precision of a royal and carried himself with the pride of a soldier.

Hijris found himself hosting the General of the Darilmalekan army.

He was two years late, but he was there nonetheless, and Hijris couldn’t afford to lose everything now.

So when the music reached a shrill stop and the dancers retreated to their place behind the ensemble, he turned to his guards. That plain veil was nowhere to be found. They had to leave.

“Bring Y/n to my office,” he ordered one then pointed at another two, “You search her room. Turn everything inside out and bring me anything you find.”

•ꕥ•

You followed the guard in silence. It was strange for Hijris to call you during the night, while you had work to do. You couldn’t help but worry, recalling the surprise encounter you had earlier that day.

Did he tell him?

You knew you shouldn’t have trusted that man. You bit your inner cheek hard enough to draw blood. Foolish, Y/n.

The guard led you to the office you’d been in earlier. He knocked on the door and stepped in after receiving permission from inside.

Hijris was standing before his desk, his turban and abaya discarded to leave him in a lavish white thawb. Several of his men stood in the room, hands on their suyoof. You noticed an iron bar heating on a pile of bright charcoal in a clay stove.

Your heartbeat spiked. There could only be one purpose for that device. Punishment.

Hijris motioned for the guard to shut the door. His gaze settled on you, and your fustan suddenly felt too tight to breathe.

“You’re going to tell me everything the general told you.”

Your breath hitched, confusion furrowing your brows. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Y/n,” he spat, walking toward you until he was within your reach. No, until you were within his reach. “The man you sat with. Tell me everything you know.”

The man... you shook your head, panic widening your eyes. A general? What is he talking about? “I’m sorry, I d-don’t know-”

“Don’t lie to me!” his voice rose in a heartbeat, along with a gesture you flinched from involuntarily. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know! That you thought he was a regular man with peculiar motives!”

You speak like a prince, Kadi’s voice echoed in your memory, distant, lost in the music. You’d brushed it off then. It is true that my tutor had taught princes.

It can’t be. You sputtered, “I... h-he didn’t say-”

“You really don’t know,” Hijris let out a breath that was more angry than disappointed. “Did you really think that a man would visit the Junayna just to sit idly and do nothing?

“Some scholar you are!” he scoffed, turning around. You bristled at the mention of your supposed career. “You can’t even recognize a royal when you see one!”

A royal? You wanted to scream. How were you expected to know anything about this kingdom’s politics? And didn’t he call him a general?

You blanched. This meant that all the questions he asked, all the things he’d done were part of a bigger plan. But a small hope sang in your heart. This also meant that a higher authority knew about the Junayna—about you and Kadi—and was going to put an end to your misery. You will be rescued.

But before you could exhale in meager relief, Hijris spoke again, “It doesn’t matter.”

His tone was dangerous, the crackle of flame before the inferno. “Hold her down.”

Hands had grappled your arms and neck before you could react. When you tried to fight them off, you felt the tip of a dagger pressed against the thin silk covering your back. You couldn’t move.

You watched as Hijris leaned over his desk, reaching for a drawer and pulling a familiar pouch out.

It resembled a folded dress.

Your heart dropped into the depths of sudden ruin. Any sort of relief you felt was immediately gone, forgotten, as though it had never been.

“You recognize this bag, I see,” he sneered, unsheathing his khanjar and cutting a messy line through the fabric.

The coins clinked on the table merrily. All of Bara’a and Kadi’s hard work. All of your hard work.

“I assume you also don’t know about this money?” he rolled his eyes, mocking you.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. It felt like a hundred coins scratching against your insides. Your voice seemed to betray you, leaving you to fend for yourself alone, with the scraps of nothing you had left. “It’s mine.”

You’d insisted on storing all the money yourself. You wanted to make sure that you were the only one who would get into trouble if Hijris found out. It was your idea, after all, and you were willing to take the blame for it if that guaranteed your friends’ safety.

“Oh, but how can that be?” he ran his filthy fingers through the mismatched collection of coins. It wasn’t nearly enough, but you were halfway there. You only needed a couple more months.

“This is much more than your allowance gives, not to mention that,” he paused as though to catch his breath, “the produce allowance has been disappearing for a while. A few coins short every time.”

He laughed then, a sound that rung terrible in your ears. “You know, at first, I thought there was something wrong with my calculations. Perhaps I was missing a few coins here and there.” he turned to you, features a violent storm. “But then it kept happening.”

“You proved to be completely useless, Y/n. Again. I sent my men to search your room for some hint of the general. Maybe a note or a dagger. Something useful! But this is what they return with instead!” he waved the limp pouch in your face. “And I find out that there is a thief under my roof!”

You couldn’t tune out his angry words like you normally did whenever he had a fit. You heard everything. Your mind was an empty sheet imprinting every second, every sound, into your memory permanently. You had no voice. You were weak and afraid again, but this time, there was no one to help you.

He threw the empty pouch on the floor before gesturing towards one of his men. “Museeb.”

The man moved. He looked as though he was made of parchment, gaunt figure, sharp angles. You always saw him leave the office after Hijris finished chastising someone.

He grabbed the iron rod and you began to squirm. Dagger be damned.

“This is what happens when you steal from me, Y/n,” Hijris said, and that bare veil flashed in your mind. Amid the fuzz of your thoughts, the desperation of your fight, the sting at your back, and the garbled mess of your sobs, you barely caught his last words.

“Don’t scream.”

•ꕥ•

It was midnight, and Jeongin was leading his men through the miserable streets of Al Qa’er.

They moved like a knife cutting through water, the path clearing for them swiftly. The general could tell that the slum’s residents weren’t happy about their visit. He saw and heard the hostility in their frightened expressions and from their foul mouths.

They had divided into teams. One team would approach the Junayna from the back and surround it, another would secure the roofs and the buildings nearby, and the last would storm the establishment.

Jeongin was leading the last division.

Passing through the familiar alley without a veil covering his features felt strange, but it was a feeling he welcomed. He could finally step into that hellhole with his face out and his swords brandished, in his true form.

The usually guarded entrance was desolate, no lights or silent visitors in sight. It was quiet.

“Move!” Jeongin shouted a command at the soldiers from his mount and they rushed through the entrance, a stream of black and brown uniforms, armored shoulders glinting.

He dismounted his horse to join them, running through the sinister tunnel and stepping past the arches into the infamous Junayna.

It was like staring at the expanse of the sahra’a.

The court that should’ve been bustling with movement, alive with music and dance, was a barren land illuminated by the scarce light of the moon. It stared down at the soldiers, a blank face.

Jeongin swiveled toward his men. “Search the building!”

And they did, bursting through doors and shouting their findings amongst each other.

They abandoned the place, Jeongin thought, gaze trailing over the rough ground and rising to study the building encapsulating them. Dread wormed into his heart. Why? How did they know?

Could he have underestimated Hijris?

Could he have overestimated the veil’s ability to hide his identity? His ability?

“Sir! General!” a shout caught his attention and he turned to the source of the sound. It came from a growing cluster of guards surrounding a place he quickly recognized as Hijris’ office. “We found someone!”

They let him pass through them with perfect ease, and Jeongin strode into the generously furnished office he’d been in earlier that day.

A soldier knelt on the ground. An iron rod lay atop strewn charcoal and shattered clay. A woman swathed in deep blue silk lay limp on the carpeted floor.

His dread exploded into a million fractures of blinding realization.

He had failed.

Part One: Little Heaven | Part Two | Part Three

If you have read this far then you are contractually obligated to tell me your thoughts! Well, not really, but do drop by sometime! Thank you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful day! ♡

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chaninfused · 3 years

Text

Hymn of the Winds | Lee Minho

◤“We will be fine.”

When an assassination attempt leaves a king wounded and his family endangered, his queen must find a way to protect all that she has sacrificed for.

◤Disclaimers: Female reader insert. From the word of ‘Danse Macabre’, some years into the future. Mentions of violence, death, and execution. Brief descriptions of physical injury. Fantasy inspired by Arabian mythology. A balanced blend of fluff amid angst. All places and events are fictional and do not reference real life nations. Find a glossary with all the terms used here. Also, Husband Minho. I think that should be a warning.

◤Word count: 5.5K

◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. masterlist.

◤From the author: Though this is from the world of Danse Macabre, you are not required to have read it to be able to understand what happens in this story. It’s a short and sweet, whodunnit kind of thing. Also, I didn’t plan for this to be released on Valentine’s day and I’ve just realized the coincidence so, please accept this as my Valentine’s day gift to you all! Happy reading!

“Call for the Atiba’a!” Jeongin ordered as several pages rushed to the wounded king’s side. It had been an entire night’s worth of travel to reach the palace, and although Minho survived the hasty journey, he was a mere dead weight by the time they’d arrived.

Servants and guards did as he instructed despite their reasonable confusion. He knew they weren’t expecting them, at least not for a day or two. But it seemed that their assailant had other plans for them.

Jeongin noticed you standing at the end of the hall. The young prince was clutching the silk of your dress as he watched the servants help the king into the royal chambers. Seungmin had never seen blood, yet there it was, soaking his father’s uniform in gruesome reds. It was a sight tough on his young mind.

“What is the meaning of this?” you marched up to the commander, anger, confusion, and worry furrowing your brows. Seungmin shuffled after you, his eyes full moons of horror. Jeongin knew no way to lighten his words for the young prince, “We were ambushed, not too far from Arba.”

“Arba?” you restrained yourself from drawing in a sharp breath. The city was at least a full day’s journey from the capital, just how fast were they traveling? More importantly, how critical was Minho’s condition?

“No one was injured, save for the king. The attacker was set on him,” Jeongin said before you asked, and if he didn’t know you well, he would’ve missed the fury that unfurled in your eyes.

“And you let him.”

Your words were salt to the wound of his shame. Jeongin might’ve been the commander of your armies, but he was also your and Minho’s most trusted man. The attack shouldn’t have happened. Not on his watch.

All he could do was keep his gaze steady and firm as he held yours. You were good friends, but when it came to Minho, there was no place for leniency. “He tried to kill him. Minho is wounded but he will be alright.”

“And the assassin?” you raised a questioning brow and watched as Jeongin’s features hardened into a scowl.

“Dead.”

•✵•

You were twenty-one when you shattered the Sahira’s Heart.

It freed you from a curse, but it left a certain hollowness in its wake.

You’d learned to fill it up with the newfound memories you created along the way, those with the most precious people in your life.

Yet, there were times when your thoughts would stray. You’d find yourself wishing for that power again. Just a taste of it. A shard to cut the hunger.

It was absurd, you knew.

But as you watched your son run into his father’s embrace, it was all you could think of.

If you had your Jinni��magic, you’d find the bastard who sent an assassin for your husband faster than any spy could. You’d drag them to the depths of hell and back and it would cost you nothing. If only...

Minho’s laugh snapped you out of your thoughts. No, it would cost you everything. Everything you’d worked so hard to build in the last six years.

You silenced the voices in your head, magic shouldn’t be the way to go. You saw the monsters it created, and you’d barely escaped its dark clutches.

There was no way you were looking back.

•✵•

“I can protect you, Abi! Minhyun said I’m ready to have my own saif now,” Seungmin announced, his little hands fisted on his hips in a show of strength. It was anything but, and it prompted a soft chuckle to fall from Minho’s lips as he regarded the boy sitting on his lap. “I’m sure you’re the best swordsman in Tallimalek, ya ghanati, but I’m afraid I’ll have to see it for myself first.”

The young prince’s eyes sparkled. “A duel?”

Minho’s gaze flickered to the side, finding you lost in thought before he brought his attention back to his son and smiled, “Yes, a duel. Maybe tomorrow before your classes begin?”

That was enough to make Seungmin cheer in excitement, hop off his father’s lap, and scramble to the door as he called, “I’ll go tell Minhyun!”

“Be careful!”

Minho’s gentle smile never left his lips. Not until he heard the greetings of the guards as Seungmin dashed past them to find his trainer. It melted into a quiet sigh then, and he directed his gaze to where you stood.

Lost in thought, again.

“I know you’re angry.”

His voice seemed to pull you out of your trance, and you pursed your lips. “Angry doesn’t begin to describe it.”

“I’m okay, love.” he dangled his legs over the edge of the bed to further prove his point. The arrow was lodged between his ribs, and the wound became an uncomfortable ache in his side, but he was fine. He was sure he’d seen worse.

Though he knew you wouldn’t take his word for it.

“You might be okay, but someone had tried to kill you. Someone is trying to get their hands on the throne and we both know they would stop at nothing to get it, our family included,” you pointed then added softly, “You might survive a stab or an arrow, but I’m not sure Seungmin would too.”

At the mention of the young prince, Minho stilled. You were right, and he’d be lying to say the thought hadn’t plagued his mind throughout the night. He could only grit his teeth. “I won’t let it happen.”

His words settled into the air, a promise the palace walls held witness for, before you broke the tense atmosphere with a shake of your head. “You should rest.”

He stood and sauntered toward you lazily, the frown he wore moments ago long replaced by his signature grin. One that told you he was up to no good. “I’m gone for weeks and the first thing you tell me when I return is to rest.”

He was standing so close then, almost daring you to resist him. Weeks of travel had bronzed his skin, his hair fell a little longer over his eyes, but that undisturbed gleam of mischief still shone in his eyes, brightening the longer you stayed silent.

It was a shame you weren’t falling for that, yet.

Challenging his gaze, you repeated, “Rest.”

Minho elected to ignore you, his hands tracing the thin, elegant chain circling your neck instead. You followed his eyes as his fingers stopped at the small emerald pendant and a distant smile graced his lips.

Once upon a time, it was a gemstone of powerful magic. You shattered it to save yourself, and though its powers were long gone, it bore a stunning green sheen. He had the royal jeweler fashion a necklace out of a shard of the stone and on one starry night, he presented it to you. He had a habit of lavishing you with gifts.

You knew it was Minho’s favorite gift. Perhaps that was the reason you wore it so often. Just to see that soft smile draw itself on his beautiful face.

Minho’s attention drifted back to your features and a murmur danced in the little space between you. “You’re holding your breath.”

Skies.

Then your lips were on his, hot, as you felt a flicker of a smile against them. The hand that caressed your necklace rose to cradle your face, delicate. Always delicate.

Heat coursing through your body, heart dropping into the depths of your longing, the world could’ve ended and begun right then and there, and you wouldn’t bother. It was only him, and the fire clouding your mind.

Too much for resting.

You pulled apart and Minho’s forehead rested against yours. His words came in rushed breaths, “I missed you.”

You hummed, unable to hide the faint curl of your lips, “I missed you too.” A beat. “You still need to rest.”

“Only if you give me a smile. A real one.”

At that, your lips straightened, and you attempted a glare. Though it was impossible with the giddiness that rattled your heart.

Nevertheless, Minho’s grin widened when you didn’t budge. “You leave me no choice then.”

His hands found your arms, wrapping them around his middle as his mouth found yours. A kiss, then another, until your fire roared into a storm and you could no longer hold back your smile.

“There she is,” Minho’s mumble drowned in your skin one last time before he pulled away and you puffed your cheeks, a futile attempt at killing your grin. You gave in, looking away with a mutter, “Is this good enough for you?”

“It’s more than enough, my love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, where the chain of your necklace fell, then another below your eye. His promise wasn’t lost among the flutters of your heart.

“We will be fine.”

•✵•

“I still believe you should be resting,” you remarked, handing your assistant a message to relay to the ministers of your kingdom and watching as she hurried past the guards toward their respective studies.

Minho folded his overcoat and draped it over the bench next to yours. “A little duel won’t do any harm.”

“Besides,” he stepped toward you, kissing the top of your head before grabbing an idle practice sword, “I promised Seungmin.”

“Right.” you sniffed. There was no getting into that stubborn mind of his.

You were seated in one of the palace’s many gardens as an audience for Seungmin’s small duel with his father. The sun had just peeked out of hiding, and the breeze sang with the chirps of the birds.

It was a beautiful morning, despite the fact that you were to meet with your ministers and advisors to discuss the probable threat to the crown.

Halfway through the friendly duel between father and son, Jeongin stepped into the clearing. His arrival was accompanied by a tut. “He won’t rest, would he?”

“You know how he is,” you responded. Minho’s stubbornness wasn’t new to his cousin. It was the very thing that made him wait for you all those years and the very thing that made him survive an entire night with a poorly treated wound. He was simply too stubborn to let fate have its way.

The two of you watched as Minho let his guard down, revealing a clear chance for Seungmin to send his wooden sword hurtling to the side and unarm him. The young prince’s delighted hurrahs mingled with the king’s laughter. The sight made your heart swell with love.

Jeongin interrupted the moment when he cleared his throat, speaking low enough for you to hear without drawing the attention of the rest. “I believe the ministers have assembled by now. You should begin the meeting.”

•✵•

The meeting hall was silent as you explained the details of the attack, with Jeongin’s help, and laid out your orders for each sector. You didn’t hold meetings by yourself often, but Minho’s absence didn’t change the ministers’ perception of your words. They were commands to be obeyed, not negotiated.

Or at least most believed that.

“I don’t see the benefit of doing all this,” the Minister of Trade objected when he saw everyone’s compliance. You made sure to keep your face void of irritation when you responded, “There has been an attempt at the king’s life. By lying idle, one would be committing treason-”

“We shouldn’t be taking orders from you, a woman!” his chair screeched against the floor as he stood abruptly, demanding, “Where is the king?”

His outburst gained muted reactions of shock and disbelief from the attendees. Jeongin, who stood behind your seat, stepped to your side, grip tightening around the hilt of his sheathed saif. You caught the Minister of Knowledge rolling her eyes in utter disgust.

Your court was never one to differentiate between man and woman. Minho had ensured that. Yet, there were always outliers.

The new Minister of Trade seemed to have something against your involvement in ruling the kingdom. Ever since he took over his late father’s role in court, he’d been actively expressing his opinions on your role. Minho would silence him with a single venomous word, dubbing his beliefs rather barbaric.

But Minho wasn’t around. You’d have to deal with the minister on your own.

Looking ahead, you spoke loud and clear for the entire hall to hold its breath. “Minister Jihoon, you are dismissed.”

That gained a sputter from him, “W-What? You can’t dismiss me, woman!”

“What did you just call me?” you snapped your gaze toward him, hard and cold. He dared to challenge you, but you weren’t letting him have the satisfaction of destroying your composure. “I am the Queen of Darilmalek, Minister Jihoon. This, too, is my kingdom, my palace, and my court. If you cannot cooperate with my rule then you are not fit to be a member of my court. You are dismissed.”

•✵•

A faint rap at your door interrupted your silence and you answered, “Come in!”

You weren’t exactly surprised when Minho walked into your study, but you shook your head, nonetheless. He told the royal medic he’d rest for the evening. “What did you bribe the guards with?”

He gave you a roguish grin. “One can’t deny a king.”

“Right,” your gaze followed him as he ambled along the length of the room, “Except, maybe, his queen.”

“Except his queen,” he echoed, eyes glinting playfully.

Minho stopped by the window behind your desk. The sun had begun to set, and it showered the crown city in glorious orange and pink light. He let out a soft breath, marveling at the beauty of the scenery as he asked, “How was the meeting?”

You’d returned your attention to the parchment strewn across your desk when you answered absentmindedly, “It was fine.”

Minho hummed, pausing before adding, “I heard you dismissed Jihoon.”

Your pen froze on the document before you. News traveled fast in the palace. You opted for clearing your throat, not turning around to meet your husband’s gaze. “He proved to be a hindrance to the court.”

“He disrespected you,” Minho corrected. “Serves him well.”

Somehow, hearing his words eased your worries. Though they quickly re-emerged tenfold.

You hoped the minister wouldn’t become a thorn at your side.

•✵•

Seungmin’s little feet swung as he sat at the wide table, waiting for his tutor to arrive. He didn’t duel with his father that morning, so he was earlier than he should’ve been for his classes.

Deciding he was finally bored of waiting, the young prince sprung to his feet and skipped toward the library’s entrance. The guards stationed by the door ushered him inside gently when he poked his head out, but he spotted his friend and trainer, Minhyun, at the far end of the hallway and placed a finger on his lips. He was going to surprise him.

The guards, having noticed the weapon master, agreed to let him go, and the young prince scurried after his distancing friend.

With careful, hushed steps, Seungmin crept on the unsuspecting trainer until he was close enough to pounce on him and yell, “Surprise!”

Minhyun didn’t jump in surprise as the prince hoped but he let out a loud, joyous laugh and caught the boy dangling on his torso. “Seungmin!”

“Shouldn’t you be in class now?” he smiled at him kindly, brushing the hair out of his adorable face. Seungmin’s eyes seemed to sparkle when he answered, grinning as the man set him down, “Master Jaebum wasn’t there, and I became bored, and then I saw you!”

“Alright,” Minhyun patted his head, “but you have to return to class now or else you’ll be in trouble.”

“Okay.” the young prince’s smile melted into a pout and the trainer found himself shaking his head with an echo of a chuckle. He crouched to be at the prince’s level. “Tell you what. After your classes, I can let you watch the older boys duel. Alright?”

The stars in the boy’s eyes returned, and he threw his short arms around his trainer. “Really? Thank you, Minhyun!”

Minhyun gave his tiny frame a squeeze. “Really. Now go before Master Jaebum chides you for tardiness.”

And with that, the young prince scampered away, retracing his steps back to the library. His tutor should’ve arrived by that time.

But as he approached the hallway leading to his destination, a soft murmuring caught his attention and his steps faltered near an empty study. The door was left ajar, allowing the air to carry the whispers of those inside.

Seungmin leaned closer, eyes widening as he eavesdropped. What could they be talking about?

“Well, we’ll have to do something about her before we all find ourselves dismissed...”

Seungmin didn’t understand much of what the adults talked about, but he knew that there were people who disliked his mother. Were these people planning to hurt her like they hurt his father?

“Poison. The king has ordered an increase in guards around the palace, and his fool of a cousin follows y/n everywhere-”

Seungmin didn’t hear the rest. A soft gasp had left his lips when he heard his mother’s name. These people were planning to hurt her.

The patter of footsteps alerted him, and he scrambled away. They were bad people, and he had to tell his parents.

But Seungmin didn’t get far before he felt a forceful grip seize his little wrist. “Where do you think you’re going, young prince?”

•✵•

“Have you seen the young prince?” the old scholar asked as he doddered past grim-faced guards. They gave him no new answer. The prince was last seen with the weapon master, who, when asked, said Seungmin returned to the library for his classes after talking to him.

It wasn’t like him to escape from his classes. Jaebum sighed, tapping his staff, where could he be?

He caught the Commander of the Darilmalekan army as he was leaving his study and waved a frail hand. “Commander Jeongin!”

Jeongin snapped his head toward the elder, confusion quickly wrinkling his features. “Master Jaebum. Shouldn’t you be with Seungmin?”

The scholar walked toward him as he spoke, “Indeed, commander, but it has been more than an hour since the start of our classes and the young prince hasn’t shown up yet. It isn’t like him to be late.”

Strange, Jeongin frowned. He was with Minho when they sent the prince to the library. Seungmin was there before his tutor arrived.

Did he escape?

“Did you alert the guards?”

“Yes, commander, they are looking for him as we speak-”

“There is a missing person in the palace?” Minho’s voice came from behind Jeongin and the scholar folded in a deep bow. “Mawlai.”

The king acknowledged him with a firm nod of his head. “Master Jaebum. Shouldn’t you be tutoring my son at this hour?”

“Na’am, my king. But Prince Seungmin seems to be missing.”

Missing? Minho inhaled to settle the fearful jitter that broke out in his heart. He couldn’t help but assume the worse. After all, he sat with the prince in the library before ordering his guards to stay back and following Jeongin to discuss their latest finds.

Master Jaebum offered weakly, “The weapon master claims to have seen him head to the library earlier today.”

Minho considered the information and nodded to the nearby guards. “Then we will start from there.” he regarded Seungmin’s tutor before adding, “You can find a place to rest now, Master Jaebum. Thank you for reporting this issue to us.”

“Shukran, mawlai.” the old scholar bowed lightly before wobbling away.

Wasting no time, Jeongin and the few guards followed their king as he hastened toward the royal library. Shouts of the young prince’s name ricocheted off the palace walls as they stalked forward. With each passing second, Minho felt as though the grip of worry that clasped his heart tightened.

Why did the library feel so far?

When they finally reached their destination, they found that a set of guards was already searching for the prince in the library. The group decided to split and inspect every room and study around the library.

Jeongin chose to leave the rooms closest to the library and head to the end of the hallway. There, he opened one door after the other, calling the young prince’s name and becoming more desperate as the minutes passed. He tried looking past furniture and confused staff, but to no avail.

The young prince was nowhere to be found.

Until he reached one of the spare studies. The door didn’t budge when he first pushed it. He assumed it was due to its age, so he tried again, using more force this time.

When the door remained shut, Jeongin’s suspicions spiked. No.

No, no, no! He pulled out his saif and lodged it inside the lock, twisting it to the side aggressively. The lock snapped and the door swung open.

Jeongin didn’t know what to expect behind the door, but what greeted him was far worse than anything he could’ve imagined.

•✵•

You only noticed the trembling of your fist when Minho placed a warm hand over it. It didn’t help, for his hand was tense despite his efforts to comfort you.

But how could you be comforted when your precious son lay unconscious on your bed? Severe trauma disfigured his body. His breaths, so shallow you’d mistake them for stillness. You didn’t want comfort. You wanted vengeance. Revenge. It was so beguiling and overwhelming it silenced the world around you.

You wanted to reach out, cradle your little prince’s face and cry the nightmare away, but you feared your touch would pain him. The Atiba’a and Sahara of the palace treated his wounds and healed his broken bones, though they could do nothing to awaken his slumbering mind. His body needed to rest, they advised. Still, at their best, evidence of the sickening attack painted the young prince’s soft skin with distressing hues.

This happened on palace grounds, and the mere thought of it sent a blinding flash of anger across your vision. Who could’ve dared? Who could’ve encompassed such cruelty?

It mattered not. This was a direct stab at your family, and you were going to wreak vengeance on the foolish soul that dared to lay a finger on Seungmin.

Next to you, Minho stood rigid for long before muttering something under his breath and turning toward the door. You caught his wrist, stopping him from walking any farther.

He didn’t resist, feeling as vulnerable as a leaf amid the fierce wind. His hand trembled, and you could only whisper with the little strength left in you, “Stay.”

You looked at him, taking in his bloodshot eyes and the grimness of his blank expression. He was ruined. You couldn’t begin to imagine his state when he saw his son in Jeongin’s arms, battered and bruised, bloodied and broken.

Minho promised nothing would befall him. You underestimated the threat, and you were paying for it dearly.

You didn’t break eye contact. “He needs you.”

Minho took in a shaky breath. “I need to find who did this-”

“He missed you.”

Something melted in Minho’s gaze. Warmth, perhaps. It encouraged you to speak louder. “Every day and every night of those weeks, he would ask about you. He couldn’t wait to see you again. You can’t leave him now.

“He needs you. He needs your protection. He needs you beside him.”

When your voice shook and faltered to a stop, Minho looked away. He hated how weak he felt. He was a King, honored by the stars and heavens above, yet he felt like a boat at the mercy of a storm. Helpless, doomed.

He didn’t want you to see him in that broken state, but when you tugged at his arm to face you, his feet carried him to your embrace. It was as if his body knew more than his stubborn mind led him to believe. That even if he shattered to pieces, you’ll hold him together.

Always.

•✵•

“Mawlati, please, have a drink,” the maid that entered your study said. She balanced some cups and pot of a steaming herbal concoction on a thin bronze tray as she stepped towards your desk carefully.

You made it clear that you didn’t want food nor drink. You hadn’t the heart for it, not when a near-killer was roaming the palace.

You didn’t look up from your papers when you answered her, “Rena, I recall telling you I didn’t want food. Or drink.”

“Please. Mawlati, you have been in your study for the entire day,” she insisted, a strange air of nervousness around her. It was true. You locked yourself with your work ever since leaving Seungmin’s bedside. There was more work to be done, bigger investigations to be carried. You were reasonably busy.

Jeongin, who was reviewing reports from your spies around the kingdom, spoke to the young lady in a calm, yet firm manner. “You heard the queen. Please, don’t bother us further-”

“Actually,” you stifled a yawn. Perhaps it was time for a refreshment, “I might need a cup of tea”.

“N-Na’am, mawlati.” the maid hurried to place the tray on your desk and pour a cup of the steaming drink with shaky hands. You raised a brow when she set the cup on the table hastily. Her behavior was strange, to say the least. It was unlike your servants to be afraid of you.

Shrugging it off, you reached for the cup and raised it to your lips. A mere moment before you tipped its contents into your mouth, you caught a whiff of the drink. So faint you could’ve easily missed it. It wasn’t floral or earthy as you’d expected. It was rather acrid.

With a frown, you set the cup down and picked up a bronze spoon to stir its contents. There was nothing odd about the drink. It was a clear liquid, several herbs floated in it. But the smell...you couldn’t pinpoint its cause.

Until you recalled your maid’s strange behavior.

“Rena.” her lowered head snapped up when you called her name, and you didn’t miss the way she fidgeted with her hands. You set the spoon down, watching as droplets of the liquid touched the wood of your desk and discolored it. When you looked back up, Rena’s eyes glassed over with fear. “Pour me another cup, will you?”

She obliged wordlessly, and when she set the cup down, you mustered a weak smile. “Drink it.”

The maid hesitated. “Mawlati, I can’t-”

“I’m ordering you to drink what you’ve graciously brought for me,” you interrupted. This time, the smile was gone. There was something wrong with the drink, that would explain her nervousness.

She remained still and you stood, clutching your cup. “Now, Rena.”

Nothing happened. Then the maid reached for the lone cup with a stiff hand. She lifted it slowly, and you watched intently as she placed it against her lips. She took a deep breath, as if preparing herself, before dropping to her knees along with the cup. “I’m sorry, Your Highness!”

“I knew it,” you muttered. Sudden anger coursed like fire in your veins and you flung the cup to the side, hearing it clang against the wall as its contents splattered the floor. “Poison!”

Someone was trying to poison you.

Jeongin sprung to movement, unsheathing his saif and pressing it to the maid’s back as he demanded, “Who gave you the poison?”

She didn’t answer him, her pleas for mercy and forgiveness muffled by her sobs against the floor. You could only watch in apathy. There was no empathy in your heart for her.

Guards had barged into the study then, having heard the commotion. They circled the room, shouting orders at each other and alerting their fellow guards of the incident.

Alas, the maid’s cries went unanswered and Jeongin pressed his sword harder. “Who gave you the poison?”

She broke under the pressure, shouting, “It was the Minister of Coin! He promised me great riches. Please forgive me, Mawlati!”

Your blood ran cold. The Minister of Coin? But why would he-

“Commander Jeongin!” a voice tore through the clamor of the guards dragging the maid away. Jeongin’s eyes found the man calling for him. It was a guard, and he seemed a little out of breath. “Yes?”

“Sir,” the guard stopped before him and bowed lightly. His next words sent your mind into a flurry of confusion and fear. “The Minister of Coin has been found dead.”

“Dead?” Jeongin’s expression darkened. Wasn’t he the person who tried to poison you? “How?”

“Stabbed and left to bleed in the palace garden,” the guard informed him. “That is not all, sir.”

Jeongin was familiar with life in the palace. People came and went, times changed, loyalties flickered. But the influx of new, contradictory information left him rather lost. Dejected. For a moment there, he thought they’d finally caught the traitor conspiring against the royal family, only for his discovery to be crushed by the guard’s news.

He was lost in thought when he answered, “Say it.”

“The Minister of Trade is nowhere to be found.”

•✵•

It didn’t make sense.

The Minister of Coin was a kind, frail man. Perhaps old enough to be your father. He greeted you warmly when you first arrived in Darilmalek, and as far as you could recall, he’d never shown any hostility towards you, or Minho, or Seungmin.

And yet, Rena said he was the one who gave her the poison.

And he was dead.

The evidence was not aligning in a way that made sense.

A loud knock interrupted your train of thought and you answered, “Come in.”

“Commander.” a guard poked his head into the room, prompting Jeongin to step toward the door and meet him. “Yes?”

You couldn’t quite hear what was shared between them, but it was a few moments before the guard left and Jeongin strode toward your desk, urgency stiffening his legs. An unreadable expression illuminated his sharp features when he spoke, voice gentle. “Y/n, Seungmin is awake.”

•✵•

You didn’t remember running across the palace before, but there you were, unbothered by the stares of the staff as you rushed to the royal chambers.

The guards made way for you when you burst through the room, barely catching your breath.

There he was.

There sat your little prince, tucked under his father’s arm. He called for you, voice weak yet joyful, and your vision blurred. Your knees threatened to buckle under the weight of your relief and the pure, rampant happiness pumping out of your heart.

It felt like forever until you finally held him in your arms, the kisses you pressed against his hair blending with the salt of your tears.

And it would be forever until you let go.

•✵•

The end of your misery was finally within your grasp. You felt it in the songs of the wind as your gaze burned through the traitor kneeling before you.

The Minister of Trade.

Seungmin said that he was the one to physically assault him on that fateful morning. That, on its own, was a crime punishable by death and in an instant, troops were sent to scavenge the land for the shamed minister.

They found him hiding as a humble farmer in the city of Arba, where it all began. At first, he fought being brought to the palace and denied his involvement in any treasonable activities. It wasn’t long before the truth came to light, under the pain of a whip and the darkness of a dungeon.

This was where his crimes ended, condemned by the law, vulnerable to the eyes of the public and the Aliha that watched from above. This was where your torment ended.

Minho placed an encouraging hand over yours. It was time to begin the trial.

You cleared your throat and announced, “Minister Jihoon of the Trade sector, you are facing several charges for treason and conspiracy against the Darilmalekan crown and its court.”

Whispers exploded among the people upon hearing your words. The minister’s head hung low under the scathing sun, weakened or ashamed. It mattered not to you. His head should hang low.

“You have devised assassinations on the King and the Queen of Darilmalek, and you have executed a physical attack on the crown prince. You have inflicted internal and external injury on a child.”

The crowd roared with anger. Treason was a crime on its own, but it was a moral violation to assault a child. You didn’t raise a hand to calm the people when a few stones flew at the minister. The pain would never compare to what he’d put your son through.

“Furthermore,” your voice rose above the clamor, “you have blackmailed the Minister of Coin into becoming a vessel in your plans then carried out his murder in fear of being exposed.

“What do you plead?” your tone was stone against ice, and the minister remained silent.

“Well enough. Your crimes are unforgivable violations of the laws of our land and as such,” you paused, letting the winds carry your verdict in their song, “you will pay your price in blood.”

If you have read this far then you are contractually obligated to tell me your thoughts! Well, not really, but do drop by sometime! Thank you for reading and I hope you have a marvelous day! ♡

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chaninfused · 4 years

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dedicated to @wingkkun ♡

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids school au #skzwritersclub #stray kids scenarios #bang chan #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #skz #source: -Kyutips chaninfused #crownhill academy #this is late but happy birthday 🥳#i hope you like this belated gift 🥺#i shall post chapters starting next week hopefully 😤

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chaninfused · 4 years

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Danse Macabre | Lee Minho

◤“One must always polish a heart made of stone. Until one’s fingers hurt, and no more polishing cleavers remain usable. Until one grows tired of the weight of a stone heart.”

In an attempt to win his fiancée’s heart, a prince journeys across the desert, where lifelong secrets come unraveled and nothing is quite what it seems.

◤Disclaimers: Female reader insert. This story is inspired by Arabian mythology. Descriptive images of violence, killing, and blood are included, please be careful. This is fantasy, with a fair mix of fluff and angst. All places and events are fictional and do not reference real life nations. Find a glossary with all the terms used here. Make sure to read this blurb before proceeding to avoid heavy confusion. Also, view the map and the tale of the lost prince of Tajilmalek to gain a better understanding of this universe (optional, but strongly suggested!).

◤Word count: 26.6K

◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. masterlist.

◤Dedicated to my friends and readers. Thank you for bearing with me, I love you all. Happy reading!

"Big day tomorrow, eh?"

Minho looked up from the papers strewn over his desk to find his cousin leaning casually on the embellished wall, an unmistakable gleam of mischief bright in his foxlike eyes. He ignored the flutter erupting in his heart, it seemed to make an appearance whenever his wedding was mentioned, and smiled, "Indeed."

"Don't you find it strange?" Jeongin picked himself off the wall and sauntered toward the desk of dark wood when Minho frowned, "What?"

"Jisung was telling me about this earlier," the younger royal started, "Think of it; all Tallilmalekan princesses married to foreign princes bear no children. It's always a second wife or a concubine."

"Where is this conversation heading?" distaste distorted Minho's features. The nobleman's son, Jisung, had a mouth for spreading rumors and speculations. He wasn't sure why Jeongin continued to sit in his presence.

The latter slumped uncharacteristically on one of the desk's adjacent seats, crossing one leg over the other. "Possible conspiracy?" he shrugged. "It's not as though you don't find the family's stiff behavior odd. Apparently, they've always been like that. Cold, stone-faced, and haughty."

Minho rolled his eyes, "And?"

"And," Jeongin's lips stretched into a knowing smile, "there are rumors.

"I mean, how would you explain the reoccurring cases of princesses unable to conceive, or the peculiar, nonchalant behavior of Tallilmalekan royals? Y/n is not the first one to not smile upon her betrothed."

"What are you implying, Jeongin?" the crown prince sighed, having grown tired of the discussion already. His weariness only seemed to amuse his cousin, who lowered his voice and leaned forward as if he had a secret to whisper. "Well, people say that there is only one reasonable explanation."

Perhaps to add suspense, Jeongin paused, making Minho's brow arch questioningly. "Which is?"

"Jinn."

Silence draped over the two like a velvet curtain, heavy, as the word settled into the air. Demons. Jeongin — or Jisung — was accusing you and your family of dealing with demons.

A loud, ebullient laugh had to escape Minho's lips.

"This isn't funny!" Jeongin exclaimed between held back giggles. "Don't come crying to me when your wife turns out to be a Sahira of some sort!"

"I'd be damned then!" Minho cleared his throat after his laughter died out, shaking his head. You were reserved, some would say too reserved, but Jisung was going overboard by bringing Jinn into the picture. "I should ban Han Jisung from entering the palace, right?"

"Maybe." Jeongin scrunched his nose then stood up, regarding the uninteresting mounds of work before his cousin. He was once more reminded to thank the Aliha he wasn't born an heir to the throne.

"Well, I will be leaving you to your work." He clasped his hands and a brotherly smile found home on his lips, "And let me be the first to congratulate you, cousin. I hope this marriage brings you happiness. May the Aliha grant you their blessings."

Minho grinned, giddiness twinkling in his eyes, "Shukran. Will we see you with a ceremony of your own one day?"

"Hopefully not anytime soon," Jeongin joked before bowing his head lightly. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Minho gave him an acknowledging nod but before Jeongin could turn and leave the study, the first scream shook the walls of the palace.

“What was that?” Jeongin’s eyes widened as a hand instinctively latched onto the hilt of his saif. Minho sprung from his seat, alarm wrinkling his forehead. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, it isn’t good.”

The two royals rushed out of the study, finding several guards running across the corridor and shouting orders to each other. Joining them, Minho asked above the ruckus, “What is happening?”

“Unsure, your highness, but the scream of a monster was heard coming from the Amira’s chamber,” a guard responded, and the prince’s heart dropped. Your rooms. Whatever made that sound, it didn’t promise well.

Rounding a corner, Minho finally spotted the group of guards assigned to your chamber clustered together as one of them knocked on the door repeatedly. He wanted to claw his flesh out. If a beast of some sort had managed to slip into your room, you’d be long dead with these foolish guards waiting for permission to enter. Perhaps it was time to re-examine the royal force.

Sheathing his saif, Minho stormed through the group of men, catching them off guard when he swung the door open and barged in. Manners were to be ignored in a life-threatening situation.

His grip was steady, courtesy of his many years of rigorous sword training, as his gaze fell upon the back of a monster twice his size, red skin glistening in the faint moonlight.

The guards grew silent.

The creature seemed to have the build of a man — two arms, two legs, and a head — but it was far from one. Tied hair as black as the eyes of a gazelle cascaded down its back and a pair of ivory horns poked through its head. That was all Minho could make out from the beast giving him its back.

It stood still, which should’ve raised suspicious brows, but the only thoughts on Minho’s mind were getting rid of the creature and finding you safe and sound.

So, without a second thought, he brought his sword down across the beast’s back, slicing it in half as the nauseating sound of metal cutting through wet flesh filled the room. It made no noise of pain as it toppled to the ground, facedown, splattering blood on its way. It was as if its soul were gone and all the Amir did was tear the body down.

You stood on the other side, unharmed, and Minho’s heart lurched in relief before he noticed the dagger between your bloodied fingers. Concern paired with obvious confusion creased his forehead as he sheathed his saif and stepped around the lifeless body toward you. He could hear the guards’ whispers rise in volume and Jeongin shushing them all. What in the name of the Aliha did I just kill and how did it get here?

��Y/n,” he began, voice taking on a softer tone. Your appearance showed no signs of struggle. The circlet holding the silk that fell over your hair was perfectly placed and you looked...indifferent as you regarded him wordlessly. The fact that a monster was lying on the floor of your bedchamber seemed to bother you none.

Minho was at a loss for words. “What...” his gaze gravitated back to the creature before moving to you. “What just happened?”

•؏•

If Minho arrived a moment earlier, he would’ve seen something that would change the course of your life forever. You were silently bursting with relief, for he couldn’t see the gaping hole where the Ifrit’s heart would’ve been before you clawed it out with a single hand.

The dagger in your grip was still pulsing.

You’d let your fiancé claim the kill for now.

“What just happened?” You could see, behind the mask Minho wore, all his bewilderment. How could you explain this without drawing the entire kingdom’s attention? A lie brewed at the tip of your tongue and you opened your mouth to speak, “It’s-”

You were interrupted by a deep wail that seemed to come from the ground beneath you. It shook the walls, making the guards look around in fear, and your eyes widened. There’s more.

You felt them before they crashed into the room and you dropped the dagger, grabbing Minho’s arm instead and running toward the door. “Watch out!”

The last syllable had barely left your lips when five smaller Afarit broke through the ground, sending debris everywhere and making the guards shout in panic. You forced your way through the chaos. The Afarit must not see you whatsoever. You might’ve been able to take down one on your own, but you weren’t very sure about a group of them.

Fortunately, Minho sensed the urgency in your steps and his legs moved faster, becoming the one to guide you through the grand corridors.

A blast of fire missed your head by a breath, and you turned around to find an Ifrit close behind. Seems like one caught up anyway.

The flaming creature of fire was in its natural form, which only you could see, and it was heading toward the two of you at an alarming speed. Minho tugged at your hand, confused as to why you stopped.

When he dared to glance at the other end of the corridor, color drained from his face like a wash of water on ink. It was burning, guards were fleeing, and smoke was slowly spreading through the air. Creatures he didn’t know the name of were pouncing upon the walls, leaving bright flames behind. They didn’t attack — they looked like they were looking for someone.

Which you knew. They were looking for you, or to be precise, they were looking for something you obtained.

Minho turned to face you, frantic, “What are you doing? What is happening— what are they?!”

You avoided his question, keeping your eyes on the Ifrit invisible to him. “Give me your saif.”

“What? This is not the time—”

“Give me your saif or we’ll both die.”

This time, he gave in and handed you his sword, unease dancing on his brows. A surge of energy left your fingertips when they came in contact with the leathered hilt, binding and fusing into the saif.

To Minho, you appeared to be glaring at air, but you were waiting for the moment the Ifrit shifted forms to attack. Not that you couldn’t strike it in its real form, but you’d rather not expose your identity so soon.

Just as you expected, the form of pure fire sprouted discernible legs and arms, a horned head, and snarling teeth. You didn’t miss the noise of panic that came from the prince. You almost felt bad for him. He was supposed to have a peaceful night before the next day’s festivities, not have his palace attacked by Afarit.

More guards streamed into the corridor as you raised the saif, just in time to slice it across the Ifrit’s middle. Normal weapons don’t kill them, but one infused with Jinn powers did.

The Ifrit crumpled to the ground with a spasm and a howl of agony, and the sword glowed red with an energy only you could see.

You turned to Minho, handing him his sword back and disregarding the way his eyes seemed close to popping out. “There you go. You can kill with it now.”

He only stared at you, and you were sure it’d be funny to know what went on his mind at that moment. “K-Kill?”

“Yes, well,” you inhaled, looking at the Afarit that noticed the commotion and were rushing to join the party, “We’ve attracted everyone’s attention. There’s no point in running now.”

Minho took three seconds to snap back into reality and fix his stance into something more appropriate for a skilled swordsman like himself. “Stay back!”

You did what you were told, not to raise suspicions, and stepped behind him. Bringing a hand to rest on your chest, you felt the large emerald hanging from a thin chain around your neck. The Zumurruda. This is what the Afarit were after, and you’d die fighting to keep it in your hands, in one piece.

You’d seen Minho in duels before, you trusted his skills. He was renown across the three kingdoms for one thing besides his looks, and it was his swordsmanship. Yet, you couldn’t help but worry. What if all went astray and you had to brandish claws and horns to get out alive?

The shriek of an Ifrit pulled you out of your thoughts. It seemed to be leading the other three toward the two of you, finally sensing the presence of the Zumurruda. The prince was quick to slash his sword through its chest, but this gave another Ifrit the chance to pounce on him. You couldn’t see Minho’s struggle to fight it off because you had a problem to deal with on your own.

While he was distracted, the remaining two Afarit decided to go for the Zumurruda. For you.

You looked around, hastily making sure no one was watching before stabbing a hand forward and watching your fingers grow into blackened, sharp claws. They plunged straight into the first Ifrit’s chest, now that you let your magic take over, and grasped its heart. You pulled it out unthinkingly, making blood vessels stretch and snap violently, spilling blood where the two of you stood. The beating heart in your clutch should’ve repulsed you, but you couldn’t quite feel anything in that state. Evil Jinn didn’t feel.

The other Ifrit didn’t seem to see what happened to its companion and lunged at you with a snarl. As one toppled to the ground lifelessly, you felt the heart transform into a small blade and prepared to bury it in the next Ifrit’s guts, ignoring the faint pulse of the makeshift weapon. You raised the dagger, claws gone, but didn’t get to use it when a flash of metal cut through the approaching monster and brought it down. Temporarily.

Jeongin’s familiar face came into your vision. Half of the young royal’s face was covered in blood, and his once fine attire had lost a sleeve to the flames. He asked with a heaving breath, “Are you okay?”

You eyed the Ifrit that began to stand back up, answering him dismissively, “I’m fine.”

You crouched, letting your dagger cut through the Ifrit’s throat and feeling a rush of energy flow from your fingers and through the blade into its body. Simply, to kill it.

“These things,” Jeongin paused to stare at the dead Afarit, “they don’t die. How did you—”

“What are they to begin with?” Minho’s question came through labored breaths and you turned your gaze in his direction, seeing him push a lifeless Ifrit off. You convinced yourself that the flutter of relief your heart made was for the Zumurruda.

The prince sheathed his bloodied sword, eyes trailing across the corridor littered with blood, Ifrit corpses, and injured soldiers before resting on your face, as if you were the answer to a riddle he’d longed to solve. His features trembled with distress. “What’s happening, y/n? Why are there monsters in the palace— What brought them here? What kind of sorcery is this?!”

A cohort of guards ran into the corridor, stopping short in sight of the monstrous creatures, dying fire, and blood. You could feel a different kind of tension permeate the air and you sighed, glancing at your fiancé then at his cousin. They deserve an explanation.

You gulped, lowering your voice just so the conversation remained between the three of you, “Do you believe in Jinn?”

•؏•

“So, let me get this straight,” Minho ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it as he tried to take in all what you’d explained. “Someone is sending these monsters called Afarit to obtain the emerald you have, and you can’t let them have it whatsoever. No one can know about this.”

“Na’am,” you nodded for the millionth time, bored. The three of you were now at the library. Jeongin had wiped the blood off his face with a wet cloth, but Minho didn’t seem to bother with the patch of red blooming on his shoulder as he bombarded you with questions.

You never thought this was going to be easy, but it was becoming tiresome.

“Then why...didn’t this attack happen in Tallilmalek? Why here?” Jeongin frowned and you suppressed a sigh. “Tallilmalek is protected by a spell that prevents supernatural creatures like Afarit or Jinn from sensing the Zumurruda’s presence. Now that it’s out of Tallilmalek, everyone can feel it, everyone wants it for themselves.”

“You know this,” the prince shook his head, “You know this... Why would you take the Zumurruda out of the kingdom? What’s so special about it that it attracts creatures from the fires of hell?”

“I didn’t know they would detect it so soon, I’ve arrived here two days ago. Besides, I need the Zumurruda with me,” you stated, dreading the following question.

A pause.

“Why?”

You fell silent. Why? To find the Sahira’s Heart and free myself from the Jinni in me. To break the damned curse that has been ruining my family’s life for the last century. “I need it to...” but you couldn’t tell the truth yet, could you? “I need to return it to where it really belongs. The Zumurruda is a gemstone of great magic. It can’t fall in the hands of bandits or Jinn because it will grant them a power they shouldn’t have. This is my only chance.”

Half the truth will do for now.

Minho slumped on a seat with an exasperated sigh. “But it was safe in Tallilmalek!”

“Safe from Sahara and Jinn but not from humans! What do you think people would do with a gemstone of unimaginable power?” You snapped and Jeongin’s eyes widened. He looked at Minho then at you and felt as though he shouldn’t be witnessing this argument.

“Does Tallilmalek know?”

“No! This is why I don’t have much time to return it.”

“And when were you planning to do this?”

“I don’t know, tomorrow, perhaps?”

“What? You can’t do that!”

“What do you suggest then? Stay here and let more monsters have their go—”

“Tomorrow’s our wedding day!”

Minho’s voice rang through the air, bouncing off the walls to slam into your face and make you inhale sharply. The wedding.

You didn’t forget, but it was the perfect chance for you to sneak out and find the Sahira’s Heart. An arranged marriage ceremony wasn’t going to stand in your way.

Minho had stood now, glaring before he realized what he’d done. His eyes widened and waters of panic rippled in them. “Asif, I didn’t mean to—”

You shook your head. An argument was the last thing you needed in your brittle, dry relationship and you turned around to exit the library, leaving a troubled prince behind.

Perhaps you were being selfish, but there was no place for giving in, not when you’d gotten this close to fixing everything. Fiancé or not, Minho could do nothing to stop you.

•؏•

“Your Highness!” a guard barged into the king’s study, where he was discussing the previous night’s strange attack with his only son. “I apologize, Your Highness, but we have an emergency!”

The king raised his gaze to look at the uneasy guard. “What is it?”

Minho regarded the man curiously. What could it be at this early hour, and on this day?

He’d woken up with memories of the argument he had with you at the library. The image of you walking out wordlessly seemed to taunt him whenever he let his thoughts stray, and a feeling of dread settled in his heart ever since.

The guard bowed then straightened his posture, inhaling deeply before letting the terrible news hail on the royals. “The Amira cannot be found in her bedchamber.”

If you are reading this, one of two things must’ve happened. I’ve died and a guard managed to return my journal home, or I’ve managed to do what the rest couldn’t and find the Sahira’s Heart.

I’m writing this on the first evening of our journey, and I suppose this is where it starts: reaching Al Mamsha.

The Zumurruda is pulling me toward it, a thin strip of land crossing Al Shaqq in Darilmalek. According to previous journals, it is guarded by Zarqa’a Al Yamama, an all-knowing woman with sharp sight and intuition. I am unsure about the encounter, but I’ve read al Amir Jinyoung’s report on crossing Al Mamsha which states that the traveler will be given a riddle to solve. Three wrong guesses and one will be forever trapped in the waters of Al Shaqq. All the past princes who chose to follow the Zumurruda took this path, so it seems that there is no other option. We’ll see how it plays out.

Al Amir Chan of Tallilmalek.

You closed the journal with a sigh. One of two things happened for sure. Prince Chan, who would’ve been a distant cousin, died in a thunderstorm while crossing Arrimal Azzarqa’a. Few crewmen survived the shipwreck, but his body was never found. He, too, sought the Sahira’s Heart.

Perhaps this was the fate of those who wished to the lift the curse and live freely. All the princes who dared to dream failed in the end, and the Zumurruda returned to Tallilmalek along with a story of their short journeys.

Perhaps it was a threat. A warning to force your parents, siblings, and all who came before them into accepting a life where love only brought misery. A curse that did nothing but make them fear what their sentiments could do.

You were raised to suppress the demon in you, a Jinni of pure evil, just like how the former royals did. For once upon a time, the most powerful Sahira known to the Alliance cursed your family with demon kids who murdered their beloved ones in cold blood.

Mages from across the land tried to break the curse, but none succeeded.

The only solution was to not have loved ones. One must not love, smile, or allow the tiniest affection to seep into their heart. Mother, father, sister, brother, husband, wife, friend — it didn’t matter. One must always polish a heart made of stone.

Until one’s fingers hurt, and no more polishing cleavers remain useable. Until one grows tired of the weight of a stone heart.

The pounding of hooves caught your attention and you looked in the direction of the noise, spotting a royal regiment cutting through the town. Leading them, you were quick to note, was the crown prince, Minho, your unfortunate fiancé.

Right, they would’ve noticed your disappearance by now.

Slipping out of the palace was easy, considering that the walls weren’t enchanted to repel Jinni powers like those back in Tallilmalek. You were gone by sunrise.

You felt the whisper of the Zumurruda, a foreign urge to travel east, and pulled your hood lower. The sooner you left the crown city, the sooner you’ll be able to use your powers freely.

As you made your way through the crowded streets of the city, you heard a shout coming from the soldiers, an order to put the city on lockdown. No one leaves. No one enters.

They’re taking the search seriously, you thought with a grimace. That would make things harder. You didn’t blame them, however. Relations between the kingdoms of the Arshilmalek Alliance had become shaky in the past years. A lost princess was a reason valid enough for Tallilmalek to wage war. A younger kingdom like Darilmalek would not survive.

You could almost sympathize with Minho. He seemed to truly care about the engagement, had always seemed to, yet you couldn’t show the smallest regard. For his safety, more than anything else.

He was another reason you wanted to break the curse.

Your steps quickened, hoping to reach the city’s borders before the guards did, but also trying to raise no suspicions. For a fleeting moment, you considered using your powers, but that thought was quickly thrown out of the window. There were too many witnesses. The last thing you’d want is to get accused of practicing forbidden magic and recreating the tale of the Lost Prince.

You could see the barren sahra’a ahead, just a few houses far, and hope blossomed in your heart. There it is, just an arm’s length away.

Then a shout accompanied by the terrible sound of hooves pounding the ground filled your ears and people began to clear the road in a panicked rush. You found yourself roughly shoved and uncomfortably squeezed between the people who moved to make way for the group of guards on horseback. You could barely move through them, and just like that, your chance slipped away right in front of you.

They’d reached the borders.

You muttered a curse under your breath and made your way through the people rather aggressively, earning a few strange looks that didn’t concern you. When you neared the set of guards, who were immersed in discussion, you pretended to be a foreign traveler and wandered off to the other, emptier side of the border.

Your first few steps went unnoticed, but soon enough, you heard a familiar voice command, “Qif!”

Too familiar. You halted but refused to turn around. The odds were all against you, you came to conclude when Minho arrived at your side, pulling the reins of his horse.

“You are not allowed to leave the city,” he said in a tone you never heard him use before, one that seemed to say my word is law.

You didn’t move or respond, which prompted the prince to speak once more, “Show your face. State your name, tribe, and your business leaving the city at this time.”

You bit your lip, although it couldn’t be seen under the shade of your hood, and thought to yourself, why did I not work on my disguise earlier today?

You wanted to slap yourself for being so foolish. Perhaps you were too...excited.

No guards joined the two of you, and after a few beats of silence, you decided to run for it. You might not be able to outrun a trained warhorse, but that would force Minho away from the rest, giving you a better chance at reasoning with him.

So, you did. You picked up your skirts and ran as fast as you could, past a startled prince and into the endless sahra’a. You heard Minho shout behind you, followed by a neigh of a horse, and you knew they were following you.

Running on sand was hard, and you were sure you were going to trip at some point. Although your lungs burned with each breath, you kept pushing yourself forward. Perhaps you weren’t made for such physical activity, you thought.

It felt like forever until Minho caught up to you — you guessed you had your powers to thank for that. His saif glinted under the harsh sun, and you were lucky to stop a few inches from the edge of the blade aimed at your neck. A chilling warning fell on your ears. “One more step, and I’ll chop your head off.”

You inhaled, waiting for someone to follow and letting your heart relax before shaking your head with a breath of a chuckle. “Chop my head off, eh?”

You didn’t see the way Minho’s grip stiffened, but you didn’t need to. You knew he recognized your voice.

Stepping away from the blade, you raised a hand to push your hood back and meet his surprised gaze. “I’d like to see you try.”

•؏•

Minho knew he’d made a terrible mistake when you were nowhere to be found in the palace. He thought it was his fault, and reasonably, he led the search the king ordered.

Although he hated to admit it, maybe the wedding wasn’t at all important in comparison to your mission. If you could prioritize it over an event that had been in planning for months, he could do the same.

After all, all the prince wanted was to show you that he cared. Just another meager attempt to try and make you dislike him less.

So, it seemed to be a complete strike of luck when you pushed off your hood to hold his gaze firmly. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I— La, I wouldn’t—” Minho stammered, quickly retracting his blade and dismounting the horse. He came to stand before you, silent as his gaze roamed over your features. Truth to be said, the prince didn’t know what he’d do if any harm befell you. When the guard shared the dismaying news, his heart dropped once more.

You seemed to like giving him a scare.

It was a relief to find you safe and unscathed, but unease still nagged at his chest. With an exhale, he muttered, “Asif. Forgive me.”

Your expression didn’t change, and he didn’t know what to take it as so he continued, “I realize now that the Zumurruda must be of high importance, considering that you were ready to escape the city to return it.

“I-I suppose the wedding ceremony pales in comparison,” he concluded and considered rambling on had you not nodded with a quiet exhale, “I apologize, as well.”

Oh? His brows shot up.

“It was selfish of me to disregard everyone’s work for my personal endeavors. But I hope you know that I cannot wait any longer now that the attack happened.”

“Of course—”

The prince was interrupted by a shout of his name, coming from an approaching figure behind you. “Minho!”

Not a guard, he remarked, noting the informality. Only then did he notice how far the two of you were from the city. He could see it, but it was a fair distance away.

You were a fast runner, he mused.

“There you are!” Jeongin’s voice became more discernible as he neared. “Someone saw you running off after a traveler. You were taking long.”

The younger royal didn’t notice you, almost trampling you over when he pulled the reins of his horse. He didn’t seem to notice Minho’s glare either. “Some claim that they spotted the Amira somewhere along the center of the city— What’s with the glare?” he frowned in confusion and looked around, finally spotting you, arms crossed and brow raised. You could practically hear his thoughts as his eyes expanded. “Oh.”

“Oh!” he repeated, this time surer, and lowered his head in embarrassment, realizing what he’d almost done. “My deepest apologies, y/n. I didn’t see you there.”

You bit back a retort and moved your head in the merest nod, “All’s fine.”

“You have to be more careful,” Minho tutted and Jeongin chewed on his bottom lip sheepishly, “Na’am.” His gaze ricocheted between the two of you before lighting up, “I suppose I should tell the soldiers to stop the search, then?”

“La,” the prince raised a hand, making his cousin look at him strangely, and turned to face you. You rarely showed interest in anything. The Zumurruda was something new. Perhaps this was his chance to improve things between the two of you. By taking interest in what mattered to you and joining you on this journey, he might be able to step a little closer to your heart. Or so he thought.

He might’ve anticipated the wedding, but he wanted to help you return the Zumurruda to where it belonged. “Let me join you.”

“What?” the question came from you and Jeongin, although he was a little louder with it. Minho only gave you a small smile, “I want to help you deliver the Zumurruda, if you’d allow me.”

You were careful not to gape at him. What changed over a night? You couldn’t help but ask, mindlessly, “But…what about the wedding?”

“If you can put other things before it, then so can I. The Zumurruda is more important, no?” a part of Minho was bursting with happiness. This is the most the two of you have talked away from the eyes of the court, without unnecessary formalities and stiff words. What seemed like a nightmare in a suit of flame was turning to be a blessing in disguise.

You nodded slowly, “You’re right.” You’d be lying to say you didn’t like the sound of Minho’s request. The princes that took this journey before you had all traveled with scouts, you didn’t expect to have the smoothest adventure alone.

Minho’s heart seemed to hammer in his chest as you thought over his suggestion. It wasn’t a decision he made in the spur of the moment – it was rather something he’d been contemplating all morning. There was no guarantee you’d agree, and he wouldn’t object if that were your choice, but he prayed to the Aliha for the opposite response.

He hoped he didn’t look too giddy when you finally made up your mind, letting out a breath as if the decision were a task that had worn you out. “I suppose I would appreciate some company along the way.”

A genuine smile broke on the prince’s face, and he looked at his cousin, “You have to come with us as well.”

“What– why?” the younger male did a terrible job of hiding his astonishment, but that didn’t seem to affect Minho. “I’m sure we need as many people on this journey as possible. Besides, I can’t have you returning to the palace now that you know about this ordeal.

Jeongin sighed, with undertones of a groan, “So, I have no choice.”

“Somewhat.”

You watched the two, slightly amused, before clearing your throat, “It’s the three of us, then?”

“Yes,” Minho nodded firmly then clasped his hands, “Where are we heading?”

You guessed if a citizen of the crown city looked far enough, they’d spot the three of you gathered in the middle of the desert and think it was an oddity of the current times. Silly or not, you began explaining the details of your journey. The details you knew of, that is, excluding the parts about the Sahira’s Heart and the curse. “We will be following the Zumurruda.”

“The gemstone makes its bearer feel a pull toward its home. No one has managed to reach it yet, but some have been remarkably close,” you pulled out the Zumurruda from beneath your tunic, laying it on your open palm for them to see. “As of now, it’s telling me to travel east, toward Al Mamsha.”

“Then east we shall go,” Minho announced. “Do we have all we need?”

“Do you have money with you?” you remembered to grab a heavy pouch of coins before escaping the palace, you wouldn’t need more with your powers anyway. Now that you had two more people with you, the money might not be enough.

“We do,” the Amir glanced at Jeongin, as if to make sure. “But is that all?”

“It should be enough. It’s better to travel light and stay the night in villages along the way.”

Your answer didn’t seem to convince the two, and you added with an awkward cough, “Either way, we cannot return to the palace to bring tents and food without raising questions. No one can know about this.”

Even if Minho wanted to let his hesitancy take over, you were the one who knew the most about the journey, not him. If you’d left the palace with the merest belongings for the trip, he would trust to do the same.

A beat of silence allowed your words to sink in the sand. That’s when Minho realized the kind of adventure he was sauntering into. Unpredictable. Perilous. Secret. Something that would challenge the very skills he’d spent all his years honing. It would either make him or break him.

He was oddly excited.

“We should get going, then. Day is only too long.”

You didn’t respond — you didn’t have to. The hood now pulled over your head was enough to say, “follow me,” and Minho thought he’d imagined the ghost of a smile on your lips.

•؏•

You began seeing the shimmering blue of Al Shaqq when the sun became hazy and low. The trip was exhausting at best, in the blazing heat and the dry air, and you quickly sympathized with the many messengers and trade caravans cutting through these sands for a living. You were beyond relieved when the thin strip of land became visible.

Although, if you thought you were tired, you couldn’t imagine the tiredness Minho was going through. Before you began your trek, he offered you his horse to ride and he continued on foot from there. Sometimes, he’d switch places with Jeongin, never for too long, however, and never with you. You supposed it was only expected. He was a prince, after all, and what was a prince without shining manners?

That didn’t stop you from offering your place repeatedly.

The three of you stopped at a small village some hours prior to satisfy your hunger and buy any necessities for what’s left of the journey. You were grateful no one outside the crown city recognized royals without their grand escorts.

This allowed Minho and Jeongin to trade their rich silks for less distinctive and more appropriate attire, as well as an additional handful of coins and two camels in exchange for their fine breed stallions with the promise to return them.

No one asked when you loaded your small caravan with food and water and resumed trudging through the golden grains.

Along the way, you’d explained to the two Darilmalekan royals why you decided to go on this journey without your family knowing. The repetitive pattern of princes trying to find the Sahira’s Heart wasn’t a coincidence. Only princes seemed strong enough to handle such a task and your parents would never let you, a princess, dirty your delicate hands with such an atrocious feat.

You’d explored your Jinni powers enough to know you wouldn’t have to dirty your hands, at least not until they became clawed and monster-like. And in that case, it would be your assailant’s concern, not yours.

Al Mamsha was a curious strip of land, one cursed with many legends by heat-struck travelers. It stretched across a rip in the desert filled with seawater, as though it were a bridge to the mountainous province of Darilmalek. Not many villagers settled nearby, as there was no use to be made of seawater and a land haunted by myths.

Only few dared to cross Al Mamsha. Only those few knew what really inhabited that piece of land.

You were about to become one of them, but you knew what, or who, guarded Al Mamsha. And you dreaded your meeting.

“Is that it?” Jeongin squinted at the enormous body of water before you. It was almost intimidating. It didn’t look this big on the maps.

On the dune where you observed, you could see the sandy line called Al Mamsha. It was empty, to your surprise. Your answer came coarse with nervousness, “Yes.”

“Should we cross it?” Minho seemed dubious, almost afraid when he asked, and you gulped. You will cross it, just like Chan and the other princes did before you. “The Zumurruda is urging us forward.”

Yet none of you moved for some moments of quiet anxiousness. Al Shaqq looked unreal, and its infamous Al Mamsha only reminded you of the many wonders you were yet to see, the many giants you were insignificant in comparison to.

Glancing west, Minho exhaled and patted the neck of the camel that carried you, “We must continue.”

But even the animal’s steps seemed reluctant.

As the three of you approached Al Mamsha, you kept an eye out for something to appear and stop you from advancing on to the sandy road. There was nothing but a clear, lifeless path, and you continued forward.

The camels halted to a stop at the mouth of Al Mamsha, making you frown in confusion as you patted the animal, “Why did you stop?”

It didn’t answer you, but your answer came from beneath the sand.

You wouldn’t believe it if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes. A woman emerged from the sand, fair and young, dressed in a fine white kaftan with a matching turban crowning her head. Perhaps what stunned you the most was the bright, striking blue of her eyes, a shade you’ve only seen in sketches of her. Her aura was eerie, and she was looking right at you.

When she spoke, her voice seemed to come from the depths of the earth. “You shall not pass.”

You weren’t afraid, but rather in mute awe. This was her. This was—

“Zarqa’a Al Yamama,” you breathed, ignoring the petrified stares Minho and Jeongin were giving you and making the woman shake her head solemnly. “That would be my great grandmother. I am Lia, the Guardian of Al Mamsha.”

Strange, that was not mentioned in the journals. You cleared your throat, pushing your thoughts back. “Pardon me, Sayeda Lia, but we need to move forward.”

She did not miss a beat. “You shall not pass.”

The prince then swallowed his shock and stepped forward, finding his best regal voice, “As the Crown Prince of Darilmalek, I ask of you to grant us passage.”

“You shall not pass.” Lia did not spare him a glance, her crystal blue eyes fixed on you.

You saw Minho’s hand reach for the hilt of his saif from your peripheral vision and you asked again with urgency, “Please. Is there anything we can give you in exchange for our clear passage?”

“I need not your mortal gifts.” Her voice boomed around you, despite being in the open, wide sahra’a.

At that, Minho grabbed his sword and you held your breath, waiting for those words to fall out of her dainty lips like in every journal.

Lia crossed her arms, and her eyes blazed like blue flames. “You shall only pass if you solve my riddle.”

There is it, you hoped your satisfaction didn’t take form on your face. “We will solve your riddle.”

Beyond what you thought was possible, her eyes glowed brighter, almost white in their brilliance. You had to squint and look away.

For a short while, there was silence, then her words came out grim and haunting, “Solve my riddle and you shall pass. Fail thrice and you shall perish.”

You held your breath, rummaging through all the riddles you’ve read or heard and kept for this critical moment.

“I can only be kept once I have been given. What am I?”

You haven’t heard that one before.

Inhaling stilly, you turned your head to look at Minho, meeting his worried gaze just as it fell on you. He rubbed the camel’s neck, making it sit for you to dismount.

Off the mammal’s back, you swallowed a lump of anxiousness and asked, “Any ideas?”

The prince shook his head and his cousin mimicked, finally dismounting to stand with the two of you. It seemed as though they were too afraid to speak.

Your gaze wandered to the sand beneath you as a whirlwind of thought took over your mind. Something that can only be kept if given…but that’s contradictive!

The paradox helped you rule out all material things, since things like coin cannot be kept after being given away. That left all things abstract — emotions, thoughts, bonds.

“Give…” you muttered then a guess sparked in your mind and you blurted, “Kindness?”

Lia frowned, and you could’ve sworn the ground trembled. “Incorrect.”

Foolish move, you scolded yourself mentally and avoided the concerned looks coming from the Darilmalekan royals. Think, y/n!

Something to be kept. Something to keep…keep your…keep my— your eyes widened when it struck you. It only makes sense!

“I think…I think I know the answer,” you whispered, and Minho questioned carefully, “What is it?”

Jeongin stepped closer and you made sure to keep your voice low. “One’s word.”

You knew you were right when realization lightened their expressions. An encouraging look from your fiancé made you step forward and speak, this time confidently. “The answer is one’s word. One can only keep their word once they’ve given it.”

When the blue-eyed woman remained silent, you waited for the ground to rumble and her to declare your second failure. Yet, nothing happened.

Lia nodded after several moments of silence, and you thought you imagined her subtle smile, “Very well. You have succeeded and therefor, you shall pass. But be warned, brave travelers, for the journey ahead is perilous, and the Isle of the Damned is no place for those of weak will.”

“Shukran.” You didn’t try to hide your relief, turning to mount your ride before she spoke again, “Your animals cannot move any farther into the Isle of the Damned. You are to travel on foot.”

You didn’t question her, recalling a statement you’ve read in a journal some months ago. The Sahira’s Heart left corruption in its wake, breathed chaos into its air, and spread malice in the land it rested in. Animals from the pure land will never venture near.

“Without them we travel, then,” you adjusted the clasp of your cloak as Minho shook his head, “We can’t leave them behind. We promised to return them.”

“Worry not, ya Amir, the animals will return on their own,” Lia informed. “Go on, travelers, before night awakens the beast resting in Al Shaqq.”

The beast resting in Al Shaqq. Many legends were told about the unnatural body of water, most known was the myth of the Falak, the great serpent that carries the world. It has been said that its child sleeps at the bottom of Al Shaqq. Any travelers crossing Al Mamsha at night would be its next live toy. Although, no travelers have dared to approach that land during the night yet.

You didn’t want to be the first.

A wordless exchange of glances darted between the three of you, and with a long exhale, you took your first step unto Al Mamsha.

•؏��

“This is absolutely preposterous!” the Tallilmalekan Crown Prince threw his arms in the air, frustrated. Changbin had been enjoying a Finjan of coffee when he overheard the news of your disappearance from a pair of oblivious guards, and it riled up the Jinni in him instantly.

Your brother stormed into the Darilmalekan King’s study, forcing the panicked advisors to leave when they noticed the frown etched on his handsome face. But before he could voice out his anger, a guard barged in, carrying news of Minho’s and Jeongin’s disappearance as well.

It made perfect sense in his mind. The had prince taken you and run away.

Changbin disliked your fiancé, but now, he seethed with aversion toward him.

“I am sure you know what this means for both kingdoms,” he said through gritted teeth. This marriage was your parents’ last hope at mending the deteriorating ties between Darilmalek and Tallilmalek. It seemed like Minho had other plans, however.

“If they are not found soon, I am afraid Darilmalek’s end would be two hundred years of independence.”

The king stood from his seat abruptly, recognizing the threat but being unable to acknowledge it. The fate of his people’s freedom relied on his meager words, and his hands were tied on the matter. The old king kept his tone firm and regal, “I trust my son, and I am sure no harm will befall the Amira with him. He will return, or we will find them.”

Changbin wanted to scoff but he settled with muttering spitefully before exiting the study. “Well, I don’t trust him.”

When he left, the king fell back on his chair, helpless. Oh, ya waladi, what have you done?

•؏•

They call it the Isle of the Damned, yet I believe it is unfair to the villagers settled between its mountains and dunes. We have crossed Al Mamsha and spared an hour of sunlight to find a place and raise camp for the night.

To my utter surprise, we found an unmarked village a little over an hour’s walk away. Its villagers offered to house us in their homes and serve us dinner. Such is the fine hospitality of the people of these sandy lands.

When the sun rises, we will be continuing east. I am unsure of the journey’s path after this step. No surviving journals clearly state where the Zumurruda leads after Al Mamsha.

Nevertheless, some speculate we are heading toward—

You quickly shut the journal when you heard a rustle from the other side of the partition. It was almost as though you were performing a play and Chan’s journal was the script. You crossed Al Mamsha safely and found a small village not too far away. Seeing that the three of you were travelers, the villagers welcomed you into their homes unhesitatingly. They sat you for a hearty feast then showed you to a place they’d prepared.

Their generosity wasn’t surprising. The three kingdoms maintained strict traditions in hospitality, no matter the guest’s origins or story. This was your first time experiencing it firsthand.

A partition was placed for your comfort between your bed and Minho’s and Jeongin’s beds. It was helpful when you wanted to read without them asking questions, but you could never be too carefree.

The rustling stopped, and you thought it simply was one of them shifting in bed before a faint sound caught your attention. “Y/n?”

You held your breath. Why is he not asleep?

For a couple of beats, you said nothing, thinking that if you remained silent, the prince would return to sleep and you to reading in the dark — one of the gifts you were born with. Perhaps it was guilt that made you finally whisper back, you owed him at least that. “Yes?”

“Oh…you’re still awake.” he was muttering, but you were sure you heard a hint of relief in his words. Hope. You couldn’t pinpoint the reason, but it made your heart clench uncomfortably.

There was silence again before he murmured, sounding almost defeated, “You should try to sleep.”

“You should, too,” you said after hesitating. “Who knows what awaits us tomorrow.”

Minho hummed then, and with a few rustles, he said nothing more. You assumed he’d fallen asleep.

A silent sigh left your lips and you looked at the journal between your hands. What am I doing?

This journey was one you’d wanted to take for a while. You’d barely begun, but unease was quickly creeping into your heart.

If this were a play and you were following a script, would it end with the same tragedy that befell Chan and the many princes before him? Were you only inching closer to your doom?

La. You forced the voice in your head silent and tucked the journal away. You were not going to fail because you had one thing these princes were too scared to use. You had a Jinni inside you, and you were not afraid to use your powers when needed.

This journey will not end up in failure.

Finally lying down, you let your eyelids drop, exhaustion taking over easily. But just when you were ready to surrender to sleep, another sound startled you awake. Not a whisper or a rustle of sheets, but the unmistakable unsheathing of a sword.

Hyunjin could feel it in his bones. He could smell it in the air, that sickeningly sweet scent of power. The Zumurruda was close.

He’d been alerted a few days ago when the Isle breathed with life once more. Someone had taken the Zumurruda out of Tallilmalek, again.

This time, he was getting his hands on it.

Finding the bearers of the gemstone wasn’t hard. They didn’t travel with an enormous escort like those ridiculous princes. Just that mere trio of them, with little baggage and a mysterious aura.

One of them caught his attention. A young lady whom his spies of Afarit reported to have a strange energy surrounding her. He’d assumed it was a spell of protection casted on her by a relative’s request, or that she was a magic meddler. Only now, as he stood in a room of sleeping people, did he realize what that restless energy was.

Jinn.

She was half Jinni, and her companions knew no better.

She carried the Zumurruda.

What a short, sad tale, he wanted to chuckle as he unsheathed his sword and prepared to strike her sleeping figure.

What he didn’t prepare for, however, was for her to spring up at the sound and shout, “Qif!”

This successfully awakened the rest and before Hyunjin could react, the edge of a saif was pressed under his chin.

“How did you get in here?”

A male’s voice, but it sounded nothing like a sleeping man’s. A terrible realization dawned on him. None of them were asleep.

Did she feel his presence like he felt hers? Was he walking right into a trap?

La, Hyunjin was far too powerful a Sahir to fall into mundane traps.

“You shouldn’t be asking me this question,” he answered and tossed his saif to the ground. There will be no need for it anymore.

In the dark, he could see her expression change as realization dawned on her too. A faint smirk drew itself on his lips when she whispered urgently, “Be careful. He’s a Sahir.”

“Be careful indeed,” he mused, “Spill a single droplet of my blood and your family shall be damned for eternity.”

“What brought you here?” even if he had understood the warning, the young man did not retract his sword.

Hyunjin could see things a regular human couldn’t see, and he could clearly make out his assailant’s features. Sharp yet dainty and undeniably handsome. He could pass as an Amir. Once upon a time, he would’ve been someone Hyunjin rivaled against.

The Sahir shrugged. “I’m here for the Zumurruda.”

A hush of silence befell the room and Hyunjin knew they knew.

When the young lady spoke, the red aura around her shook angrily. “We do not have what you seek.”

“Is that so?” he raised a brow. “That’s odd because I–”

“Kafa! You will leave or I’ll cut you down where you stand,” the young man holding the saif threatened. Hyunjin wanted to laugh. “And risk centuries of bad luck and misery on you and those who succeed you? You’re one brave young man.”

“We don’t have the Zumurruda,” the girl repeated, this time with more emphasis, “but we know where to find it.”

At this, the two other individuals in the room seemed taken aback. The saif even lowered a little bit.

Foolish humans, Hyunjin mocked inwardly. That was a lie and he knew it. “Oh, really?”

“Na’am.”

He would play along, that was more fun.

“Then take me to it.”

He saw how her pupils trembled. She felt something, he was sure. She knew that he spotted the lie, but she continued with it. Foolish, foolish human.

“You can join us.” Her proposal was met with a sound of protest from the back of the room, but it was not acknowledged. “Whatever your intentions are for seeking the Zumurruda, we can settle them when we find it.”

“But, y–”

Perhaps it was for his personal entertainment did Hyunjin agree. The young man’s almost-objection was a bonus. “I’ll join you.”

•؏•

“Dead? All six of them?!” The man glared at his subordinates angrily. A lord of thieves like him shouldn’t be facing such adversities, he believed, yet his good for nothing underlings couldn’t even retrieve a simple gemstone.

He let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes, “I shouldn’t be surprised. If one wants anything done around here, one must do it themselves.”

He reached for the lower compartment in his desk and pulled out a book as old as the world. A cloud of dust rose in the air when he placed it on the surface before him. “This one’s tough, huh?”

“Very much, sir–”

“What are you two imbeciles doing still standing here? Move!” his outburst made his two henchmen scurry out of the study, barely avoiding tripping over their own feet on their way.

He rolled his eyes after them for the nth time, wondering why he couldn’t find better minions. Right, these two idiots are the only ones who remained alive.

Flipping through the worn-out pages of the book, his eyes scanned the titles until he found what he needed. “There.”

His lips stretched into an ugly grin as he read over the lines of the summoning spell. “You might’ve been able to defeat the Afarit, but let’s see how well you can handle this one, bearer of the Zumurruda.”

•؏•

“Well, then, I’ll see the three of you by sunrise,” the strange Sahir remarked and before you could say anything, strong wind broke through your temporary home. You turned your face away from the harsh winds but when you looked back up, he was gone. As though he never stood there.

What...was that?

“What just happened?” you heard Jeongin whisper-exclaim and you reached up for the nearby mishkah, lighting it up and watching as its brilliance washed over the room.

You had no idea yourself.

“I don’t know.”

“Y/n— were you not in your right mind? How can you offer to let a stranger, and a dangerous one at that, accompany us?” Minho was baffled, to say the least. Didn’t you say this journey was extremely dangerous and secretive? When did you start letting strangers unto your plans?

The partition that stood in between hid the distressed look on your face. How would you explain it to them? That stranger had a bizarre aura, something was off with him. Too much power, something similar to the energy that radiates off your siblings and off you. Something not entirely human.

“He’s dangerous, Minho,” you resorted to saying, failing to realize how his name rolled off your tongue easily, almost naturally. “He knows we have the Zumurruda. Sharing it is the only solution that doesn’t include bloodshed or eternal damnation.”

“But you can’t trust him, can you? Can we?”

“That’s why we have you.”

Perhaps it was exhaustion that made you say something so…unguarded. For a fleeting moment, the real you peeked at the world. No Jinn to be concerned with, no curses, just what you really wished to say.

You knew you appeared to dislike the prince, it was a façade made to fool your Jinni half. You tried to ingrain that in your mind through your actions and speech, everything you did was planned and calculated to keep the monster at bay.

But some rare times, the closed off bit of your heart would speak. You didn’t trust the Sahir, but you trusted Minho. That would be enough.

When you received no response, you lay back down, clutching the Zumurruda as you murmured goodnight. You’d rather not hear an answer to that.

On the other side of the partition, Jeongin looked at his cousin with a raised brow. This is new.

If he knew no better, he’d assume the prince had forgotten how to speak. The saif in his hand hung limply at his side as he stared at the makeshift wall made of palm tree fronds. An unexplainable expression illuminated his features.

What did you mean? He didn’t want to believe what his mind told him. Why would he give himself such hope?

Sighing, he shook his head and dropped his sword on the side of the bed. It was too late in the night and his thoughts had been strained enough. “Goodnight, Jeongin.”

“Goodnight.” The younger royal continued to watch him, curious but also sympathetic. In a way, he didn’t understand the manner in which his cousin thought; why he kept trying to make you see him as someone other than an unlikable betrothed. But in another way, he understood completely.

Minho loved you, and it was something almost magical. No matter what you did, the feelings he’d garnered over the years only burned brighter. And although Jeongin complained about how hopeless your case was, he was almost sorry for the prince.

Hundreds were ready to dedicate their lives for him, yet the only life he cared about was one with you.

•؏•

The sun brought a new day with it despite your weary limbs’ complaints. You rose with an unusual sense of unease in your heart. You dreaded what this day held for you.

The Sahir was indeed there when the sun rose, looking as though he didn’t plan an ambush at the dead of night. He introduced himself as Hyunjin, and you ignored the uncanny familiarity of the name.

That morning, the Zumurruda’s pull directed you south, away from the mountains. It came as a surprise, considering that in Chan’s journal, he mentioned moving east. You don’t remember reading about the Zumurruda changing routes…

“Do we know where we’re heading?” you felt his presence before you heard his voice, dark, corrupt. It made all your senses perk up.

Hyunjin fell in step beside you, and you didn’t have to steal a glance at Minho to know that a scowl was beginning to form on his face. The three of you were walking side by side while the Sahir trailed a few steps behind. What made him join, you guessed, was to bother you.

The orb of light in the sky was lathering the golden grains of sand with formidable heat, and the blows of wind were doing very little to help any of you cool off. You were not in a state to be bothered.

“Shamal.” Your response should’ve showed that you didn’t want to talk, but it seemed that Hyunjin couldn’t take the hint. “Yes, but to where? We can’t just be traveling south blindly.”

“To a place, that’s for sure.” You let out an exasperated breath.

“Your vagueness is quite–”

“You should learn to understand people’s tones,” Minho cut him off, sounding uncharacteristically hostile, not unreasonably though.

“Ah, it’s the angry saif man,” a sickeningly sweet smile drew itself on Hyunjin’s lips. “I haven’t forgiven you yet for threatening to kill me.”

The Amir only glared in response and you began to regret the moment you offered to let the Sahir join you on this trek.

“It honestly baffles me. What is someone like you doing with them?” he reminded you of some ladies at court. Those who only yapped gossip and rumors. Maybe you should’ve let Minho kill him when he had the chance.

Your silence only prompted him to continue, enjoying the way his words made the energy around you crackle angrily. “Really, what need do you have of two common swordsmen? Are they guards of some sort? Or are you perhaps…” his gaze traveled between the three of you before a knowing smirk made an appearance, “Ah, I see now.”

At that point, you were sure he was purposely riling you up. Stopping short, you turned to glare at him and for a blink, his eyes glowed red. You thought you’d imagined the face of the Devil in his, a terrifying sneer and evil eyes.

Hallucinations, you pushed your worrying thoughts back. “I don’t appreciate you speaking that way– What in the…” you trailed away when a shadow fell over the four of you, blocking out sunlight completely. Even Hyunjin grew silent.

Daring to look up, you were met with the silhouette of an enormous bird, circling over you like a predator.

“Um...what is that?”

You were too scared to answer Jeongin’s question, you weren’t even sure you wanted to know the answer. “I-I don’t know but it doesn’t—”

The ginormous bird stopped circling the air, and with heart-stopping realization on your behalf, dived headfirst toward you. A shout was leaving your lips before you could process what was happening. “Run!”

A Rokh. You’ve read about the mystical bird in ancient books. It lived in the highest mountains, at the very peak, and summoning it required a forgotten and forbidden spell. Fear, for a reason other than the beast trying to have you for lunch, flooded your heart.

Someone was trying to stop you.

The squawk that rang at your ears was deafening, and you found yourself falling to your knees while pressing the palms of your hands against them in pain. A violent blow of sandy wind resulting from the Rokh swooping in was almost enough to push you off the ground. You would’ve lost all sense of the world had that unsettling feeling not made an appearance. The same warning that came from the depths of the earth before the Afarit attacked at the palace.

You stood with a start, wobbling a little as you tried to blink the sand out of your eyes. Something was coming.

The Rokh was back in the sky, putting you in the inconvenience of darkness. Alone. You tried to find the rest, tried to find Minho, but the sand obscuring your vision made it an impossible feat. Panic quickened your breaths. Where are they?

You thought you saw a figure approach you and you called hopefully, “Minho? Is that you?”

The howling wind responded instead. You tried to walk closer. “Jeongin?”

Then you began noticing something weird about the figure’s walk. It wasn’t a walk, you realized when you squinted at it. It was a hop. And at that, you noticed that no matter how close the figure got, only one half of its body was visible. One leg, one arm, half a head, and half a torso.

That was when you became convinced you were living a nightmare.

Before you could attempt to run away from the Nasnas, it pounced on you, sinking its single clawed hand through the layers of cloth and into your shoulder. The scream that left your lips wasn’t entirely yours, but of the other soul sharing your body. Feral, as it tore through the bonds you’ve trapped it with.

Pain had blanked your mind out, so you didn’t quite understand what you were doing when you reached for the monster’s only shoulder with a clawed hand. The Nasnas let out a terrible shriek when your claws sunk into its skin, making it lose hold of you and reel back. You didn’t stop there.

Power came in immense amounts when you let your Jinni half make an appearance, but so was the hunger for bloodshed. You pulled, dislodging the arm and tearing it from the body. The spray of blood that fell over you sizzled, but that was the least of your concerns. The limb turned itself into a sword in your grip and you spun to slash it through the agonized Nasnas. Its tortured screams came to a choked stop.

Your heart should’ve hurt you from the strength and frequency of its beats, but you were instead staring at the mutilated body of the monster that attacked you. Its pale skin was splattered with gruesome red, the same shade dirtying the precious yellow of the sand. A strange sign on its forehead caught your attention and you leaned closer to examine it before a shout came from the distance. “Y/n!”

Cold dread prickled your skin as you straightened up instantly, praying no one saw you kill the Nasnas.

You were quickly assured that no one saw you, simply because they were all being attacked too. The wind had settled, and you were able to find your companions each stuck in a throng of bloodthirsty Nasanees. The sight made the Jinni inside you feverish. More to kill.

La, this wasn’t you. You weren’t a cruel killer, the secret sword training sessions you’d have with your brother didn’t make you one. But it only made sense to curse a family with the most violent Jinn there was, no?

You spotted a few monsters hopping toward you and Minho not too far away, who was cutting through the beasts as he ran to you. This is going to be an ugly fight, you thought with a grimace when you noticed the bleeding scratch on Minho’s cheek. You forgot you were almost completely covered in blood, both yours and the Nasnas’.

Just don’t get too carried away, you reminded yourself, looking up to find the Rokh still flying above you. Or just get out of this alive.

The Nasanees reached you first, but you were ready this time. Fighting wasn’t something you did regularly beyond the quiet training court, but it was almost second nature when you let your powers take over.

Your saif stabbed through the first Nasnas’ middle and you pulled it sideways, cutting a clean line through. This seemed to be a distraction because the second monster decided to lunge at you while the former one toppled to the ground. The force of the impact drove you to the ground, making it a struggle to push the Nasnas off you. A struggle, but it was not impossible.

You managed to roll out of its grip, sparing no time to plunge your sword into its back to kill it. Standing back up, you expected another monster to attack, but the one that was reaching for you had the bloodied tip of a saif poking through its chest.

It crumpled to the ground when the sword was aggressively retracted to reveal Minho standing on the other side. The erratic rise and fall of his chest was very visible as his gaze trailed over the lifeless bodies sprawled between the two of you. A delirious grin stretched his lips when he looked back at you. “Where did you learn to fight so impeccably?”

“Changbin taught me.” that small smile was yours. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t miss the way he faltered for a moment at your question before answering, “I’m okay. Are you?”

It was an ironic question, considering the blood that tinted your skin and filled the air with that nauseating stench. “I’m good.” The wounds on your shoulder would heal in no time.

Your gaze moved to where you thought you saw Jeongin, skillfully countering all the attacks aimed at him. It seemed to be a Darilmalekan thing. “We should help him.”

Minho nodded and immediately rushed to where his cousin fought. You followed, gaze gravitating back to the Rokh in the sky. You had enough trouble on the ground, the threat up above was only adding to the tension.

Some Nasanees came in your way but taking them down was easy. You’d never found yourself in a fight until recently, and you realized how different it felt to fight alongside someone. There was a wordless, mutual understanding between you and Minho; protect each other’s backs, simply.

Maybe you liked the way it felt.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Hyunjin, standing with his hands clasped before him and eyes a hellish red. Any Nasnas that approached him would either drive its claws into its own guts, chew off its hand, or attack one of its kind. He was controlling them, manipulating them, and an angry thought crossed your mind. He could help the three of you, but he had chosen to stand aside and watch you get killed.

Because he knows we have the Zumurruda. What good does he gain from saving us?

You gripped your sword tighter, slashing it across a snarling monster. We’ll survive just to spite him, then.

“What are these creatures?” Jeongin asked with a shout when he spotted the two of you near. Your saif sliced through a Nasnas’s throat and you came to stand beside him, heaving a breath, “These are the kind of offspring you get when a Jinni and a human are the parents.”

“They keep coming!” Minho’s desperate exclamation made your stomach flip. They kept coming, indeed. No matter how many you killed, there was always more to surround you. You doubted any of you would be able to last long enough.

You can finish them all, a voice in your head suggested, wicked and sinister. Just let go. Let me in. Let your true self show.

La! You pushed the voice back, but it was of no use. You saw blood wherever you looked, pale corpses wherever you stepped, cries of aggression wherever you listened. Next to you, Jeongin’s left sleeve was torn away, exposing an ugly gash across his upper arm. Minho, a few monsters away, was suffering more than a single scratch. Your shoulder pulsed with a numbing ache.

Too much.

It was too much.

You could no longer keep track of the swings of your saif or the creatures falling lifeless at your feet. This ambush was bound to destroy you.

And perhaps what finally snapped the cord was the ear-splitting squawk coming from above. Daring to look up and finding the Rokh heading straight toward you, you lost all awareness of the world.

It felt as though something was tearing through your guts, burning, boiling. Your voice was no longer yours as a wrangled scream left your lips. It might’ve been pain from the Nasanees that pounced on your doubled over body or what was rising within you, but when you opened your eyes again, you only saw red.

Standing up, you felt almost weightless. The monsters that came in your way were like sticks to snap with your clawed hands. Your sword flashed between the masses until you were standing alone. They’d all been killed or had escaped; you didn’t care. Your attention was fixed on the Rokh.

To any onlooker, you supposed you looked deranged, standing in the way of the giant bird. But maybe that mattered little compared to your appearance. Red, blazing eyes, dark, horrifying horns, and bloodied, blackened fists. You were still human, but not quite.

In the background, someone called your name. The voice made your head pound with pain, but you ignored it, raising your saif and flinging it right at the approaching Rokh. The action took no effort, but the sword swiveled through the air with unhuman force, landing in the narrow joint between the bird’s wing and body. Any regular weapon would do it no harm, but this was a cursed sword, surging with Jinni powers.

The Rokh’s wings flailed with a thunderous squawk as you felt your powers bleed into its body, leaving a trail of havoc and corruption. You watched as it thrashed in the air, hurtling toward the ground at an alarming speed, but you didn’t run away. The giant bird fought against the venomous magic, you felt it, but it was losing the fight, easily. It wasn’t long before it crashed into the ground, limbs folded in awkward positions, sending a great puff of sand into the air and forcing you to shield your eyes.

Finally, there was silence.

The wind was quiet as the enormous creature spent its last, excruciating moments. It was as though the universe had held its breath, and only the untamed beating of your heart was apathetic enough to make any noise.

The nightmare was over.

A tingle ran across your skin as you eyed the destruction around you, the chilling bloodshed. Repulsion, disgust, or horror were nowhere to be found in your heart, and you knew why. The sight only made the little voice in your head quiver in exhilaration.

But then, even that voice went silent. “Y-Y/n?”

You spun around in a beat, and a crushing realization struck when your gaze fell upon the Darilmalekan prince, his cousin, and the Sahir. Oh, no.

The reality of the situation dawned on you as your conscious rushed back in. You’ve made a terrible, horrible mistake. The flames in your eyes died out as you returned to your normal form, horns and claws disappearing like illusions.

Hyunjin looked oddly amused, Jeongin was blatantly petrified, but what hurt you was the expression of pure fear distorting Minho’s features. Great going, a voice in your head mocked, you’ve crushed whatever crumbling bond the two of you had.

No, what hurt you the most was the fact that his fear was directed at you, caused by you.

A demon in human skin.

“I-I can explain— I—” the stutter in your voice made you feel small and vulnerable. It felt foreign, wrong. You weren’t a weakling, never were.

Yet, you had never been more helpless.

Minho’s expression changed very little, but he managed to blink once, twice, and thrice before forcing his gaze to the sandy ground. The pulsing ache on his cheek was long forgotten as he inhaled shakily. What he had seen couldn’t be real. It didn’t make sense at all. Yet it happened. Horns erupted from your forehead and claws extended from your fingers, he saw it happen right before his eyes.

For a moment, the monsters were pouncing on you, but in the next moment, you were cutting your way through them with utter ease and terrible violence. Killing, you made it seem easy and simple. There was no remorse on your face.

That wasn’t you.

But...it was.

Daring to look back at your distraught face, he felt his throat run dry. He didn’t know what to say.

Sensing the awkward, still tension, Hyunjin sighed, “Are we waiting for another attack? We should get going and leave explanations for later.”

“R-Right,” you mumbled, letting your gaze fall to the ground and turning southward to resume your long trek wordlessly. Hyunjin followed you instantly, disregarding the bodies scattered across the ground and the large, lifeless bird lying nearby.

You avoided looking at the carcasses as you trudged ahead, finding that one worry was more than enough to keep your mind occupied. The two royals soon followed, but they stayed back — not that you were paying attention, of course.

The wound on your shoulder was almost healed, courtesy of your Jinni powers, but Minho and Jeongin had injuries that should be tended to. They were slightly deep scratches which they cleaned along the way, unwilling to interrupt the walk. Their silence hurt you more than it should’ve.

You’re being sensitive. Get ahold of yourself! A voice scolded inwardly.

The journey was appropriately silent this time, even the Sahir remained quiet as you crossed the sands. You stopped a few times to rest and reenergize, but no words were exchanged. At least not between you and anyone else. You thought you heard Jeongin mutter something to the prince a few times.

That was better. You had more time to think about the reasonable explanation you’d give them later. But even the slow hours of sunlight didn’t seem to be enough, and night befell the desert sooner than you liked.

You reached another village by then, just as you calculated earlier that day, and seeing your bloodied attire and terrible states, the villagers ushered you into their homes quickly.

They offered your group the change of clothing you needed, a place to wash up, and some medical supplies — you didn’t have to pretend to clean your healed wound.

Then, you were sat for dinner in the isolated guest house of the village. The suffocating tension only increased then, and none of you found the will to satisfy your pleading stomachs.

Seated in a small circle around the food, quiet much like the previous hours of the day had been, you dared to be the first one to break the unbearable silence with a sigh. “I think it’s time for an explanation.”

At your hushed words, Minho’s head snapped up, and a similar look of hesitant curiosity illuminated his cousin’s face. Hyunjin, however, smiled, eyes twinkling red when you thought you were hallucinating. “Ah, finally. Go on, demon girl, tell us.”

You caught the dark look Minho threw his way but decided to ignore his words, collecting your thoughts with a deep inhale. The food will be getting cold. “This story is a long one.”

“My family,” you paused, remembering that Hyunjin didn’t know of your royal status, “has been cursed for around a century.”

The prince’s eyebrow arched at this and you took that as a sign to continue your tale. “During the first century of the Arshilmalek Alliance, internal conflict was wreaking havoc across Tallilmalek. The royal forces were in a state of war with the citizens of the kingdom, many were lost due to those attacks. One...of my ancestors fought in a minor battle against the citizen-made forces. The fight took them near the mountains, where the house of one of the most powerful Sahirat was built. The fight was brutal and violent, and it unfortunately killed many innocent children and women. The Sahira’s child was one of them.

“The child and his mother were heading toward their home when they got caught up midst the fight. The mother tried to escape and protect him, but one soldier suspected her of being a threat and shot an arrow in her direction. The soldier...was my ancestor, and his arrow went into the child’s heart.”

Deadly silence settled in the room when you stopped talking. Your story wasn’t over, it had barely begun, but you gave a moment of silence for the innocent soul lost to the raging fires of war. Not a breath was heard, even the wind outside seemed to hush down and listen to your dark secret. An echo of the Sahira’s cry of agony many, many years ago.

“The Sahira caught the bleeding child in her arms with a cry of distress,” you gulped, hating how vivid the scene seemed in your head, “When her eyes landed on the culprit she screamed at him, a curse that would haunt him and his successors forever. May you never forget the pain of loss.

“The soldier thought nothing of her shouts, and while he felt a pang of guilt in his heart, he returned to the fight. Some weeks later, the war ended with the victory of the crown. The soldier went back to his wife, who was pregnant with his son at the time and nearing labor. It wasn’t long before the couple welcomed a new member to their family.

“At first, their son seemed like the other kids. He played with his cousins, he studied with his elders, and he loved his parents very much. But on his sixth birthday, the first incident took place. His mother had gone to tuck him into bed, but never returned to her room. When...the husband went to look for her, he found her in his son’s room, lying in a pool of her own blood. The hole where her heart had been gaped at him, while his son cried over his mother’s body, hands bloody.

“When asked, the son would say he didn’t know what had happened. His mother was there, then she was dying on the floor of his room. It made no sense for a child, only six years of age, to commit such a heartless crime! So, the man decided that an assassin had slipped into his house and murdered his wife, and the boy was put back to bed.

“Some weeks later, in the darkest hour of the night, a scream was heard in the man’s house. He woke with a start and rushed to the source of the sound, which led him to the stables. There, he found his son hunched over the disfigured body of a pony. His pony, he realized, but that didn’t matter as much as the horns erupting from the boy’s forehead and the claws stretching from his fingers.

“His eyes glowed like fire when he snapped his head to look at his father. Something pulsed in the child’s grip, but the man was too terrified to try to know what it was. His son looked like an Ifrit.

“Luckily then, the little boy snapped out of it and dropped to the ground with a sob when he saw his dead pony. The terrible truth had revealed itself to the man, and he found himself remembering the Sahira’s words that day. The first Jinni child had been born.

“Devastated, the man installed extra protection in his house, sent his son to all the Atiba’a and Sahara in the city, and tried to find a way to reverse the curse. But it was all in vain. Many tried to exorcise the Jinni inside the little boy, but none succeeded. No spell nor medication helped. The man gave up then, but the nightmare didn’t end there.

“News reached him that his niece, a few years younger than his son, had murdered her sleeping father and attempted to kill her mother too. The curse had spread to the entirety of the family. Every child born after the war had a Jinni inside them, thirsty for their loved ones’ blood.

“The family denied the curse in the beginning, but when the attacks increased in frequency, they knew they had to find a way to live with it. The parents began to treat their children coldly, to spark dislike and detest in their hearts and protect themselves. When the new generation of half-Jinn took over, they took the liberty to understand the Jinn inside them and develop ways to keep them in check.

“My family became known for their lack of emotions. Generation after generation was taught to carry no feelings to avoid waking the Jinn up. But to replace that hole in their hearts, they began to discover what having a Jinni inside oneself gives from power.”

You dared to tear your gaze from the carpet, sighing as though telling that story was a wearying effort. Quite literally, it was. “What you’ve seen earlier was only some of it.”

“Some of it? There’s— there’s more?” Jeongin’s disbelief didn’t mask the fear in his tone. You couldn’t blame him. You’d be scared of yourself too. “Na’am.”

“And you have full control of the Jinni?” the Sahir seemed intrigued, which didn’t soothe the unease you felt near him. You avoided his eyes when you answered, “Most of the time. It would awaken on its own due to the curse if I’m not careful with my feelings.”

“So, we are all in danger of your Jinni waking up and slaughtering us in our sleep?”

The question shouldn’t have made your chest tighten, especially coming from Hyunjin, but you could feel Minho’s intense gaze on you. Somehow, it made the words coming out of your mouth hurt.

“La, I have no feelings for any of you.”

At this, the prince stood up, excusing himself in an incoherent whisper before rushing out of the room. His cousin soon followed after giving you a confused look, which left you alone with the Sahir.

You knew it would be impolite to leave the food untouched, but you had no will to eat. If anything, you wanted to throw up. Perhaps it was how exposed you felt. No one outside the Tallilmalekan palaces knew of the curse, and no one should.

You’d just broken that, and to none other than your betrothed.

Why were you frustrated?

“You know,” Hyunjin sighed and you looked at him with your lips pressed in a straight line. The Darilmalekan royals were no longer around, you could finally confront him freely. You had much to say. “What?”

“You and I...we’re the same.” You noticed that his hand was closed over a charm he wore around his neck. It wasn’t there before.

“How so?”

“You felt it, didn’t you? That strange energy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you denied. What did this stranger know?

When his eyes began to glow red, you wanted to look away, but it was as though something in them pulled you in. The other soul in you stirred, almost in recognition. Or repulsion.

Something was wrong with the Sahir.

“You felt my presence that night, that’s why you warned Minho, right?” when you didn’t respond, he pressed, “You felt the Nasanees before they came. Don’t you see? Our souls speak the same language.”

You had to get away. This Sahir wasn’t a normal one, something was very wrong. “Pardon me—”

“It’s the whisper of corruption, bloodlust, hell. Like calls to like—”

“Kafa! What do you know about the curse?” you snapped, letting your eyes blaze red threateningly. It only made Hyunjin smile, slow and cryptic. “Oh, I know more than you could imagine, demon girl.”

•؏•

“It seems that Han Jisung was right, for once in his life,” Minho remarked when he sensed his cousin’s presence nearby. He’d left the guest house for a breath of fresh air; it was becoming suffocating inside.

The moon had hidden that night, as if it knew of the events that would unfold and preferred to not witness them. The prince wished he could hide too, return to his palace and his normal life, and forget everything. No magic gemstones, no hellish monsters, and no half-Jinni princesses.

Was he frightened by what you had confessed? Not much. Overwhelmed could be a better word. He didn’t know what to make of this new information. You, who he thought he’d known throughout his life, turned out to be someone else.

Or not.

It conflicted him. You were still you, still his Amira, right? That had always been you, claws and horns, even if he’d never seen them before.

Then why did his heart hurt so much?

“I have no feelings for any of you,” Jeongin repeated your words with a shake of his head. He could almost sense the moment his cousin’s heart collapsed. “I’m sorry, Minho.”

Right, that.

It made perfect sense to the Amir, and he despised it. Your never-changing indifference toward him, your stiff behavior, his useless efforts — you were protecting him from yourself.

No matter what he did, you’d never open your heart to him. You couldn’t risk it.

What did you mean the previous night, then?

It was...unfair, and Minho knew it was silly of him to say. What were the odds of helplessly falling in love with a half-Jinni princess?

The prince sighed, letting his shoulders sag dejectedly, “La ba’as. I suppose we...were never meant to be.”

“Don’t say that...” Jeongin pursed his lips while giving him a sharp look. His cousin was never one to give up, not after a hundred dry smiles and nonchalant words. Something had always pushed him to return those smiles sincerely, to not let rejection bring his spirits down. But the light in his eyes dimmed, and for the first time ever, he looked truly defeated. He knew how much this certain defeat affected him.

“I’m sure there’s a way to fix this.”

Minho gave him a small, sad smile. It was visible despite the darkness of the night. “I’m not sure anymore, Jeongin.”

“But—”

“I think...I need some time to think about it.”

“Alright. I’ll give you some space then.” Jeongin gave in, biting his bottom lip as if keeping in anything he wanted to add. With one last look at Minho, he turned around to return to the guest house. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” the prince mumbled after him. He wasn’t sure if space was what he needed because it seemed to make his thoughts double in loudness.

Not meant for each other, the voice in his mocked. Should’ve lost hope long ago.

Perhaps it was time to lose hope and move on. Better now than wait for his heart to be crushed further.

Minho didn’t want to, but he would try to disregard his feelings.

You seemed to do a great job of that. It shouldn’t be too hard, right?

•؏•

It was impossible.

When Minho awakened the next day and caught sight of you, none of the previous night’s sentiments mattered. He knew he was being a fool, but he couldn’t leave his heart behind. At least, not so soon.

Who was he without loving you?

So, Minho carried his saif and resumed the journey, following you to wherever the Zumurruda guided you.

The sun wasn’t any kinder that day, but no enormous birds were to be seen and for that, you were grateful. You led your companions south, as the Zumurruda continued to compel you. It was a little worrying, as there were no marked villages along your way. You might have to spend the night in the open desert if no solutions came across your minds.

“Can’t you use your...powers to set camp when it’s time?” Jeongin wondered and you shook your head, “La. I can’t transform sand into a house.” It wasn’t a body part you could make weapons out of...

“Oh, well.” He puffed out his cheeks, slightly disappointed. You suppressed a smile. The tension from the previous day had lessened, which was a great relief. You weren’t sure you would be able to handle another suffocatingly silent walk. Although, Minho still didn’t say much.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Have none of you slept under the moon before?” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, missing the look exchanged between you and Jeongin. Royals don’t sleep in the open.

“No, we haven’t. But I suppose there’s nothing to worry about,” the younger royal said. “Y/n, you’ve got Minho, and I have my pouch to sleep on... It wouldn’t be so bad.”

You glared, and an embarrassed cough came from where Minho walked. It only made a mischievous grin grow on Jeongin’s lips.

Rolling your eyes dismissively, you shut your thoughts out before they became dangerous. “We might find a Waha along the way. There’s still a long day ahead of us.”

“Pray to the Aliha we do,” Jeongin muttered, raising his head to squint at the sun, “It’s formidably cold during the night.”

And you did. You wished in your heart for somewhere safe to spend the night at before lapsing into comfortable silence. The four of you traveled undisturbed for several hours, stopping to rest before continuing your seemingly endless route.

No signs of life crossed your path as the sun inched westward. No villages or caravans, not even a tree or a well. You’d begun to worry when the sky’s blue poured into a light purple, until a dark bush in the distance caught your attention. “There’s something ahead!”

It was too late for a mirage to fool you, and the closer you got, the clearer it became. The dark bush rose to become the tips of a cluster of palm trees. You’d found an oasis.

You found yourself rushing toward it as if it would slip away like a fragment of your imagination. Your prayers were answered after all. You wouldn’t have to sleep the night in the cruel cold.

The oasis wasn’t big, but neither was it small. You walked through several rows of trees before reaching the heart keeping them alive, a spring of water. It was more than you could’ve asked for.

Running to the water, Jeongin was the first to plunge his hands in and splash his face with it. Hyunjin disregarded him and found a palm tree to lean on while Minho stayed back, looking around before announcing, “I’ll gather tinder to light a fire.”

“I’ll join you.” Jeongin stood and unsheathed his saif. If Minho had given him a discouraging look, he didn’t see it before following him deeper into the oasis.

You were once more left alone with Hyunjin.

You decided to sit at the base of a tree a little away from the Sahir, still unsettled by his presence. Bringing out a bundle of tamir, you chewed on a piece to recharge when Hyunjin asked, “What kind of tinder are those two planning to collect with their suyoof?”

You took your time before swallowing your food and answering him nonchalantly, “I suppose they’ll be cutting some fronds from a low nakhla.”

The Sahir nodded wistfully before shaking his head as if in disbelief. “It still strikes me as a wonder why the two of them are accompanying you on this journey. You clearly don’t depend on them.”

You ignored him, instead taking notice of the thin crescent moon smiling at you from its reflection on the water. There’s some light tonight, you thought, mind wandering off to Minho’s and Jeongin’s whereabouts. You could hear the sound of branches being chopped off not too far away.

“Ignoring my questions only confirms my assumptions, y/n. You’re using them, aren’t you? What else would a half-Jinni want with useless humans?” Hyunjin pressed, almost as if desperately trying to dig out an evil plan from you. It was beginning to become annoying.

A ‘tsk’ left your lips as you rolled your eyes at him, knowing that he could clearly see you. “I am not using them, Hyunjin. They are my companions.”

“Companions? Pathetic,” the Sahir chuckled dryly. “Jeongin, I think I can understand, but the other one? What company does he provide exactly? All he does is brandish his saif around and glare. Or is it the face you’re keeping him around for?”

You didn’t understand it completely, but something about Hyunjin speaking about Minho that way bothered you. What did the Sahir know about him to talk like that?

You knew you were letting your emotions have the best of you when you replied bitterly, “He has a name, you know. And he’s my fiancé.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know he was lifting an eyebrow. His uncanny interest sent a chill up your spine.

The conversation was fortunately cut short when Minho arrived along with Jeongin, each carrying a few branches. They set on kindling the fire in no time, and a bright flame soon lit up the area. The shadows that danced on the palm trees were almost eerie, but that didn’t bother Jeongin as he plopped on the sand wearily, dropping his bag and sighing tiredly. He didn’t care to eat something before wishing you all a good night and dozing off almost immediately. You didn’t question his behavior, finding yourself eager to do just the same. If only the ever so faint ache in your heart would quiet down.

The cause of that ache, you knew, but found no courage to confront.

You weren’t a fool to deny that Minho’s silence bothered you more than it should’ve. It was as if he were purposely avoiding you, and if you were to be honest, you missed the meager talk you’d share with him.

You might never be able to talk to him normally again, just when things began to better. With that thought, you gave up on trying to fall asleep and took on gazing at the dotted sky. It had become so beguilingly silent that you would’ve missed the faint rustle of a sword running through sand. Almost.

You snapped your head in the direction of the sound, and that was when you noticed that on the other side of the spring, someone was awake.

Perhaps just as conflicted with thought as you were, Minho had chosen to lean on a tree away from the three of you. He, too, had trouble falling asleep.

He couldn’t see you like you’d seen him, clear and beautiful despite the dark. As he’d always been.

Looking around, you found that the Sahir was asleep, or at least seemed to be. You held your breath. That was your chance.

Gulping anxiously, you pushed yourself to your feet and walked carefully through the sand and around the glimmering eye of the spring. It didn’t take long for the prince to notice you, for he stopped playing with his saif and laid it on the ground gently. Something flashed in his eyes, unexplainable, when they rose to regard your approaching figure.

For a moment there, you hesitated. What if I’m doing the wrong thing? But that thought was shoved away by the words that fell out of your lips thoughtlessly. “May I sit?”

Minho’s response came in a whisper after a few beats of silence, as though he was in disbelief. “Of course.”

You mustered a weak smile, which went unseen, before sitting beside him on the hardened sand. You could see the fire flicker and wave at you from across the spring as if it were wishing you good luck. You needed it.

“Have you eaten?”

Your question was met with a shrug. “La... I’m not hungry.”

You hummed in acknowledgement before letting silence take you into its suffocating embrace. You’d run out of things to say, and you dreaded delving into the topic. But you knew that there was no escaping it, that this might be the only chance you’d get to talk in privacy, so you inhaled deeply and pushed down your worries.

What’s the worst that could happen anyway? You’d tried all what the universe had to offer.

“Do you remember Changmin?”

Minho was slightly taken aback by your question, but he nodded nonetheless, “Na’am. Why?”

He remembered your little brother. He was only a few months old when he was announced dead in an assassination. It was said that mourning over his death killed the Tallilmalekan Queen.

Your gaze was trained on the crescent in the sky as you spoke, letting yet another family secret free. “Ummi had done a great job with raising the three of us. She’d repressed her Jinni excellently. But with his birth...her biggest fear lived.”

The air stopped in Minho’s lungs when a ghastly realization struck about what you were telling him. Your little brother was not assassinated but rather—

“Perhaps she’d thought she was safe, so she let her heart loose,” you paused with a heavy sigh, “It was only a few months before we found her wailing over his lifeless body, covered in his blood. It...killed her.”

The Amir couldn’t speak. His tongue felt too heavy to lift. When you’d first explained the curse, he thought he’d encompassed the horror of it. He was wrong.

You sighed again, knowing that your story must’ve been unpleasant to hear. “I-I suppose what I’m trying to say is...asifa. I owe you an explanation for all that’s happening.”

When he remained quiet, you continued, “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, and there is some truth to them. We’ve kept the curse in our family for as long as we can remember and as a result, people began to take notice of our outside relations and political marriages. We can’t afford to torment more innocent people with the crimes of our ancestors. I-I know I can’t ask this of you, but I hope you would keep some understanding in your heart. I don’t want you to be hurt— I don’t want to hurt you.”

Minho would’ve thought he imagined the last few words had they not repeated in his head like a prayer. Suddenly, he felt like the most selfish prince to walk upon the land. There you were, worried that you’d hurt him, while he was letting his own heartbreak blind him. You didn’t choose to live that way, why was he putting the blame on you?

“You don’t have to apologize,” he spoke, startled by the strange rawness in his voice. “It’s not— it’s not your fault.”

You wanted to laugh as you brought your gaze down, but a shiny object caught your attention instead. The ring encircling the prince’s fourth finger reflected the thin moonlight elegantly, almost mocking in its pride. You didn’t recall seeing him without it ever since your engagement ceremony a couple of years ago. It made your heart lurch weirdly.

Looking back at your bare fingers, guilt crumbled like a brittle statue in your chest. La, you had a lot to apologize for. “It’s not that.

“Ever throughout our lives, I’ve made you feel unwanted for no apparent reason. You deserve much better than that, had fate not been so cruel. Asifa, for despite all my efforts, you are still in danger.”

“What do you mean?” Minho gulped, making you chuckle sardonically, “Have you tried fighting your heart before?”

You didn’t expect an answer, but you still paused before continuing, “It’s not easy... You don’t make it any easier either.”

When you’d spent your life cutting your conversations as short as can be, it felt almost liberating to speak with the prince for that long. You decided that maybe, you’d let your guard down for the night. Just this once.

But while you savored the sweetness of that momentary freedom, Minho felt as though he was running out of air. Was that a slight confession, or was exhaustion finally getting into his mind? He was glad you didn’t push for any responses from him, or else he might’ve said something undeniably foolish.

You had too much power over him, and he doubted you even knew.

“S-So,” the prince cleared his throat. He shouldn’t get too happy, not with the curse still holding you down. “that’s how it’ll stay?”

You didn’t have to ask to know that he meant the odd relationship the two of you had; hidden feelings and unrequited love. You smiled weakly, “La. There’s something...you should know.”

At that, Minho hummed, prompting you to proceed. And you did, with an undertone of excitement. “There is a way to break the curse.”

“The Sahira who created the curse had enchanted a stone heart to absorb all her magic when she dies. It is called the Sahira’s Heart, and it is hidden somewhere in the Isle of the damned.

“Shattering the Sahira’s Heart would destroy all the curses she’d laid. To find it, the Sahira created the Zumurruda.”

Minho was quick to put the pieces together and he concluded with newfound hope, “And the Zumurruda actually leads to the Sahira’s Heart.”

“Correct,” you nodded. “Many princes have tried finding it before me, but as you can see, none succeeded.”

“Why?”

“It’s a dangerous journey.”

“Why are you taking it then? Aren’t you...afraid?”

His question caught you off guard. Following the Zumurruda had always been a purpose you ran after. Never had you stopped to think about fear. Sure, you knew that the journey wasn’t a passing breeze, but were you afraid?

You shrugged, “La.”

“And I know you might be thinking that if the princes before me failed, I should know better than to follow the same route. But you must know that unlike those princes, I am willing to use my powers,” you exhaled, voice dropping to a murmur, “even if it costs me dearly.”

It was at that moment Minho knew that he would follow you to hell and back unhesitatingly. He was bound to you until the sky falls, and a curse won’t be changing that anytime. “I’ll be with you then, Amirati.”

You smiled, swiftly calming the ripple of flutters in your heart. “Shukran—”

The word stuck in your throat like pebbles in mud when a gust of unease slammed into you. Something was wrong.

No, something was approaching.

You stood with a start, eyes darting from one side to another in suffocating anticipation. This was different. Unlike the Afarit or the Nasanees, it felt big, and far more dangerous. Untamed.

Like calls to like, Hyunjin had said. That thing wasn’t your like.

It felt more like the complete opposite. The Jinni in you seemed almost...afraid.

Your sudden actions made Minho frown in concern, “Is something wrong—” he didn’t get to ask because right then, the ground rumbled, and you reached for him with an exclamation, “Look out!”

The onyx horn appeared to glow in the night. You would’ve been in awe had it not been connected to a terrifying creature, and had it not made you feel lightheaded. This is not good.

The Mi’raj. None of the sketches you’d seen of it prepared you for the sheer horror of the monster. What seemed like an enormous rabbit had fur the color of Qahwa, claws that ripped from darkened paws, eyes that pulsed red, and a magnificent horn that crowned its head. It had an appearance that was so abominable that the Jinni in you repulsed in disgust...or fear.

The beast grunted as it lunged at the two of you, not sparing a moment for you to catch your breath. Pushing Minho out of the way, you threw yourself to the other side and scrambled to your feet when the Mi’raj halted to a stop.

You tasted sand, and Minho shouted above the commotion, “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know. Wake the rest!” You cried as you avoided a stab from the beast’s horn by a hair. You tried calling on to your powers, but it was like lighting a fire midst heartless wind.

It was of no use.

You resorted to running for your life when it caught the bottom of your cloak and ripped it apart. It followed you relentlessly as you stumbled along your way through the palm trees. But you could only run away for so long, and you knew that eventually, it would catch you. Desperation was beginning to savage your heart as helplessness closed in on you.

Why can’t you summon your powers? You opened the doors for your Jinni to take over, but it stayed hidden. It refused to make an appearance.

You were to deal with that monster alone.

That was the first time you’d felt genuine, raw fear, and you never wanted to experience it again. How ironic.

You thought you heard shouts coming from behind, but you couldn’t distinguish them from those in your mind. The Mi’raj seemed to target you alone, and you didn’t have to guess to know why. It, too, came for the Zumurruda.

The Zumurruda.

Oh.

An idea struck you like a splash of water under the blazing sun and you fidgeted to pull the gemstone out of your tunic. You made an abrupt turn, which resulted in the Mi’raj crashing into a few trees. This bought you a few seconds to hold the Zumurruda and call on to your powers again.

The Zumurruda was a relic of great power, and you thought that if you could pull its magic into yourself, you might be able to defeat the Mi’raj. You only had to figure out how to do that.

Your muscles burned from running in the sand, but you couldn’t give in to the pain. The Mi’raj was back on your trail sooner than you wished, but that didn’t matter because you found an opening in the Zumurruda’s pull. A loose thread, and you pulled at it eagerly.

You opened your soul to it, much like you did to welcome your Jinni powers. The Zumurruda’s magic felt cold, corrupt, and it would’ve made you shy away had you not been desperate for anything to save yourself.

You didn’t know if your hands had gotten cold, but the gemstone was suddenly too warm. Magic, so corrupted and viscous, seeped into your system. For a beat there, you realized the mistake you’d committed.

This was the same magic that cursed you and your family. The same magic that damned this land. It was evil. What had you taken in?

A terrible squeak behind you snapped you out of your thoughts and you lost your footing, tripping and twisting your ankle as you came face to face with the sand. But you had no time to dwell over the sharp pain, for the Mi’raj pounced on you with a haunting growl and you were plunged into numbness.

The Zumurruda was still in your hand when you shielded your face with your arms, ready to surrender to your cruel fate with closed eyes. Right then, you thought of home, of your mother and father, of your brother and sister.

You’d tried. You’d tried to end their misery once and for all, for them and for yourself. But that was the end of it all. You thought of Minho, and how heartless fate had been toward the two of you.

Perhaps that was it. That was the last act in the play of your fates.

It felt like an incomplete ending.

A ring of white light exploded from the Zumurruda upon contact with the tip of the Mi’raj’s horn, engulfing you in pure brilliance. For a moment there, you felt light, weightless, as though you were floating amid the clouds before falling back to the hard ground. You felt heavy then. Something pressed on your chest, narrowing your breaths to choked gasps.

Alive or dead, you couldn’t tell, but you caught the shouts that surrounded you before losing yourself to the forbidding darkness.

•؏•

Minho was sure his soul had left his body when he found you lying still under the lifeless body of the Mi’raj. He dropped the torch in his hand and fell to your side, helplessly trying to push off the monster and pull you out. Jeongin rushed to his aid instantly, while Hyunjin observed apathetically.

The three had been following you when a flash of light caught their attention. To the two royals, it was a clear indicator of your whereabouts, but to the Sahir, it was different news. A familiar energy was released with that light, and he was dreadfully aware of its source.

The Zumurruda.

You did something and it cost great magic.

After much struggling, Minho and Jeongin managed to drag your body away from the beast. That’s when Minho noticed something horribly wrong. A curse left his lips as his hands rested on your face in worried pats. “She’s cold— too cold. Bring the torch or anything, we need fire!”

Jeongin stood and hurried to the torch Minho had dropped earlier. It was dying out quickly, but he supposed that was better than nothing.

He brought it back to Minho, who had a hand placed on the side of your neck. There was a pulse, and he released a breath he’d been holding for too long. You’re alive.

Taking the torch from Jeongin, the prince noticed that the flame was getting smaller. It was barely enough to warm you up.

“What are you doing?” Jeongin eyed his cousin weirdly when he unraveled his litham, piled it on the ground, and dropped the flaming torch over it. The fire rose, and Minho responded casually, “We don’t have time to collect more tinder.”

“But what about your head—”

“I’ll be okay. Bring some water and bandages,” Minho dismissed his worries and knelt beside you again, pushing you to lie a little closer to the small fire. He checked for any obvious injuries and noticed that your left hand was bleeding profusely from a wound across your palm.

When he examined it closely, he noticed the shards of a green gemstone poking through the cut and with a grimace, he carefully removed them. The pieces were covered in blood, but they weren’t hard to recognize. They were pieces of—

“The Zumurruda.”

Minho snapped his head in the direction of the voice to find Hyunjin standing behind him, an unsettling expression illuminating his face as he peered at the broken pieces of the gemstone. Gripping the hilt of his sword, the prince stood to face him threateningly, “Stand back.”

“Oh, look who’s becoming angry,” Hyunjin raised a brow, “You know, you are in no place to pretend as though I am the villain here. You lied to me about the Zumurruda and now your fiancée broke it.”

The Sahir’s eyes began to glow red as his voice grew in depth. “If anyone were to be angry here it should be me, and you should’ve known better than to meddle around in—”

A sharp gasp followed by a coarse cough interrupted him, and Minho spent no time to return to your side and help you into a sitting position.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” he muttered, although it sounded as though he was reassuring himself instead. He had an arm wrapped around your shoulders to support you, while gently massaging your shoulders to encourage your body to relax. It was a method he’d learned from the royal medic.

Jeongin arrived right then, carrying a waterskin and the necessary supplies. The Sahir watched, silently seething, as the prince offered you water and his cousin tended to your wounded hand. You were mumbling incoherently, refusing water and treatment, but Minho was not giving in. “Y/n, please, you need to drink water.”

“B-But...” your words were slurred, as though the mere act of speech was a grueling effort you weren’t capable of. The prince’s tone was gentle, and it made Hyunjin’s skin crawl in disgust. Or envy. “You can say all you want, just have a sip of water first.”

You remained still for a moment, limply leaning on Minho for support, before weakly reaching out for the waterskin. Quickly noticing your efforts, your fiancé helped you lift the pouch to your lips.

The world slowly blinked into clarity after you took a long sip of water. It took you several moments to realize that Minho was almost holding you in an embrace, and while it made the Jinni inside you recoil, you didn’t wish to move. It was comfortable in ways you forbade yourself from indulging in.

Jeongin had finished bandaging your hand when you noticed shiny, green bits in the ground. Your weariness didn’t hinder you from recognizing it and you whispered, almost in disbelief, “The Zumurruda...”

“Yes, the Zumurruda,” came a voice, so dark and beguiling. The Sahir picked a shard from the ground and let it rest in the palm of his hand. “You broke it.”

At his words, you took in a breath that felt like doom. You’d broken the Zumurruda.

What had you done?

“I knew you had it, but I didn’t expect you to break it. If I’d known, I would’ve taken it from you, you foolish human!” Hyunjin’s fist curled over the green shard and the air began to crackle dangerously. The prince didn’t seem to notice that as he scowled. “Be quiet.”

“No, h-he’s right,” you managed to murmur. “I...broke it.”

“I’m sure there’s another explanation.”

“No, there is not!” Hyunjin advanced threateningly, eyes blazing red as though he was going to lay a deadly curse on the three of you. At that moment, Jeongin swiftly unsheathed his saif and held it against the Sahir’s neck. “I presume we told you to be quiet.”

Hyunjin glared at the young royal before rolling his eyes, “I suppose there is no point in arguing now, is there?”

A weak whisper came from you. “But how...will we find the Sahira’s Heart now?”

Jeongin frowned in confusion, “What?”

“See! It is truly a dilemma,” Hyunjin stepped away from the edge of the sword and clasped his hands behind his back. “How will we find the Sahira’s Heart?”

“Why do you care?” Minho scoffed, to which Hyunjin tutted, “We’ve been in this perilous journey together, I suppose I feel an obligation to finish it with you.”

You would’ve laughed at the prince’s exaggerated eye roll had you not been half conscious. “There’s...no point in resuming this journey...there is no Zumurruda t-to guide us...”

“Right, right,” the Sahir paused, pondering, before he smiled knowingly, “I might know of a way...”

“There’s a cave on the Isle of the Damned fabled to hide riches beyond one’s imagination.” Hyunjin’s tone was that of wonder as he spoke. “It is said that a Marid is trapped there, and it could grant its freer three wishes.”

Jeongin raised an eyebrow, “Isn’t that a mere legend?”

“Yes, but so are the Nasanees and the Rokh. It might as well be true.”

“Are we going to resume this journey relying on a legend?” Minho interjected, skepticism clear in his voice. “Are we sure this wouldn’t be a great waste of time?”

“Do you want to find the Sahira’s Heart or not?” Hyunjin argued. “You’ve already wasted time coming here then breaking the Zumurruda.”

“I don’t like repeating myself, ya Sahir,” the prince narrowed his eyes when Hyunjin brought up the broken gemstone once more. The latter ignored him, and you found it would be better to speak before an argument broke out. “The Sahir might be right. If we can...find this cave, then we might be able to wish for the Sahira’s Heart...”

“I suppose there’s something I am unaware of,” Jeongin cleared his throat, “What is this ‘Sahira’s Heart’?”

“I’ll explain to you later,” Minho answered him before turning his attention to you, “Are you sure you want to do this? We can also return home...”

You took in a quiet breath. After all that had happened in the past few days, you knew you weren’t ready to give up yet. “I still want...to try.”

“It is set then!” Hyunjin clasped his hands, appearing a tad bit too enthusiastic in comparison to his outburst a short while ago. “I’ll be seeing you by sunrise.”

The three of you gave him no response as he strode away, back to the heart of the oasis. Jeongin soon followed, after asking if his help was needed and gathering the supplies he brought. You found yourself alone with Minho again, much like you were an hour ago. Silence had finally settled around the two of you.

Your soul was at peace, which you thought was odd, considering the disaster dawning on you. You didn’t know what happened after you blacked out. The Zumurruda was broken, and months of planning were gone in a blink.

All you had left was faith in Hyunjin’s plan. Who would’ve thought you’d be trusting the Sahir after all?

Close to you, Minho found himself at peace too. Concern still nagged at the back of his mind, but with you alive and breathing in his arms, it became a hushed whisper. His heart didn’t hammer in his chest, as he’d expected it to if he were to ever hold you. Instead, it was calm, blissful. And selfishly, he wished that moment would last.

It wouldn’t, he knew.

A sigh left your lips, “Minho, I have to tell you...something.”

A hum encouraged you to continue. “I think...I absorbed the Zumurruda’s power.”

“What do you mean?” the prince sounded almost afraid.

“The Mi’raj, I couldn’t use my powers near it,” you recalled, “I...thought that if I could use the Zumurruda’s power I might be able to defeat it somehow. I-I don’t know what happened next but that broke it.”

You finally turned your gaze to where the Mi’raj lay. Only then did you take a good look at it and notice the substance of which its horn was made.

Abarmout Stone.

Things began to make sense suddenly. The precious stone was used to ward off evil, and it could only be found in the depths of Bahr Abarmout. Evils, such as your Jinni powers, were useless against it.

But not the Zumurruda. The Sahira’s powers were beyond hell and its devilry.

“I’ve made a big...mistake.”

“That was not a mistake,” Minho asserted. “You had to do anything to save yourself and if a meager rock was the cost, then so be it.”

“Well, whatever was in that meager rock is in my blood now.” A ghost of a laugh danced in your voice, though you hadn’t the heart to laugh. “I don’t know what this might mean but...you have the right to know what happened to the Zumurruda.”

“It’s alright. It doesn’t matter to me as it matters to others. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Asifa,” that was the only response you could utter, and it seemed to confuse the prince just as much. “Why?”

“For dragging you along this...aimless, perilous trek. I should’ve been doing this alone.”

At that moment, Minho was convinced you were rambling off due to exhaustion. Why else would you say something like that?

“Y/n,” he sighed, “I suggested to join you, and I wouldn’t take back my words for anything.”

“But—”

“I promise.”

You fell silent at that. There was no changing his mind.

“Can you walk?” Minho asked after a beat, and you brought your knees close to your body with a whisper, “I think so.”

Your shoulders felt cold when Minho removed his arm from around you to stand. He held a hand out for you, and you grabbed it reluctantly as you pushed yourself to your feet. The fire near you was dying out, but that didn’t explain the formidable cold you felt at your fingertips.

Nor the chill that pumped out of your heart.

•؏•

You reached Kahif Al Ghareeb after two days of wearying travel. The cave was situated at the base of one of the Isle’s great mountains, and Hyunjin claimed it was the fabled place.

You couldn’t deny the eeriness of the cave. There was magic inside, indeed. Perhaps, your journey won’t end in vain after all...

“This is the entrance?” Jeongin remarked loudly, raising an eyebrow at the enormous rock blocking the cave’s opening.

“Na’am. Does it not look like an entrance to you?” Hyunjin retorted, stepping toward the rocky barrier.

The three of you followed him. “Well, you can’t enter through it.”

“Not unless you say the magic words.”

“The what?”

“The magic words— have none of you heard the tale of Ali Baba?” the Sahir was both baffled and disappointed. You caught his low murmur of ‘people of this age’ and decided not to comment on it. “It’s a tale for a reason.”

“You, out of all people, shouldn’t be saying this,” Hyunjin shook his head. “You breathe magic.”

You disregarded him as Jeongin frowned, “So you’re implying that if we simply say ‘Iftah ya simsim’ the rock would miraculously mo—”

A rumble coming from within the mountain cut him off, and you wanted to laugh when the entrance cleared slowly as though the rock were a simple door. You’ve seen enough magic in the past days, a moving boulder shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Hyunjin’s expression was strangely smug as he strode into the dark cave. From your place, you could see mounds of what seemed to be gold and jewelry, strewn across the cave. It was unreal, even for a royal like you.

The Sahir stopped short and clasped his hands, muttering something before throwing them outward and illuminating the cave in the light of a thousand flames. You could hear Minho’s slow inhale of wonder when his gaze fell upon the treasures inside. “It’s real.”

“Everything is real,” Hyunjin shrugged. “Now will you continue to stand there like fools, or will you step in?”

“Right,” the prince muttered before walking toward the Sahir. You and Jeongin followed.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” you hid your awe as you came to stand beside Hyunjin. The unnerving energy around him had become less unsettling in the past couple of days. He gave you a cryptic smile, “You could do anything if you stop trying to be so human.”

Before you could respond to that, Minho questioned, “What do we do now?”

“We look for the Marid’s lamp,” the Sahir answered matter-of-factly.

“Amid all this? That would be impossible.”

“Well, not impossible per se,” Hyunjin crossed his arms, pondering for a short while before announcing, “My instincts tell me we should look in the far left corner of the cave.”

Minho rolled his eyes sarcastically and directed his attention toward you, “What do you say?”

“I don’t know. I suppose we look wherever Hyunjin says to begin,” you shrugged, and so the four of you began the long search.

It was almost impossible, as the prince complained, for there was much to sift through and you had no map to guide you.

Almost.

You noticed the strange pull the closer you neared the corner at which Hyunjin pointed. Magic. And you could feel it like you felt the approach of the Afarit and the Nasanees. You relied on that inner compass.

Your search was approaching no advancements when you heard commotion by the entrance of the cave. You noticed it first, the sound of loud conversation and the thumping of hooves.

You weren’t alone.

Soon enough, Minho and Jeongin noticed it too and shared alarmed looks. The Sahir seemed unbothered.

“What do you mean the Zumurruda is gone too? First the Rokh, then the Mi’raj, and now this?!” you could make out an angry exclamation and your heart dropped in realization. They must be the people who sent all those monsters to attack you and retrieve the Zumurruda. They jeopardized your life, Minho’s, and Jeongin’s throughout the past days.

The coincidence was perturbing, and you truly weren’t prepared for another fight.

“Wait!” the shout was closer. “The entrance is open— someone’s here!”

Minho unsheathed his saif, “I’ll go settle this—”

You placed a hand on his arm to keep him from moving. “Stay here. I don’t know what they are capable of.”

“Oh, stop worrying. It’s probably a band of harmless thieves,” Hyunjin said with a dismissive wave of his hand, to which you scowled, whispering, “These “thieves” are the same people who sent that Rokh to attack us! Didn’t you hear?”

He spared you a second-long glance and shrugged, continuing to look through a treasure chest.

You wished you could smack him.

“Quick! Search the cave!” a command from who you assumed was the leader sounded across the cave and Minho gave you a desperate look, “I can’t just sit here, they’ll find us eventually!”

When you didn’t budge, he reasoned, “Let me and Jeongin distract them while you search for the lamp. Them finding the two of us is better than finding us all.”

“He’s right,” Jeongin interjected and you had to sigh in exasperation. “What if they outnumber you and your distraction doesn’t help us? These people are dangerous.”

“More dangerous than the Nasanees?” the prince suggested.

“I don’t know, maybe!”

“Trust us, y/n,” he paused, as if contemplating his next words before sighing, “Just focus on finding the lamp, and we’ll get out of here.”

Your heart screamed at you to deny his request, but your mind propelled you otherwise. Minho’s plan did seem like the best thing to do. Though, you had a feeling you would regret the words that fell from your mouth. “Fine. Be safe.”

It wasn’t long after Minho and Jeongin snuck away did you hear a stranger shout, “I’ve found them!”

You forced yourself to focus on the task at hand and find the lamp, but it proved to be impossible. With the shouts and the clashing of swords invading every comprehensible thought of yours, you couldn’t keep your mind off the prince and his cousin. If those thieves had the means to summon a Rokh, then you were justifiably concerned for the safety of your companions.

Concerned enough to miss the growing pull of magic that was tugging at your soul.

“I think— y/n!” the Sahir brought you out of your thoughts and you blinked at him distractedly, “Na’am?”

“Focus, will you? Can’t you feel where the lamp lies?”

“I think so,” you drawled.

“Then what is it telling you? Why aren’t you doing anything?!”

“I—” you turned to face him, eyes wide in fear. “Asifa. I have to help them.”

“La! We need to find the lamp!” Hyunjin called after you, but you couldn’t hear him as you made your way toward the commotion. You found them, a large group of bandits teamed against the two Darilmalekan royals. It wasn’t an ordinary fight, for they appeared to want to kill with each swing of their swords. They were like a pack of wild hounds.

A familiar presence within you awakened at the scene, bloodthirsty.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a man wrapped in black advance on a distracted Jeongin with his saif raised. To your sheer horror, he brought his sword down on the unsuspecting royal’s head, eliciting a chilling cry from him. It reverberated within your bones, numbing your limbs, stealing your voice, and throwing your world into mayhem. In a moment of weakness, Minho turned toward his fallen cousin. His assailants were quick to take advantage of his distraction.

The flash of swords was the last you saw before your vision dipped into blood and you found yourself tearing through the bandits in a haze.

Your clawed hands burned with bright flames as they ravaged anything and everything within their reach. You couldn’t discern your enemies from your friends, all were the same in the eyes of your Jinni. Prey.

You didn’t feel it, but the cave shook with the fury that pulsed in your heart. Your blind carnage didn’t last long, for many escaped or hid. Most, but one.

He stood, saif in hand, as he called on his bandits, “You fools! You’ve seen worse monsters!”

A flicker of thought crossed your mind. He must be their leader.

A new spark of rage ignited in your soul, and in a beat, you were grabbing his neck and throwing him into a pile of gold. Blisters were appearing on his neck in place of your blazing grip, but you felt no remorse as you proceeded toward him again.

His scream of horror went unheard when your clawed hand covered his face, digging into the skin mercilessly. When you spoke, it wasn’t your voice. “Y-You.”

You dragged your hand downward, slow and torturous. This time, his screams were loud enough to pierce the veil of bloodlust clouding your mind, but what stopped you was the arm that swung against your neck and pulled you backward. Instinctively, you pushed your attacker off, sending him hurtling across the clearing. You’d let go of the bandits’ leader and turned around to look at who you pushed, locking gazes.

You saw it then.

Fear.

And your senses crashed back into you with a horrified gasp. Blood had lathered your arms and tinted your clothes, but you only cared to rush to his side. “Minho!”

He didn’t struggle to sit upright, although you noticed he clutched his right arm with a grimace. His eyes were glazed over when you dropped to your knees beside him, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

Minho shook his head, seemingly elsewhere, “Where’s Jeongin?”

Jeongin. You stood with a start, looking around frantically and praying to all the Aliha he didn’t fall victim to your Jinni’s violence. You spotted him lying on the ground, limbs sprawled lifelessly, resting on a blanket of his own blood. Minho trailed behind you, and when he saw his dear cousin, he fell to his side with a choked sob. His hands roamed his face, trying, searching for some hope.

You didn’t find it in you to stand any closer. Death was looming around you, and you refused to let it take Jeongin away. There must be a way to fix this. There must be something—

“Well, at least some of us did something useful while you hooligans wasted your time brawling with bandits,” came Hyunjin’s voice from behind. You snapped around to face him, noticing the golden lamp he tossed between his hands. Hope burst through your heart. “You found it.”

Minho let his attention wander to the Sahir at your words. He, too, recognized the shiny artifact.

Hyunjin shrugged, tossing it toward an attentive Minho, “Of course I did. Now do with it what you please, we haven’t gotten all day.”

You were too elated by the discovery to question the Sahir’s words or intentions, urging the prince to summon the Marid instead, “Go on, we can save him!”

Minho didn’t think twice before rubbing the side of the lamp, desperate for anything to save his cousin. You watched as smoke swirled out of the mouth of the lamp, circling the air until it formed the torso and the head of a man. Tinged purple, the Marid with great dark hair and golden cuffs bowed to its freer. “Shubbaek Lubbaek. You, who has summoned me, are granted three wishes of your heart’s true desire.”

There was no time to marvel at the magnificence of the magical being, not when Jeongin was dying before the prince’s eyes. He cried to the Marid, “Please, save him! Bring him back to us!”

“Is that your first wish?” The Marid’s voice boomed throughout the cave as though it came from the depths of the ground.

“Yes!”

“Your wish is my command.”

When you looked back at Jeongin, the bleeding cut across his head had disappeared, almost like it never was there. His wounds, gone, and instead of lifeless, he seemed to be peacefully asleep.

You didn’t miss the tears brimming Minho’s eyes as a sigh tangled with a chuckle left his lips, “I-It’s real he’s—!”

Minho halted mid-sentence, letting out a strangled noise as his eyes widened in shock and his world lapsed into eerie silence. His gaze drifted downward slowly until it met the tip of the saif poking out of his chest, scarlet with his blood.

“It has been five days!” Changbin slammed a hand on the table, where many advisors and the Darilmalekan King sat. They were feeding him more empty promises, he knew, and the Tallilmalekan Crown Prince had had quite enough. “Five days and there’s not a single trace of them!”

The King narrowed his eyes. He, too, had enough of your brother’s stubbornness. “We are aware. Our scouts—”

“Your scouts are doing an unsatisfactory job,” Changbin remarked. “They shouldn’t be taking this long to find them.”

“Pardon us, then. This is the most we can do.”

“Fine,” the prince threw his hands in the air, “we’ll be bringing our own forces to search for them.”

The Darilmalekan King sighed, “Please, be reasonable.”

“Reasonable? After your Crown Prince ran away with the Amira? That’s quite ambitious of you to request—”

“Your Highness!” a guard barged into the meeting room, gasping for air. “Apologies, but we’ve received important news.”

“Proceed,” the king nodded to him.

“A traveler claimed to have spotted the crown prince, along with prince Jeongin and the princess in a village in the Isle of the Damned,” he informed, and Changbin hoped he masked his surprise well.

“The Isle of the Damned? Whatever brought them there?” the King questioned. Changbin knew just why.

You were seeking the Sahira’s Heart. He shook his head inwardly, though he couldn’t suppress the faint pride he felt. Never knew you had it in you, little sister.

•؏•

“I’ll take that.” Hyunjin leaned to grab the lamp in Minho’s loose grip before pulling out the saif forcefully and tossing it to the side. That action made the prince double over and almost collapse on Jeongin’s body, had you not caught him in time. It all happened too quickly, and you found yourself lost amid confusion, betrayal, and anger.

Your breaths shook as you felt Minho become weaker in your arms. He tried to push himself up, but his efforts were to no avail. The blood gushing out of the wound was enough to determine his cruel fate.

Your gaze snapped toward the Sahir and you cried in a blur of emotions, “Why would you do that?!”

He gave you a scornful glance, “For what reasons beyond the obvious?”

“You gave him the lamp!”

“You really aren’t as smart as you appear,” he turned to fully face you, and you thought you imagined the sneer of a demon in his face. “Good magic doesn’t respond to us, spawns of the Devil.”

“You—” you paused when you caught Minho’s frail murmur, “Let...me down.”

You could only oblige, even though you didn’t want to let him go. Helping him rest his head on the rocky ground, anger began to invade your heart, stronger than ever.

You stood to face Hyunjin again, and he shook his head at your appearance, “Would you look at yourself...lathered in blood and desperate to kill. When will you learn to stop chasing human desires?”

“What do you want with the lamp? You said it wouldn’t respond to your magic, and the Marid will only listen to its master,” you ignored his question, having grown tired of his cryptic speech. Human desires?

“It wouldn’t respond to my magic if I were to summon the Marid. Fortunately, your fiancé did the job. Manipulation is an easy feat after that.” Hyunjin was apathetic, you’d noticed that days ago, and you’d finally decided you’d had enough of the Sahir. “And?”

“And,” he scowled, “since you’ve broken the Zumurruda, this is my only means of getting what I truly want! Revenge on all those who killed her!”

You raised a brow, “Revenge?”

He seemed to have said something you weren’t supposed to know, but he dismissed it quickly, “It matters not. I was planning to kill the three of you anyway. It’s too bad you had to save the meddling one, but it shouldn’t be too hard to undo your wish.”

“You will not lay a single finger on them,” you warned, eyes beginning to blaze red. The Sahir noticed and shook his head once more, “I truly don’t understand what you want with them. Why are you doing this? Love? You’ve got more power than to care about something so human and weak.”

You didn’t miss the scorn in his tone. He seemed offended, hurt, and you couldn’t tell why. Why would a powerful Sahir have a personal grudge against...love?

Then you remembered his previous remarks. People of this age. It’s the whisper of corruption, bloodlust, hell. Like calls to like...

It seemed like a stray guess, but you blurted, “You’ve lost a lover, haven’t you?”

Hyunjin froze at your words, then his expression darkened as he spat, “I didn’t lose her, they took her from me! They killed her. But I’ve sought the Sahira’s Heart for too long. Nothing you can do will stop me, demon girl. I know all your tricks.”

Too long, his words echoed in your head, and various instances came rushing to you, forming one, big, clue. I know more than you could imagine.

A killed lover, magic, the Devil, and unsettling energy. The strange feeling you’ve had about him. His presence had always felt wrong, off.

Then it clicked.

The charm.

As though responding to your thoughts, a surge of cold magic rushed to your fingertips and you dared to meet the Sahir’s gaze. “You don’t know all my tricks.”

You thrust a hand forward and pulled the precious pendant to yourself. You didn’t know where that power came from, cold in comparison to the burning wrath of your Jinni, but it flowed through your blood with ease. As though it was yours, and you were always meant to have it.

The necklace moved at your will, and with a tug, it snapped from around Hyunjin’s neck and flew into your open hand.

This drew an immediate gasp from the Sahir, who wasted no time to shout, “Give it back!”

You examined the heavy pendant in your hand. It was made of glass, and a strand of hair was trapped inside. You shook your head in disbelief at the discovery. Hyunjin... Prince Hyunjin. The Lost Prince of Tajilmalek…

You looked back at him, “Two hundred years...”

“Return the pendant, or else I’ll have to retrieve it myself,” he threatened, but it didn’t faze you. “You, too, are doing this for love. You’ve been so for two long centuries.”

If the tales were true, then what you held encompassed the Sahir’s soul. It seemed to be, for he was adamant on having it back. You felt some sympathy for him. “You shouldn’t be alive.”

“Drop the pendant,” he enunciated, though his desperation was clawing its way through his words.

Two hundred years of nurturing his anger and despair, of living with the pain of loss. No, you felt great sympathy for him. “You should rest, now.”

“La—!” Hyunjin’s face morphed into an expression of horror and distress, but it was too late. You’d closed your fist on the pendant, and with newfound power, crushed it in your grasp.

A cry that shook the ground left the Sahir as he visibly crumbled before you, delicate features deepening into age worn wrinkles, an elegant figure declining to crookedness, until all what remained of him was a pile of rubble.

You mustered a weak smile, stepping toward the mass and dropping the broken pieces of the pendant over it. “May you find peace.”

Perhaps you should’ve felt some guilt for defeating the Sahir, but any guilt in your heart was not regarding him. You picked up the lamp that fell beside the rubble and shook it, calling, “Ya Marid!”

The Marid materialized before you. “Shubbaek Lubbaek.”

You didn’t spare a moment to plead, gesturing toward the dying prince, “You have to save him!”

“Apologies, for I only grant my master’s wishes.”

“Well, he is your master, and he is dying. If you don’t save him, the wishes will never be said, and you will never be freed!”

The Marid contemplated your words, but it didn’t take long for him to nod in approval, “Very well. You make an excellent plea.”

You assumed that meant the prince was saved, so you rushed to his side. The tinge of blood remained on your hands and you didn’t dare to touch him, resorting to examining his face and asking the Marid, “Is he okay now?”

“He is asleep, as is your friend. They must rest, so do you,” the Marid responded and you shook your head, “I cannot rest. Not now.”

How could you rest after what had happened?

The Marid seemed to think otherwise. He rose in the air, basking the cave in dim violet light. When he spoke, your eyelids began to droop dangerously. “Rest, troubled soul. No harm shall reach you.”

You wanted to argue, but your head felt heavy, and the doors of slumber were wide open for you to give in. A strange sense of peace washed over you, and you knew it was the Marid’s work. Too weak to fight it, you lowered your head to the ground, bloodied attire and limbs, and allowed yourself a short retirement from the chaos of your world. Just that once.

•؏•

You woke to the incessant scratch of metal against rock and low murmuring. You cracked an eye open to spot a figure sitting some distance away, fiddling with a sword. When you pushed yourself up, your muscles cried in excruciation. Only when you felt the stickiness of blood on your hands did you remember the happenings before your slumber. Finding the cave, searching for a magical lamp, fighting bandits, defeating Hyunjin, Minho almost—

“You’re up.”

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked up to meet his eyes, sighing in relief when you found him unharmed. A presence within you wasn’t as appreciative of the news. “You’re alive.”

“I am,” the prince looked away, and you didn’t have to follow his gaze to know that it was trailing over the dismembered, disfigured bodies of the victims of your blind rage. Your Jinni’s rage.

The word left your lips before you could process it, “Asifa. I-I lost control.”

“They wanted to kill us,” the prince shook his head, repulsed by the events of the past hours. It felt like a nightmare, from Jeongin’s fatal injury, to you ripping apart anyone within your range, to the sword that stabbed him through the chest, he was unsure how he remained alive. He remembered falling into your arms, and Hyunjin’s voice as he took the lamp from him, but that was all.

He was reluctant to know what happened to the Sahir, but he couldn’t find his body wherever he looked. “What happened to Hyunjin?”

You took moments to answer him, and he knew that was a story you didn’t want to tell. “He’s gone.”

Truth to be said, Minho was not appalled by your actions, for he knew that it wasn��t you. It was yet another day you’d saved him and his cousin with your powers. He couldn’t bring himself to show aversion to the decisions you had to make.

After all, there was no heart in war.

“Where’s Jeongin?” you asked when you noticed that the young royal wasn’t nearby. Minho responded almost immediately, “He went outside for a breath of fresh air.”

A breath of fresh air, of course. Why would anyone in their right mind stay in a cave that felt like death? You sighed, “You should return to the palace.”

“What?” the prince snapped his gaze toward you, both shocked and confused. You took a deep breath and shook your head in dismay, “After what happened, I think...I think it’s best for you and Jeongin to return to the palace.”

“We can’t do that...”

“You were almost killed, Minho!” you couldn’t help your outburst. “I can’t do this knowing that the two of you are in constant danger of death for the sake of breaking a curse.”

“What about you, then?” the prince argued, “You’re in constant danger too.”

“La. You and I are different. I can do this alone.”

“But— we’ve come this far together! We survived all those attacks and we even have the lamp with us!”

“I just don’t want this to happen again,” you gestured at your surroundings, and Minho was quick to assure you, “It won’t happen again.”

He picked up the lamp and placed it before you, holding your gaze firmly when you gave him a dubious look. “We have two wishes left. We finish this now. Together.”

“This is the closest I can take you to the Sahira’s Heart,” the Marid announced after the smoke surrounding the three of you cleared up. You found yourselves standing before an ancient temple, surrounded by the sea on all sides. “The temple is guarded by magic I cannot surpass.”

“Where are we?” Jeongin wondered out loud to be answered by the Marid, “You are on an island south of the Isle of the Damned known as Al Qa’a.”

“This is the place, then,” Minho let out a breath and turned to look at you, taking notice of your silence. His tone dropped many levels gentler. “Ready?”

You took in a breath. This was the place many have died to reach. This was where you would finally regain freedom from your curse. Truthfully, you didn’t know if you were ready. “I think so.”

“You have one wish remaining,” the Marid reminded before slipping back into the lamp Minho had looped through his sheath belt.

The three of you stood still, perhaps waiting, or preparing, to make the first step toward the end of this journey. The prince dared to move forward, but once he did, the ground rumbled and quaked, and you sensed the arrival of something dangerous.

From the sand, two magnificent Afarit emerged. They were unlike the ones you encountered in the palace. Their skin glistened grey, and they were fairly larger in size, but not too tough of a match.

The Darilmalekan royals unsheathed their swords instantly, and a plan had formed in Minho’s head as he examined the monsters. “We’ll hold them back. You slip past them and find the Sahira’s Heart.”

“But don’t you think I should help you instead—” your suggestion was interrupted by a shake of his head, “La. You have to find the Sahira’s Heart and break the curse, not me nor Jeongin. This is your part—”

A howl from one of the Afarit pierced your ears as it brought its axe down on the two of you. You were lucky to dodge the attack, but it was clear the Afarit were not planning to be patient with the three of you. You caught Minho’s shout above the commotion, “Go on! We’ll distract them!”

You knew that every second of hesitation was crucial time wasted, so you ran past the occupied Afarit toward the open doors of the temple. You dared to glance back one last time, finding your fiancé and his cousin true to their promise of holding the Afarit back. You wouldn’t let their efforts fall in vain.

With newfound will, you ran through the open doors into a dark corridor. You saw light on the other side, and you took off running toward it. Exhilaration mixed with hope and pinch of anxiety overwhelmed your mind. Will you find the Sahira’s Heart by the end of the corridor? The end to it all was terrifyingly close.

You reached a roofless clearing where the corridor led. It was empty, and moss had overrun its walls, but all you could see was the stone plinth, and the stone heart resting atop it.

Sounds of the fight outside drowned out as you stepped toward the artifact cautiously. This was the fabled Sahira’s Heart. This held all the corruption on the Isle. This held your family’s curse.

Finally.

You placed your palms on either side of the heart and lifted it, bracing yourself for whatever might happen in the following moments. You’d prepared to do it for countless hours, but breaking the Sahira’s Heart felt unreal when you stood there.

Shutting your thoughts out, you closed your eyes and focused on channeling all your power into the stone, just as you’d practiced under the gaze of the nonchalant moon. You forced it to flow through your fingertips and into the rock heart, then expand and push against the walls of the stone.

It seemed like forever until you heard the first crack, followed by a second and a third, and suddenly, your world exploded into blinding brilliance.

•؏•

Minho knew, he felt it in his heart, when white light exploded from the temple. You’d done it.

The Afarit halted, axes raised, and dropped to the ground lifelessly before disappearing into grains of sand. As though they’d never been there.

The prince sheathed his saif while attempting to calm his erratic breaths. Not too far, his cousin was doubled over a wound on his side, trying to tighten a piece of his attire over it. Minho called over to him, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” came his response. “We should go see y/n!”

And so, the two walked up to the temple and through its long corridor to reach the sunlit chamber, where they found you lying on the ground. Still. Pieces of broken stone lay scattered around you.

Panic rose in Minho’s heart, but it was quickly erased when he noticed the steady rise and fall of your chest. You were alive.

He came to sit beside you, smiling to himself as he murmured, “You’ve done it, Amirati. You really did.”

Jeongin rested a hand on his cousin’s shoulder, “Let’s go home.”

“Right.” Minho reached for the lamp, patting it and watching as the purple smoke swirled in the air to form the Marid’s body. “Shubbaek Lubbaek. Are you ready to make your last wish?”

The prince smiled, “Yes. Take us to the Darilmalekan palace...and let everyone there but us forget we were ever gone.”

“Is that your wish?”

He did not hesitate. “Na’am.”

The Marid bowed his head, and with a wave of his hands, the three of you were engulfed in the same purple smoke. “Your wish is my command.”

After.

“Big day today, eh?” Jeongin stepped up from behind his cousin, who gave him a small grin, “It sure is.”

It was a big day, indeed, for it was the day your caravan from Tallilmalek arrives, after two long months of absence.

When the Marid transported the three of you into the royal garden, you quickly parted ways. With the curse broken, you had to return to Tallilmalek along with your brother. Royals, nobles, and palace staff were confused about your sudden departure, but a scroll from the Tallilmalekan palace was enough justification.

While you were gone, you made sure to keep Minho updated on your state of wellbeing. It was an obligation neither asserted, but both of you committed to. The journey had undoubtedly brought you closer, and being finally free, you thought you must make up for the lost time.

Healing and learning to live without the curse was tough, as you’d written to the prince. Old habits were hard to kill, especially when they’d been the basis of life for your family for decades. But you were getting there, a small step at a time.

Two months later, the Tallilmalekan royal family sent a messenger carrying news that brought life to the palace once more. You were ready to carry on with the wedding.

It was a big day. The kind that made Minho’s heart flutter in excitement and dance in joy. It felt like a Deja Vu, standing in the throne room to welcome you to Darilmalek. Only this time, your arrival carried true promises to be kept.

“Still haughty as ever,” Jeongin commented once the Tallilmalekan King stepped in, followed by you and your brother. Minho rolled his eyes in response, masking a smile, “Shut up.”

Jeongin might’ve been right, your family loved to display their riches, but it wasn’t the jewelry nor the pearls that shone with your entrance. It was the little smile adorning your lips. As gentle as the night breeze, but as breathtaking as a starry sky.

When you came to stand before him, offering your hand, that smile grew, ever so faintly. And that was enough for the prince, who mirrored your expression, only many times brighter. “Welcome back, Amirati.”

•؏•

People do strange things for love...

You stared at your journal, unsure of what to conclude with, when a voice came from behind. “Thought I’d find you here.”

“Minho,” you shut your journal carefully, turning your head to watch as he stepped toward the balustrade, “what are you doing here, up this late?”

“The same question goes to you,” his lips stretched into a soft smile when you came to stand beside him. It was the only time you’d had for yourself that day. Preparations for the wedding were consuming every moment of daylight, from the very second you woke until the blanket of night covered the land. You were lucky to be able to enjoy one last night in the palace garden before the ceremony. “I’m finishing my journal.”

Minho hummed in acknowledgement. You were documenting your journey to the Sahira’s Heart, and all that came after. It was a very confidential journal, as you’d told him, and the prince had long given up on trying to have a peek at it.

A gentle breeze blew past the two of you, complementing the tranquility of the night. A few moments of peace prompted you to speak, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Right,” the prince exhaled quietly as though preparing himself for a speech or an important event of such sort. He turned to face you fully, and only then did you notice the small golden box in his hands. Under the timid shine of the moon, he appeared almost shy. “I have something for you.”

When you gave him a curious look, he placed the case on the balustrade and opened it, clearing his throat, “I know our beginning wasn’t exactly...ideal, and for the longest time, uncontrollable circumstances stood between us.”

“But tomorrow,” he met your gaze, “things...change.”

Your gaze followed his movements attentively, every anxious bite of his lip and fidgety gesture of his hand. A quiet part of you wanted to ease his nervousness, but you were yet to learn how. All you could do was give him an encouraging smile.

But your smile did wonders, as Minho had come to discover, and a bigger smile found home on his lips in turn. The thin thread between nervousness and excitement snapped, and he dared to present to you a gift he’d longed to give. “I just wanted you to know this before our wedding...”

He held a delicate diadem made of gracefully laced strands of gold encircling dainty pearls. Even in the dark of night, its beauty glowed. It brought the stars above to shame.

Your gaze was fixed on him when he placed the circlet on your head and smiled to himself. La, you thought it was his beauty that brought the stars to shame. There, in that fleeting moment, you spotted the gleam of pure joy and adoration in his eyes. It was the most stunning thing you’d ever seen.

His hands found yours, and with a gentle squeeze, he spoke his promise for the heavens above to hear. “No matter how long it takes you to adjust to this life, I’ll wait for you, my queen. Always.”

People did strange things for love, though I can’t blame them.

In the end, it proved to be worth it.

Al Amira y/n of Tallilmalek.

If you have read this far then you are contractually obligated to tell me your thoughts! Well, not really, but do drop by sometime! Thank you for reading and I hope you have a lovely day! ♡

#stray kids #lee minho #lee minho imagines #minho imagines #skzwritersclub #lee minho scenarios #minho scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #bang chan #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #skz #source: -Kyutips chaninfused #yay 🥳🥳

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chaninfused · 3 years

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[we’re in the rain] For @blueprint-han ♡

Seungmin had a feeling he’d find you outside when you didn’t respond to his calls.

It was raining, and you loved the rain. Though the subtle tremble of your shoulders told him you weren’t standing there because you loved it.

He walked toward you carefully, open umbrella in hand, as though you were a little bunny he didn’t want to scare.

The sound of rain hitting the tightly stretched fabric of the umbrella was like a drum to your ear, an earsplitting alert that someone was nearby. You despised it, but it was music to some part of you. One that yearned for comfort and company.

Seungmin stopped beside you, silent. You sniffled. There were days where all you wanted was to stand under the rain, let it drench your clothes and wash your tears away, and this was one of them.

The cold was almost inviting, its warmth an embrace of solitary that fell easy on your heart. There is no one to bother out here, your conscience would say. It was just you, the somber sky, and the restless rain.

Though it wasn’t always enough.

“What are we doing?” Seungmin’s voice came faint against the pitter-patter of the rain, while yours was a coarse whisper. “Just standing.”

“Oh.”

Just that. Nothing much.

He didn’t want to pry and ask further. Sometimes it was better like that. All he wanted you to know is that he was there.

And he could do just that.

Wordlessly, he brought his umbrella down, letting it hang limply in his hand as he felt the rain on his face.

That was enough, sometimes.

Just standing there. Just standing in the rain.

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chaninfused · 2 years

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[sneak peek] Speaking in Tongues: Part Two | Yang Jeongin

#not attaching a date this time bcs !! life is a wreck atm 😭✋🏻 anyw enjoy #for anyone who didnt read part one bara'a is an oc (MY FUCKING BELOVED AAAA) in sit :P #tw death #tw blood #tw killing #idk ??? how to put triggers but just in case :>#speaking in tongues #source: -kyutips chaninfused

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chaninfused · 3 years

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[sneak peek] Race the Sun | Lee Minho

coming soon.

#stray kids #lee minho imagines #race the sun #source: -kyutips chaninfused #soon as in sometime june 😗✌🏻

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chaninfused · 4 years

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Crownhill Academy: intro | SKZ

◤“This year can’t get any worse, could it?”

When their world begins to fall apart, third year students find themselves forced to overcome their rivalries to save the people they love. But there is more to a fairy tale than a happy ever after, and some truths are better not spoken.

◤Disclaimers: Female reader insert. This is an ot8 fic, including one couple and several friendship arcs. Fairy tale descendants au. Almost modern fantasy, except that everything is run by magic. A decent mix of fluff and angst. May include themes of violence and murder. Please view the Student Handbook and read this blurb before proceeding to avoid confusion!

◤Word count: 0.8k

◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. masterlist.

◤This series is dedicated to the one and only, @wingkkun ♡

| intro | 1 | 2 | 3 |

Jisung was relieved when he found your bag stuck in the leafy branches of an old tree, so much that he didn’t notice the ‘do not cross’ sign planted in the ground.

He floated toward the tree, and when the bag didn’t budge with his efforts to pull it out, he threw a handful of fairy dust over it.

The magical substance did its job perfectly, and Jisung was able to free the bag from the tree’s clutches with ease. But amid his success, he failed to notice the bits of fairy dust that feathered into a hole in the ground. It was closed with metal bars, and no one had been near it in decades.

No one but Jisung and his fairy dust.

[TWO WEEKS LATER]

“Y/n! Chan!”

The two of you halted in your steps, filled food trays in hand, when you heard your names being called. You could almost hear Chan grumble a mental complaint.

You slapped on a polite smile when the student journalist came to stand before you enthusiastically. She quickly flipped to an empty page of her notebook and you didn’t have to guess to know what was coming next.

“If you don’t mind telling us, will we be seeing the two of you in this year’s Crystal Ball?”

You and Chan exchanged an awkward glance. It seemed as though everyone in the academy was persistent on the notion that the two of you were a couple. You couldn’t envision Chan courting you, but that appeared to be the student newsletter’s biggest headline.

Sighing, you answered her, “Maybe.”

“Alright, thank you for your time!” she grinned as if she’d scored the best headline before scurrying away to find her next interviewee. You watched her with a shake of your head. School journalists were unbelievable.

“Maybe?” Chan raised an eyebrow and you shrugged. “We’ll be attending, no? Just not together.”

You missed the dejection in his tone. “Right.”

Hurrying to sit down before another curious student stops you, the two of you headed toward your regular table. Most of your friends were seated already and enjoying their lunch when you arrived. Hyunjin, in particular, was busy ranting about what you assumed was the academy’s equestrian team. “It’s not fair! I can’t help my merits.”

“What is it?” you asked as you set your tray down next to Minho’s. Chan took the seat beside you.

Hyunjin crossed his arms as a childish pout found a place on his lips. “I’m not allowed to race in the Swan Fest until I fix my academics and conduct.”

You chuckled, “It’s about time you did.”

“You’re mean.”

“And you’re dramatic,” Changbin interjected with an eye roll. “At least you weren’t paired up with a certain freckled Rarity for Surviving the Tale.”

“Felix?” you had to arch an eyebrow, and when Changbin nodded, you asked, “How was it?”

“Terrible.”

You were all aware of the sentiments Changbin had for Goldilocks’ descendant. For once upon a time, the two were the best of friends. Until it all changed two years ago, after a disastrous walk into the woods.

You felt bad for your friend. “Can’t you ask to change partners?”

“No,” Changbin answered after swallowing a mouthful of apple pie. “This year’s a nightmare already, and we’re only two weeks in.”

“Now, now, don’t be insufferable,” Chan said. “It’s our third year. It’s going to be the best year of our lives.”

“Sure,” Hyunjin dragged the word, clearly dubious. If he’d wanted to say more, he forgot it when Jeongin came around, flaunting light pink hair. A scandalous gasp left his lips, “What happened to your hair?”

“Chaeryeong happened,” the boy answered sheepishly as he set his tray down. You caught Minho’s eyes flash purple after the tray, but you didn’t comment on it. “Turns out agreeing to test a new spell isn’t the smartest thing to do.”

“Well, the color suits you,” Changbin remarked, which received murmurs of agreement from around the table.

“You think so?” Jeongin raised a brow.

“Yes, you look cute,” Hyunjin cooed jokingly, to which the former deadpanned, unamused, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

A faint chuckle left your lips at their antics. This year might’ve not had the best start, but as long as you had your friends, you thought that would be enough.

A commotion coming from a nearby table caught your attention and you turned in your seat to see what the ruckus was about. It was a Wonders table, you noted when you spotted Seungmin and Lia sitting there, and Yuna running toward them.

The junior Mad Hatter stopped before her friends, eyes wide and curious as she exclaimed, “Friends! You would not believe what happened!”

You were sure the entire dining hall halted when the strange news fell from her lips in a rush. “Professor Pinocchio turned back into a puppet!”

| intro | 1 | 2 | 3 |

If you have read this far then you are contractually obligated to tell me your thoughts! Well, not really, but do drop by sometime! Thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day! ♡

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids school au #skzwritersclub #bang chan #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #skz #source: -Kyutips chaninfused #crownhill academy #time to go work on dm :P

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chaninfused · 4 years

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[you’re the fire] For @ruellelix ♡

“Let me go with you then!” Your voice trembled as you grabbed the rifle off the table, arms dropping with its weight. A small smile drew itself on Felix’s lips, but his eyes were sad as he gently took the weapon from your hands and set it back. “I’m sorry, love, I can’t take you with me.”

“Must you go?” Tears blurred your vision. This was war, death, and your fiancé was walking right into it. It didn’t seem to faze him.

“I have to, y/n, I’ve been called,” he murmured, hands finding yours and giving them a reassuring squeeze. It’s not that he was unfazed by the war, but he had to put a strong facade for you or else he would never leave with the carriage. He would never leave you.

You pulled in a shaky breath, of course, he has to leave. He had no choice, you knew. “I-I know.”

“I’ll be back,” he promised, although you knew better than to hold him to that word. Falling into his embrace, your cheek was met with the rough material of his uniform, yet another reminder of the miserable situation you were in.

It had barely been a couple of weeks since your engagement when your country plunged into war. Felix should’ve been wearing a fine suit in celebration of the life you were going to build together, not the fatigues of battle. You felt as though your happy ever after was snatched away right before your eyes. It was unfair.

For all you knew, that could be the last time you held him close and listened to the soothing beat of his heart.

It was unfair.

Felix seemed to sense it too because he tightened his arms around you and rested his head against yours. “I’ll be back, y/n.”

“I’m fighting for you, for us, for our little family, so I need you to stay,” he murmured. “Please...stay.”

His words felt like a stab to your heart, and you found yourself unable to answer if not by tears.

Our little family. You carried another life in yours, and it was growing day by day. Felix hated that he wouldn’t be there to take care of you and welcome his child to the world, but that gave him enough of a reason to fight in the frontline. He wanted to protect his family.

A shout from outside caught your attention. It was time for him to leave.

Hesitantly, Felix loosened his embrace to look at you one last time. His eyes searched your face, wandering, as if you were fading away and he was desperate to keep the image of you in his mind. He hated farewells. So much. “I’ll see you.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat and whispering at the best of your energy, “I love you.”

“I love you more. Always.”

It was a promise exchanged between the two of you, murmured away from the eavesdropping evils of the universe. And although you’d normally respond to that, you didn’t trust yourself to say more.

Felix pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering longer than they should’ve before forcing himself to slip out of your arms. Grabbing his rifle, he hurried out of the house and into the streets. You fell in step behind him, watching from where you stood on the front steps as he hauled himself onto a carriage filled with the men of your town, the young and the old.

Wherever you looked, families were giving their goodbyes. Hugging, kissing, crying — war was tearing them apart.

With a final shout from its driver, the carriage began to move, taking the love of your life away and into the dark hollows of battle.

You wanted to run after them until your legs gave in and you were met with the harsh ground of reality, but you couldn’t. You were going to stay, and stay strong. For Felix.

And so you stayed, day and night, over and over again. Weeks poured into months, and you only had the memory of Felix’s words to keep you sane. You told yourself to stay strong when loneliness and longing overwhelmed you. You reminded yourself to stay strong when financial ruin befell your town. You pushed yourself to stay strong when you found yourself nearing labor, alone. Your life was moving on, despite you lingering behind and waiting for Felix.

A year had almost passed when the first letter reached you, and you read it with trembling hands and a weary heart. It was no proof of his current state or whereabouts, but the mere recognition of his handwriting lit a flame of hope in your heart.

The light of that flame guided you through your desolate days. Every day was a day closer to the end of this heartless war, a day closer to him. You might’ve been foolish to have hope in such times, but distress had worn you out beyond sanity.

You were no longer living for yourself alone. A little girl had barged into your world, and you would be lying to deny the remarkable resemblance she had to her father. She, too, needed you to stay.

So you joined the women of your town at work, keeping yourselves alive amid the war. It was a fight of your own, one that never stopped even after the carriages drove through the changed streets.

You were securing your baby’s wrap around your torso in preparation for another day in the sewing shop when you heard the victorious cries of men outside.

How long had it been?

You hadn’t felt your heart flutter in pure joy in so long, you’d almost forgotten how it felt.

You rushed out of your house, holding your daughter flush against your chest as you pushed your way through the crowd of reuniting families. There were losses, you knew, but that didn’t stop you from looking for him among the people.

You found no one.

Dread began to creep into your heart, a hand that threatened to crush it mercilessly, but as if by an unseen force, your gaze fell on him just as he hopped off the last carriage.

Your world froze with your bare breath.

There he was, clearly fatigued by the war, but still him. Your Felix. The man who held the universe in his eyes and your heart in his hands.

He came back, just as he promised, and it was the only happy ever after you could ever wish for.

#stray kids #lee felix #lee felix imagines #felix imagines #skzwritersclub #lee felix scenarios #felix scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #bang chan #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #skz #source: -Kyutips chaninfused #aliceeee happy birthdayyyy 🗣♥♥🎉

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chaninfused · 3 years

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[regulus] For @meiiyue ♡

The gentlest strokes of Chan’s brush finalized the careful script on the side of the ship. Black Pearl, the golden letters read.

He straightened his back to take a look at the final product. It was almost as majestic as the real ship. Sweeping sails and a grand hull, a maiden reached for the sky at the bow of the miniature vessel.

It was one among several identical models displayed across his workshop. He never grew tired of building them.

The Black Pearl, the greatest explorer of the decade. It carried its crew to historic discoveries and glorious victories. Many admired it, though the ship had a special place in Chan’s heart for a different reason. You were its celebrated captain after all.

And like a memory he recalled too well, he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, light yet warm. Your head rested against his as you murmured, “Is it done, yet?”

“Yes, my love,” he responded, voice raw. The words were too familiar to him. As was the sweet hum of your voice that followed. “It’s beautiful, darling.”

He couldn’t respond to that. He never did.

Chan’s grip on the brush tightened as he heard himself say, once again, “Do you have to leave?”

That hopeless desperation became a tone engrained in his voice. No matter how many times he asked, he never received the answer he wanted. The answer he needed.

“I’m sorry, Chan, I have to. I need to see what lies beyond the horizon for myself...you know that.”

Chan knew that. It was the explorer’s spirit in you, something he’d always loved, and will always love. He knew that, yet he wished he was stubborn enough to hold you back.

He wished he could reach up and hold your arms, feel you there, beside him, with him, but he couldn’t. He could only clutch his brush tighter as his eyes began to glimmer with tears. His voice shook, though he was no longer a stranger to the pain, “Please...”

A kiss, so faint and feathery, was pressed to the top of his head as your promise settled into the still air, “I will be back, my love.”

But it was a promise Chan wished he hadn’t heard nor kept. For the Black Pearl left the harbor years ago, taking you and your loyal crew along, never to return.

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chaninfused · 3 years

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dedicated to @missinghan ♡

#stray kids #han jisung #han jisung imagines #skzwritersclub #han jisung scenarios #jisung imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz #source: -Kyutips chaninfused #tw blood #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MAYA !!#okay so i intended for this to be posted earlier but i don't know why or how it took three entire days but here we are 🤪#and let me take this moment to wish you a happy belated bday (again)! i hope you've enjoyed your day eaten good food yknow the imp things !!#(i suck at putting thoughts into words so bear with me i'll write smth more articulate later <3)#yea anyw i've been saving this idea for THIS moment 😤😤😤 (though i...hoped i'd be able to actually write it) so umm #i hope you like whatever this is 👉👈#idk how to smoothly transition to this part but maya you're truly The Best #i can't possibly imagine being on tumblr without you 🤧#and no you being busy with school would never change that so don't worry about it 😤#anyho i hope you know how proud of you we all are and that i'll always be here to cheer you on #because you are maya the incredible cupcake but also the Nicest Smartest and Most Talented lil bean (hehe :D)#i love you very very much !! ♥♥♥ and i hope you have an amazing day today 🥳💕#gilded kingdom #blood tw #tw // blood

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chaninfused · 3 years

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ﾟ✲* THE SONGLESS BIRD; SERIES MASTERLIST*✲ﾟ

all the works under the cut are mine. do not copy, repost, or translate my work.

this masterlist is dedicated for ‘The Songless Bird’ and all the fics belonging to its world, from one-shots to blurbs.

➥ go to main masterlist

❉ The Songless Bird | Lee Minho

➥ In which a royal encounters an assassin, and she’s suddenly all what’s on his mind ░

➥ Blurbs: [they’ll never know /part i, part ii, part iii, end]

֍ Row, Row, Row Your Boat | Hwang Hyunjin

➥ In which a simple lullaby leads an assassin to something he wishes to protect until the sky falls ░

➥ Blurbs: [are we dreaming], [an angel’s hand], [lovely you are]

◈ Catch a Butterfly | Kim Seungmin [removed]

➥ Blurbs: [you’re gonna miss me when i’m gone]

➥ go to main masterlist

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #lee minho imagines #hwang hyunjin imagines #minho imagines #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin scenarios #lee minho scenarios #minho #lee know #hyunjin #skz #source: -Kyutips chaninfused #The Songless Bird #row row row your boat

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chaninfused · 4 years

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Row, Row, Row Your Boat | Hwang Hyunjin

◤“But could anyone trust an assassin?"

In which a simple lullaby leads an assassin to something he wishes to protect until the sky falls.

◤Disclaimers: female reader insert. from the world of 'The Songless Bird'. fluffy angst, yes, that's the genre... other than that there's death, blood, and mentions of violence and murder. actually sad at some point. this is an assassin au, I think.

◤Word count: 5.5K

◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. masterlist.

◤From the author: you can read 'The Songless Bird' and its supplementary blurbs before reading this to understand the world better, but here's a point I'd like to clarify to avoid confusion. the Cage is a criminal group founded by the noble Han house, who use their power and money to fund and cover up for the group. since Jisung's father adopted the previous mc and Hyunjin and raised them to become assassins, the public knows them as "Jisung's siblings". so in other words, "Han Hyunjin" is what the public knows Hyunjin as, it's not a mistake!

“Where are you going?” Jisung caught Hyunjin as he was about to leave the mansion, dressed in something other than his regular assassin’s attire. He had been leaving the headquarters dressed uncharacteristically like that for some weeks now.

The assassin turned to face his blond leader, slapping a fake smile on his face. “It’s none of your business.”

Jisung exhaled quietly, glaring at him before walking away wordlessly. While he was undoubtedly curious about the destination of Hyunjin’s nightly visits, he knew better than to pester him about it. The assassin wasn’t the kindest opponent to get in a fight with.

Sometimes, Jisung felt that his position as the leader wasn’t receiving the respect it should be getting.

But as he trudged back into his office, Hyunjin made his way to the stables, picking a horse and mounting it to the heart of the capital. An uncharacteristic smile rested on his lips as he estimated how long it would take him to reach the river splitting the city, or more specifically, to see you.

It was almost a silent agreement the two of you made; to meet up every night by the river. How it came to be, Hyunjin didn’t know, but it started after you’d caught him hiding in the shadows one night.

He was roaming the rooftops aimlessly when he first heard your voice, a little gift carried by the wind.

“Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream.”

You reawakened a memory buried in the depths of his dark mind with your song. A splash of a past of peace and joy. His mother’s warm embrace, long before it became lifeless, her rich voice, when it wasn’t agonizing silence. His siblings’ loud laughter, in contrast to the screams that plagued his mind. A time when he was just a normal kid.

He searched for the source of the sound to find you by the riverside, singing to an infant in your arms. The gentleness of your tone made him falter. How long had it been since he last heard such warmth? Too long, that he had to hold his breath and watch from the shadows in a trance.

For an assassin, he didn’t expect much from the world. Things like love and affection were long erased from his system. And although he did watch his own friend, the deadliest assassin in the kingdom, fall in love with the crown prince, he doubted he wanted that for himself.

He thought he was content with his life until he saw you and the child in your embrace. As if someone had shot an arrow through his heart and broke through its thin walls, he was struck by the emptiness he found in there.

He was an empty shell of a being. Aimless. He had no family and his only friend had found someone else to lean on.

He was... alone.

And maybe that thought hit him in the most sensitive of places, it drew tears out of his eyes. Eyes that had seen countless people drain out of color and life shouldn’t cry, yet there he was, letting his cheeks dampen with burning tears.

You’d heard him, and asked in a mixture of concern and fear, “Who’s there?”

Hyunjin didn’t know what made him step out of the shadows to face you, but he supposed it was the same force that made his friend tolerate the crown prince. The universe, having its way with fate.

He could only sniffle, which made you step closer and ask again, “Can I help you with anything?”

“No,” he croaked, then cleared his throat to explain, or lie, when he saw the furrow of your brows. You were staring at a man, dressed in nothing but black with a hood shadowing his face, who you heard crying a few moments ago. He assumed you had plenty of questions. “I-I’ve just come back from a long trip and I so happened to pass by you... and your child, and I-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. I understand.” You gave him a small smile and he blinked at you, although you couldn’t see that. “You understand?”

“Yes. Why don’t you sit down? You seem like you need some rest.” The baby in your arms had then laughed, and you cooed at her, tapping her tiny nose with a smile, “What’s so funny, little one?”

This action, despite being so little and insignificant, lit something in Hyunjin’s heart. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the infant. She seemed like a bundle of joy, and he saw how your features glowed instantly when you looked at her. People finding happiness in each other. It was so foreign, but it made him feel light and giddy.

He smiled.

You brought your attention back to him, “Or you can go along, we will not be holding you back,” before turning around and taking the same spot on the riverbank. Hyunjin stood there, before pushing his hood off, pulling his mask down, and gingerly stepping towards the water. He stared at its restless flow, mind a flurry of thoughts. The baby’s raw giggles danced through the air, bringing him jolts of faint happiness. He wondered what kind of sorcery that was.

“Shh, Nari, don’t bother him,” you whispered, but the child only let out a sharp squeal. It made Hyunjin look at her, slightly amused.

Nari, that must be her name, he thought, mustering the kindest smile he could to respond to her big, curious eyes. Your gaze followed Nari’s to land on him then, and the three of you fell silent. Entranced, maybe. It was the child’s sudden laugh that snapped you out of your daze and you joked, “She seems to like you.”

“Does she?” Hyunjin breathed. He could almost chuckle. How could a being, so pure and innocent, like him, a spawn of malice?

Nari raised her arms towards him and you laughed, standing back up, “She sure does.”

She began to lean to Hyunjin’s direction, and you tutted, trying to fix her posture, “No, sweetheart, you can’t do this.”

“What does she want?” You didn’t know that the sparkle in his eyes was new to him, and you smiled sheepishly, “Oh, she just... wants you to carry her. It’s okay, you can ignore that-”

“C-Can I?”

Hyunjin was taken aback by his own words too, but when your face melted into a warm smile, he realized he didn’t regret it at all. “Of course. Have you ever held a child before?”

“No.”

He remembered how light Nari first felt. He was afraid any movement he’d do would send her flying into the air, so he remained still, stiff in the position you set his arms in. It was ironic. Hands that had ended lives were now holding an infant, an exposition of life.

Nari didn’t seem to mind. She giggled, displaying her toothless gums as she joined her hands in what he thought was an attempted clap. It made his heart swell.

“How old is she?” He asked, after much debating, and you didn’t hesitate to answer, “Three months old.”

Then a bitter smile overtook your lips and you adverted your gaze to the ground, “Probably as old as she’ll ever be.”

“What do you mean?” He gulped. Aren’t children supposed to have many years ahead of them?

You pursed your lips, bringing a hand up to caress her delicate hair. “Nari is... sick.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know how to respond to that, but something painful wormed into his heart.

“She’s not usually this energetic,” you remarked when she squealed again, meddling with the clasp of Hyunjin’s cloak. “You’re lucky.”

There was a stretch of silence before he dared to speak again, “Where’s... where’s her father?”

You scoffed lightly, “What would he want with a woman who bears ill children?”

Hyunjin’s blood ran cold. He didn’t have to ask more to understand what you meant. It was common, almost too normalized, for men to abandon their wives for a miscarriage or a sick child.

His mother suffered the same.

His muscles tensed, welcoming familiar anger and he held Nari out for you to take. He didn’t trust himself to hold her anymore. He couldn’t fathom how anyone would leave their family that way. Didn’t they love them? Didn’t they care?

Hyunjin knew the answer.

With a quick farewell and a lame excuse, your encounter ended. But it was the first out of many.

You knew him as the son of the Han house, what everyone else knew him as. The Queen’s brother; not an assassin or a member of a criminal group, but nobility.

You were fairly surprised when he kept showing up every night by the river, he could see it in your hesitancy. It hurt him a little because as silly as it sounded, he wished you would trust him. But could anyone trust an assassin?

Whatever the answer was, Hyunjin grew up challenging the odds and surviving, every single time. His life was a huge whirlwind of people coming and going. For once, he hoped you wouldn’t get entangled in that wicked wind too. You and Nari were the remaining goodness in a world that had only been cruel to him.

The assassin had found something to protect.

The trip from the mansion to the river was short, but not as short as Hyunjin would like. When he reached the river, you were there, humming to Nari who appeared to have fallen asleep. He made sure to make use of his training, taking mute steps toward you in order not to disturb the child.

You felt his presence, nonetheless. “The moon is full tonight.”

Hyunjin looked up at the sky, noticing the blank face staring down at the two of you, and hummed in agreement before sitting on the grass. “How are you today?”

“Fine. You?”

“The same.”

You didn’t have the longest of conversations, but Hyunjin supposed that was the beauty of it. Talking to you wasn’t overwhelming and demanding, unlike everything else around him.

“How’s Nari?”

“She has been sleeping most of the day, I’m a little worried,” you sighed before looking at him for the first time that night. “Speaking of which, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“A favor?” He hoped he didn’t sound too excited.

“Yes, umm,” you hesitated. You didn’t want pity from the people, but it was at times like this you wished your sense of shame was nonexistent. “I... need to meet someone tomorrow and I can’t take Nari with me, nor leave her alone. So, I was wondering if you could, perhaps, look after her for the evening?”

When Hyunjin took too long to respond, you began rambling, “I mean, of course, you aren’t obligated to agree but I don’t know anyone else I can trust- it’s okay, really. I can manage-”

“You trust me?” He cut you off, eyes glimmering with a strange emotion. You looked away, “I think I can trust you. Yes.”

Hyunjin couldn’t stop the smile forming on his lips. You trusted him! “I’d love to look after Nari.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to if you’re busy! I’m quite sure you have matters to attend to after all-”

“Y/n, I’m sure.”

You hoped he knew that his smile was enchanting. Heart skipping a beat, out of gratefulness, you decided, you smiled. “Thank you, Hyunjin.”

That was the first real thanks he’d received in long.

•֍•

“What’s taking your mom so long, Nari?” Hyunjin murmured, brushing the sleeping baby’s cheek with the back of his finger. You said you wouldn’t take long when you placed Nari in his arms and left him in the bakery, where you worked and lived. It had to be more than four hours since then.

Hyunjin couldn’t help but worry. What if some harm befell you? He hated to think of what he’d do. So, he waited, hoping for the best.

Your home was humble and minimal in all aspects. A bed, a crib, a table, a closet, and a large chest; there was a door that directly led to the bakery, and another he guessed was for the restroom. You lived there for three months, alone, managing the bakery to provide for yourself and your child.

That nauseating feeling invaded Hyunjin’s heart again. You were just like him. Just as young, just as mistreated. You, and Nari, deserved so much better. So much more. If only that sick bastard took responsibility-

The jingle of the door caught his attention and he stood up, expecting you to walk in.

What he didn’t expect, however, was for you to step in, face obscured with a shawl, and gasp when you noticed him. “Goodness! What are you still doing here?”

Hyunjin frowned, “Watching over Nari as you asked me to?”

“Well, yes, but it’s quite late I-I thought you’d left already,” you shook your head. “I’m sorry for taking so long.”

“It’s fine, you know I wouldn’t leave Nari alone,” he assured, but something was nagging at his thoughts. Why were you hiding your face?

You forced a smile, although he only saw a half of it, “Thank you, truly. You must be tired, let me prepare a cup of tea-”

You were cut off by Hyunjin urgently whisper-exclaiming, “Oh no! That would be of no need. I-I’m not tired!”

“Alright.” You didn’t argue. You were too exhausted anyway.

Placing your sling bag on the table, you were about to remove your shawl when you realized that Hyunjin was still standing there. “Aren’t you going to leave?”

“Me? I-I mean, yes, of course, but...,” he inhaled, narrowing his eyes, “why are you covering your face?”

“It’s nothing,” you waved your hand dismissively, “You should get going-”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you not taking the shawl off?”

His question hung in the air like a limp body. You knew your behavior was suspicious, but you didn’t want him to see the blooming purple on your upper cheek. It seemed that you wouldn’t be able to get away with it.

After a beat of silence and with a defeated sigh, you pulled the shawl off, revealing a fresh bruise and tear-streaked cheeks. “There you go. Happy?”

Hyunjin felt like someone splashed a bucket of icy water on his face. He couldn’t make sense of the emotions that overcame him at the sight of your face. Worry, pain, anger. Something was clamping down on his heart mercilessly.

“What happened to you?” He whispered, trying to not let his emotions take over. He didn’t want to do something he’d regret later.

“It’s nothing you should bother with.”

He might have only known you for a mere month, but the thought of something, or someone, hurting you was enough to light a raging fire in Hyunjin’s blood.

He inhaled, composing himself as he stepped closer. He could clearly see the bruise that stretched across your cheekbone, pulsing in hues of purple, and the glimmering trail of tears disappearing under your chin. You were crying.

Unconsciously, Hyunjin brought a hand to cup your other cheek, thumb tracing the damp streak of tears until it rested under your chin. You didn’t shy away.

When he looked back into your eyes, finding their rims lined with tears, he swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “Who did this to you?”

When you didn’t respond, he asked once more, “Where were you?”

You thought eyes couldn’t physically darken, but you saw it for yourself, how Hyunjin’s gaze became murderous in a flash. It wasn’t directed at you, you knew, but you couldn’t ignore the fear that seared your heart. What is he thinking?

You expected him to drop the discussion and walk away when you didn’t answer, but he only studied your face as if he would find what he sought imprinted on your features. You gave in with a shaky breath, “I-I went... to ask for money.”

“From who?” A whisper, but it echoed with venom.

“Him. I went to ask for the money he took from me. H-He has things of mine.”

You took Hyunjin’s silence as a sign to continue. “I told him I wouldn’t leave until he gave me what’s rightfully mine then he...”

Your words faded and you closed your eyes, inhaling quietly as the lingering taste of blood plagued your mouth again. You were not going to appear weak in front of Hyunjin. You didn’t want his charity.

But he didn’t need your continuation of the incident to know, and he dropped his hand, afraid you’d feel the way it tensed. “He hit you.”

Your silence affirmed his conclusion and he stepped away, hating this turn of events. “You went to ask for your rights, and he hit you.”

You smiled bitterly, “He told me to leave but I refused. I had it coming.”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong!” He couldn’t believe the words falling out of your lips.

You sighed, rubbing your bicep and grimacing slightly. That didn’t go unnoticed by Hyunjin. “Whatever. It’s fine, really. You had your story, you can leave now. Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

You didn’t hear a response from him, just the jingle of the bakery’s door, and he was gone. You let out a breath, ignoring the strange feeling bubbling up your chest and turning to look at Nari, sound asleep in her simple crib.

You pulled the blanket closer to her chin, sighing, “Whatever will your mom do now, Nari?”

•֍•

Three nights had passed since you’d last seen Hyunjin. You shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help but be curious. What could’ve made him disappear like that?

He seemed very persistent on visiting the river every night, it was almost worrying. You couldn’t push down the confusing emotions settling in your heart.

Deep down, you thought you knew the reason behind his disappearance, for the last time you saw him, he was wondering why you were covering your face up.

He’s probably angry, you decided one day. As has been everyone else.

It seemed that you had a knack for angering and pushing away the people you wanted to stay. It happened once, and it was happening again. You could only swallow your fate like an awful mouthful of ginger.

It was bad enough you missed his quiet presence.

Nari was on the doors of slumber when you heard the crunch of grass behind you. Slightly alarmed, you stood up, ready to face the person creeping on you, before halting, “Hyunjin?”

He was back in the same attire you saw him in on your first meeting; black cloak and a hood pulled so low you could only see his lips. But they didn’t move to respond, he lowered his head instead. It took you a few moments to notice his shaking shoulders and you inhaled sharply, “Goodness, Hyunjin! What’s wrong?”

Unanswered. When you tried to take a step closer, he shook his head, stepping away as his sobs became more audible. It was a sound you didn’t want to hear again, you realized, hating how helpless you felt. You couldn’t think of a single reason behind his tears, which only added to your frustration.

Then you saw it. He raised his hands to his face, and you restrained a gasp. They were covered in blood. Red, sticky blood that was clear despite the faint light of the moon.

You didn’t know what conclusions to draw. Why would a nobleman’s son have blood on his hands, literally?

Hyunjin dropped to his knees, bringing his bloodied hands to his face as the first apology escaped his lips, wrangled between hiccups, “I’m sorry!”

Sorry? You glanced at Nari, thankfully asleep, and rushed to where he was hunched up. Forehead creased in concern, you tried to hold his wrist and pull his hand away. “What are you apologizing for, Hyunjin? What’s happening?”

Even as his hands lay on his lap, they trembled, as if in fear of whatever it is they’ve gone through. He shook his head once more, voice broken, “I was so angry I didn’t- I let it take control of m-me-”

“Hyunjin, you’ll need to calm down-”

“No! You don’t understand,” he wailed, and your eyes widened, gaze darting across the houses nearby. Whatever was happening, you were sure Hyunjin didn’t want the people involved.

“I’m sure I will, if you explain to me calmly-”

“I killed him!” He choked out, “I was so furious, I killed him. I’m so sorry.”

You froze, not quite registering his words.

Your heart clenched for a moment there before returning to its regular pulse. You couldn’t feel any more sympathy. Suddenly, Hyunjin’s appearance told you something else. Clothes as dark as the night sky, presence as quiet as the morning breeze; it all matched perfectly.

You retracted your hand, voice barely above a whisper as if you didn’t want the moon to hear you, “Who... Who are you?”

His sobs came to a stop then, leaving a trace of sniffles and hiccups in their wake, but no confirmation to your suspicions. You were afraid of his confession either way. He can’t be...

You barely caught his mumble. “I’m a monster.”

“You are not a monster, Hyunjin.”

“Yes, I am. I killed him, y/n!”

“You killed a man who threw his wife and daughter into the streets. The monster here isn’t you.” You didn’t know where that courage came from, but you pushed his hood off, fingers running through his soft hair in the process.

Small smudges of blood rested where he placed his palms earlier, some slightly smeared by his tears, others completely wiped away. His hair fell over his eyes as it always did, and despite the dark, you could see the raging storm of conflict in them.

With a sigh, you dropped your hand, taking hold of his wrist and standing up. “Come.”

He only blinked at you and you mustered a crooked grin, “Do you like having bloodied hands?”

Hyunjin allowed you to lead him to the river, too busy letting his shame and guilt gnaw at his soul. When you prompted him to, he plunged his hands into the water and watched as the last traces of his crime dissolved into the stream.

After rubbing his hands together, he took them out of the river, clean and clear. It made him smile bitterly. “Aren’t you mad at me or upset?”

He was staring at the water, but you knew the question was for you and you smiled wryly, “I can’t mourn someone like him.”

Hyunjin understood, but it didn’t make him feel any better. In all honesty, he didn’t know what made him come to the river. He only wanted to talk, but a moment later, he found himself burying his dagger deep into the man’s throat. Blinded by rage, perhaps, he only realized what he’d done when the too familiar, heavy stench of blood permeated the air.

He could only think of you when he looked at the limp, lifeless body, and his feet took him to the river before he could think twice about it.

What to say or expect, Hyunjin didn’t know, but he knew that he had to see you. Now that he did, he didn’t know what to do next.

He dared to steal a glance at you, gaze falling on Nari and cracking something in his heart. He did grow fond of the infant. It was almost inevitable. He was astounded, really. How could anyone abandon something as precious? How could anyone meet you and Nari, and not... completely fall in love?

To hell with sickness, Hyunjin was almost certain he��d do about anything for the two of you — if his assassin history didn’t stand in the way.

Time went unacknowledged until you spoke, questioning, “Who are you, Han Hyunjin?”

“Hwang. It’s Hwang Hyunjin.”

You looked at him, but his gaze was set on the distance beyond the river. “Hwang Hyunjin.”

His full name sounded different when you said it. It wasn’t plated with fear, layered with hate, and framed with terror. It was almost soft. It felt nice. Hyunjin couldn’t bring himself to look at you. “I’m not legitimately part of the Han house. I think... I think you figured it out.”

“I did,” you gulped. Shouldn’t such things be secrets, or did Hyunjin want you to know?

“It’s okay. You can say it. You can say all you want.”

You couldn’t tell if that was resentment you heard in his tone, or perhaps defeat, but it took you several beats of silence before you whispered, “You’re an assassin.”

Hyunjin didn’t respond, letting your words dissolve into the air, rustle between leaves, and settle in the ground. Letting the truth be spoken. Somehow, hearing you say that lightened his heart. You were the first person out of the Cage to know and it felt right. It felt so right.

“Which... group do you belong to?” No, Hyunjin’s occupation didn’t scare you. It did make a series of doubts and questions run through your mind, but that was still Hyunjin! The same person who likes to hold Nari and sing to her. You’d seen enough to know that being an assassin wouldn’t change him.

And it wasn’t as if you were mad at him anyway. You couldn’t care less about Nari’s father. Perhaps it was a good riddance, as cynical as that sounded.

“The Cage.”

“You’re one of the Cage’s assassins,” you repeated, almost to yourself, and he hummed.

“So, Han Hyunjin is only your public identity?”

“Yes.”

“Would that mean that Han Jisung... the Queen!” Your eyes widened and he chuckled, shaking his head, “There’s a lot I wish I could tell you about.”

“But I suppose,” he finally looked at you, “that’s a story for another day.”

Another day. You gave him a light smile before directing your attention to Nari, fixing her blanket and unconsciously checking her heartbeat. You could feel Hyunjin’s gaze on her and by then, you knew a delicate, bare smile was tugging at the corners of his lips. It was at moments like this, you saw the real Hyunjin. Guard down. No titles. No rank. Just Hyunjin, whom the sight of a child brought much happiness.

You also knew that he had requests he’d never speak out loud, so you turned to him, “Do you want to hold her?”

“Can I?” His face was illuminated by guilt and shock, but yours broke into a warm smile as you shuffled closer, carefully transferring Nari into his arms.

“How has she been?” He asked, readjusting himself so that the infant would sleep comfortably.

“She’s been well.” Or so you hoped she had been.

A part of you couldn’t believe that Hyunjin was accustomed to killing, mostly because of his gentleness with Nari. It was always a sight to treasure; how his eyes seemed to sparkle and glow, how happiness danced on his lips. You doubted he knew he looked like that.

It made you shamelessly wonder, what if Nari had a father to take care of her? Would he be as loving?

“Have you tried asking about a treatment?” Hyunjin’s question was one you heard many times before. The answer never changed. “There is none, at least not that I know of. I wouldn’t be able to afford it either way.”

He nodded understandingly before dropping his gaze to Nari’s face. Brushing her cheek with the back of his finger, a sad smile settled on his face. Oh, how he wished the universe would show some mercy.

Hyunjin didn’t notice your gaze, set on him firmly. On the smudges of blood on his face. Without much thought, you plunged a hand into the water, wetting it before standing on your knees and turning Hyunjin’s face toward you with your dry hand.

As if he was a flower you didn’t want to crush, you wiped the blood away. Tender, but unbeknownst to you, that little action sent Hyunjin’s heart on a rampage.

His free hand came to rest on top of yours, no words needed, and at that moment, he felt whole once more.

•֍•

During the last two weeks, Hyunjin had one goal, and one goal only. Find a cure.

He was adamant that there was a treatment somewhere, and he was willing to go to the ends of the world to get his hands on it. It was the first purposeful thing he’d done in a while.

Without your knowledge, of course, he asked around. Being part of a criminal group and a member of the nobility meant that he had many relations, and it didn’t take long for him to get somewhere in his search.

It was a doctor in one of the suburbs, a little far but Hyunjin didn’t mind taking the trip. He was told he was especially skilled and knowledgeable when it came to heart diseases. He had many records of curing royals and nobles, and Hyunjin had put his entire faith in him.

It was a peaceful morning when Hyunjin mounted his horse and headed for the suburbs, ignoring Jisung’s pesky questions.

He didn’t bother concealing the smile on his face. It was a day to be happy! Today, he’ll find a way to treat Nari. Today, he’ll reach his happy ever after. Today.

When he reached the suburbs and knocked on the door of the doctor’s cottage, things only seemed to get better. The medic agreed to visit the capital, claiming to have dealt with cases similar to Nari’s and knowing just the right cure. By the end of the visit, Hyunjin was beyond ecstatic.

He couldn’t wait to return to share the news and on his way back, he imagined how happy you’d be with a fluttering heart. Just the simple thought of it drew the widest smile on his face — any passersby would’ve thought he was crazed.

Yet, Hyunjin found that he didn’t care. For once. When it came to seeing you happy, nothing else mattered much.

Hyunjin set foot in the capital when the sun was the highest in the sky. It glared as if it disapproved of his happiness. As if it knew something he didn’t, watching him make his way to the bakery where you resided.

The young man almost fell off his horse as he rushed to enter the store, the jingle of the bells drowning in his excited calls, “Y/n! Y/n!”

“I’m sorry, we’re not- oh, Hyunjin.” You stood by the door that connected your living space with the bakery, poking your head through to see who’d entered despite the notice you posted on the door.

Had Hyunjin not been so elevated, he would’ve noticed your dull appearance and the way your hands trembled. But he only skipped toward you, looking much like an excited puppy as he enveloped your hands with his and grinned, “I found a cure!”

“You did?”

“Yes! I- Wait...,” Hyunjin trailed away, finally aware of the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. He frowned, “What’s wrong?”

Slowly, he began taking in your appearance; exhausted features, let down hair, a plain dark dress. His heart dropped. “Where’s Nari?”

When you didn’t respond, he let go of your hands and barged into your home, gaze jumping from one place to another frantically until it landed on your bed, where the infant lay on her small blanket.

Hyunjin never forgot the pain of losing someone, it was engraved in his mind, it ran through his blood. But when he saw her colorless lips and still figure, it crashed on him stronger than he remembered it was.

He felt numb. Empty. Weightless. He wanted to give in to gravity and crumble to the ground, fade away like dandelion wisps. He couldn’t think, yet his mind was a mess of flashing thoughts. No! It can’t be!

He blinked away the tears blurring his vision and swallowed the lump in his throat, but to no avail. All he wanted to do was open the doors and greet the phantom of misery.

If he felt this way, then you must be-

He turned around in a whim, taking two big strides before wordlessly pulling you into his arms.

That was when the last thread holding your sanity together snapped.

You knew this day would come. You knew, from the moment Nari greeted the world. Yet, you weren’t prepared to let her go. Five months were too short. Too cruel.

And so, you let your tears dampen Hyunjin’s shirt, wishing this would all turn out to be an ugly dream. A nightmare, and you’d wake up to hear Nari giggle once more.

But the pain in your chest and the itch in your eyes told you otherwise. This was reality. You’d never wake up to her cries anymore, but to damning loneliness and grief instead.

Each sob leaving your lips was a stab at his heart, mind, and soul, and he was sure he could lose all his strength in a blink. But Hyunjin said nothing. The best he could do was hold you tight and not let go. Not now and not ever. Because for once, the assassin found a reason to stay. He had something to protect.

He was no longer alone, and he was going to make sure you would never be.

If you have read this far then you are contractually obligated to tell me your thoughts! Well, not really, but do drop by sometime! Thank you for reading and I hope you have an amazing day! ♡

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