One Night

Chapter Five

Alara

Our neighbour, Abbas, usually comes by to use the water from our tap. When he came yesterday, I gave him half of the money I received from the market and promised him that he would get the other half if he takes care of my mother until I return. He wouldn't take anything less than everything I have, but if I fail with the prince I think I can reason with him to leave some for me.

It is risky asking a seventy-year-old man to take care of my sick mother, but he is someone that I trust to not take advantage of the situation and to stay true on his word.

A camel walks past me, it's hooves clicking against the ground, forcing me to move aside as I stare up at the palace. There are no gates—probably because there are enough guards to surround the area anyways.

I've been into Qadura before, but I have never been this close to the palace. I never risk stealing this close, not when there are eyes everywhere.

The palace itself is breathtaking. Tan coloured minarets, covered in Islamic engravings, rise up into the skies. The domes are framed by the soft hues of the sunset.

I used to have a stupid, recurring thought that I might come and find my father here—like in the stories. But I am no princess. That much I am sure of.

I force one foot in front of the other until I am crossing the bridge towards the palace. Guards line each side of the bridge, their eyes all on me. I am sure nobody dares to show up late for a royal ma'duba.

Still, I keep my chin tilted up and my shoulders back. I've been to the trading at the port in Wadi enough times to know that royalty treat their guards and servants like dirt.

I refuse to do that, but I can avoid eye contact. Mostly because if I look at them I might spill my guts. 

The entrance to the palace is an archway that has repeated smaller arches going in, each smaller arch contains new engravings and designs. It is mind blowing.

Inside, there are gigantic passageways which surround a indoor garden. The ceilings are all engraved with designs telling an unknown story.

I trail my fingers along the smooth wall, my eyes wide with wonder. Na'am, I can do this. Several glassless window arches look out into the garden that is filled with lush greenery and flowers. In the setting sun, the colours become something only found in a gentle dream.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" A deep voice says from behind me. The stranger's voice is rough, yet soothing. It suits this place.

"I can't imagine how long it must have taken to build this." The walls are made of bricked stone. But the engravings, it had to have taken centuries.

I know I should be looking at the stranger I am talking to. It's rule number one of manners that people of royalty should possess, but I can't look away from the design of this place. "Living here must be incredible."

"Most days the halls are silent and void," he chimes in.

"Exactly. You could sit in the garden and read, or do absolutely nothing. What a luxury."

"It's only a luxury for a week, maybe two, until you get bored and itch for more. Or until you realise that people out there are starving and dying while you sit in a pompous little garden."

"Pompous?" A strange half-laugh sound leaves my lips as I turn to assess the strange man with his unusual point of view. My beating heart stills. "You."

Without being covered by his garb, the sharpness of his cheekbones and the precision on his beard stands out. It's intimidating.

He looks down at his clothing, the attire of the guards here. A pair of plain black harem pants and a tight linen shirt. "I knew I looked good, but I didn't think I'd take your breath away like this." His voice is rough.