Queen of Persia ✔️

chapter eight

PART ONE: DUSK

"I hope you don't feel offended by the stuff she said, because they are absolutely not true," Leile said, trailing right behind Parisa. Parisa stopped in her tracks, allowing her to catch up.

"No absolutely not. She's not wrong but it's not offensive to me. It's a part of who I am. And I can't change that," Parisa explained with a calm tone. Behind Leile, she saw two tall shadows. She didn't need to look up to see who they were. Because once again, she could feel his unwelcoming yet welcoming presence. The men both stopped behind Leile, with Jahandar standing behind his wife. To Parisa, they were the definition of love. They looked and seemed like they were in love. It was too true to miss. The glances, and touches. They were too real.

"My love," Jahandar whisper in Leile's ear in the quietest tone available. Leile turned her head to look at her beloved husband who was smiling at her like he had just found out what love was. The beauty of love, however, was almost sickening to Parisa. It reminded her of home. It reminded her of Afshin, whom she had so selfishly left behind. She turned to look at Arman who merely had the same expression as Parisa. Disgusted yet desperate. Like a child who had been taken away from its mother. Desperate for love. And disgusted by betrayal. Arman returned Parisa's gaze, meeting those same caramel eyes. But in a split second, he looked away, staring at the ground. Realising the uncomfortable atmosphere, they had created, Jahandar let go of his wife, clearing his throat.

"Right, sorry about that. Uh, I hope that meeting went well?" He apologised, making the last sentence seem like a question. Parisa almost fell into an eternal laughter, avoiding Arman's desperate eyes once more.

"Yeah, great," Leile rolled her eyes in response. Great was an understatement. She looked at Parisa who was already laughing her heart out. When Parisa laughed a thousand galaxies, Arman felt like one of those night skies. Secure. Still unsure why, but Parisa reminded him of the common nightmare and dream he always has. The nightmare of loss and the dream of love. The first one being quite common in his life and the second one being a desire he ought to have.

"I walked in there to save you both. I'm glad it worked," he explained, but something had caught Parisa's eye. Men behind Jahandar, were carrying crates of weapons. Newly made and bought swords made from solid gold. Realising her distraction, both Arman and Jahandar looked behind them to see the weapons.

"Newly bought swords for the war," Arman pointed out. But her attention was still set on one sword in particular. It was golden and the handle was covered in rubies and emeralds of all kinds, complimenting the curve of the sharp sword. Parisa knew swords quite well. After all her brother and father had a collection of them. And from a young age she was taught how to fight using one. That was until her brother died. Years forwards, she never dared to touch a sword ever again. But she wanted to touch this one, even after years. So she did, she walked towards the soldiers carrying the crate, asking them to stop. With hesitation they looked at her, then at the Shah who nodded in allowance. As they set down the crate, Parisa carefully took the sword into her own hand, looking and devouring its sharp point. It was too beautiful to not hold. It was so sharp; it could even cut through a dazzling diamond. The men around her moved away with care, avoiding her sword. They look almost scared by the fact that a woman was holding a sword so carelessly, but she felt like fighting.

"Anyone willing to duel with me?" she asked the people around her, but no one answered or moved forward accepting the challenge, "Please?" she asked desperately. Once again, no man or woman moved forwards, they all kept their distances from the 'foolish' girl in front of them. So instead, she decided she were to pick someone.

"That's enough," Shah Arman warned her with caution, but that only exceeded her excitement.

"How about you duel with me?" She asked Arman kindly, attempting to convince him. He looked at her with his eyebrows raised in confusion.

"I duel with you?" he asked trying to confirm the words flying out of her beautiful mouth. Strange, he believed her lips to be beautiful.

"Yes, why not. Your men don't want too so why not you?" she questioned him.

"Fine. How about we make deals. If I win you tell me why you volunteered to marry me," (Arman again)

"Fine, and if I win you have to take me to the war planning room. I want to help," she stated her terms. To her confusion, everyone around her was shocked to hear a woman wanting to see the war room. The room of death. But Arman had no choice but to agree if he wanted answers. He nodded in agreement, picking up one of the new swords from the crate. They both held their positions, as people more at least 5 metres away. Leile seemed excited. Jahandar seemed worried like a mother. And the soldiers seemed terrified.

"Ready husband?" she asked sarcastically.

"I am quite ready my wife," he answered, curling his tongue at 'my'. She wasn't his but he wanted her to be his. And so, he claimed some part of her, and somehow, she allowed it. Arman took the first lunge forward, but Parisa didn't rush. Instead, she studied all his moves. She knew those moves all too well. She took a quick lunge forward, slamming her sword onto his with a: cling. And in that position, they both her their sword at an intersection, pushing as hard as they could. There was no doubt Arman was stronger than Parisa, but Parisa knew skills and little helpers he didn't. He pushed the sword as far as he could arching her back. The side of Parisa's sword was almost touch her smooth neck, but with the swing of her legs, she managed to throw him onto the ground. His back slammed right onto the ground with a groan. Before he could react or do anything, Parisa placed both her knees on either side of him, blocking his movements. As soon as her sword moved closer to his neck, he grabbed her wrist, forcing the sword out of her hands. Now it was a fight with hands. She was much weaker than him, no matter how much she tried. Not much longer, he turned her around, switching position. He was sweating and his heart was beating fast. He seemed almost nervous...

And now he was on top of her, stopping her movements.

"You underestimated me, Parisa," he announced, but she seemed amused.

"And you underestimated me Arman," she replied saying his name for the first time. She then slammed her head against his with so much power, she felt her brain shake. With a groan, he loosened his hold, allowing her to take control once more. And once again, she held him under her, swinging a dagger she had hid in her gown. She held it at his throat, staring deep into his eyes. But he didn't give up. He didn't act or try to seem defeated. He stayed calm and steady. That was something she loved about him. His confidence no matter the situation. The audience around them, counted from one to ten as she held him down with all her power. And finally, once it got to ten, she let go of him claiming her win. They both stood up to look at the people around them gawking in shock and amazement. A lady had just beaten the king.

"I want my award now, since I won," she said with excitement, as he fixed himself. Parisa couldn't help but stare at his arms. She had never noticed them before. His veins were popping out and one scar decorated his large palm.

"No," he replied in return, sending a shock through her body. No? she asked herself.

What did he mean by no?