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❝Once upon a time in Baghdad, a street girl teaches the Khalifa of the kingdom why a king needs a queen.❞
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Started: June 5, 2021.
Completed: March 30, 2022.
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cover by @xniftykayx
featured on wattpad historical fiction, undiscovered...
Look at her. Tell me that girl is not a song of burning. Look at her and tell me her eyes are not a housefire waiting to happen.
— Topaz Winters
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Him
"Baba?"
"Yes, habibi?"
"Can I be a Khalifa someday?"
His father turns his attention from the papers on his table to him. "What makes you ask this, son?"
"Noura asked if I can be a king one day. I told her I'll ask my baba."
His father smiles and motions him over. He goes to him and he picks him up, putting him on his thigh and tilting up his chin. "Do you want to be?"
"Yes."
"Then you can be."
"But you're not the Khalifa," he reasons. "He said I can't be either if you aren't."
"Says who?"
"Sulaiman."
His father gazes at him intensely, meaningfully, lowering his voice slightly. "You're my brave son, namer (tiger). Whether I'm the caliph or not, doesn't matter. If you've the will and wit for it, you'll claim the title one day. Remember, the one who is born with a privilege isn't the same as the one who climbs his way to the top, because it's always the latter making a difference by bringing a change. With the former one, this is a mundane expectation anyway. So don't allow anyone to dictate you to limit your dreams and determination." He puts him down on his feet again, holding his shoulders. "Now go, tiger, and if Noura asks you again, tell her that yes, you can be a Khalifa one day."
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Her
What is life but a beautiful deception. What is death but a door to immortality. Then why is it that the former is a prison dearer than an everlasting freedom? Or maybe priorities differ. Maybe the reasons we create differ, depending upon the path we walk along. Maybe endings differ. But death remains to be lived through-- swift or painful, it remains.
She hasn't been terrified of her lifeline cutting short many times. She hasn't really faced many situations when challenged with death. The last time she can recall was at the dusk of the theft when an unknown man put a dagger to her throat. Afterwards the many times Adam did the same, it didn't shake her, somewhere knowing within her he wouldn't hurt her. But now again, with an unknown man with his sword at her neck, she doesn't know what to make of it when all she can see is only his shadow, and a voice that promises familiarity.
She has heard it before. But when?
"I mean no harm," he speaks, making the numerous thoughts buzzing through her head to settle, the memories of her life stopping to fade as the fear of death fades in itself once more, but her fingers keep clutching her dagger. "I only wish to speak to you, Malika."
