One Night

Chapter Sixteen

Zayen

The thief bows her head in shame at my expression, and I quickly work to conceal my surprise.

The house is a rotting mess. Aside from the objects being carelessly thrown about—most likely when the guards came in to capture her mother—there are cracks in the walls and dirty dishes filling the sink. Every piece of furniture seems dusty and ancient.

I didn't know what to expect, but truly it wasn't this. Now it makes sense, the way she looked at the garden in the castle, and the bed she was given for the night, in amazement. Such simple things are actually the biggest privilege.

Nawaz, oblivious as always, asks, "Where's the bedroom?"

Alara seems to fold in on herself. Her arms cross over her stomach and her eyes shutter to the cracking tiled floor. She looks like she is ready to run to the bathroom to let out the contents of her stomach.

She doesn't have to be embarrassed about this, but I can see why she is. She had lead him to believe she was from a palace. Now she has to admit that she does not own a bed. Her lies have come back to her, as they should.

"Sorry to break it to you." No, I'm not. "But you're sleeping on the floor, prince."

Nawaz seems to realise the stupidity of his question. He searches the thief's face for emotion, but she has concealed it well. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . ." He searches for the words to console her, but there are none.

Her eyes shift to the ragged brown couch that is slightly torn at the arms. Her skin must feel like porcelain with the force she has to put into that tight-lipped smile now gracing her face. "You should take the couch. It's nothing near the comfort of your bed at home. I wish I could offer you more." At least there is truth in that.

He looks around the small house, at the mould in the corners of the roof and the tap-less sink, with a new perspective. I doubt he has ever been in a house like this. It's a good lesson. Maybe he will learn what reality is like for a lot of people. The world is a big place, with a lot of suffering. Not having a bed is the least of the problems in this land.

Because Saad and Aya don't have a proper bed. They don't have a home. They don't have parents. Some days, they don't have food. I hope they're okay.

There is a tightness in my chest as I imagine how they might feel—wondering why I left them with strangers and never even looked their way that day.

I wish I had gone to see them, because there is a chance that I may not make it back and they will never understand. There is also the chance that we might not get what the Hakeem wants.

I wonder how the Hakeem would do it. Would he force them to their knees and slice their throats? Would he leave them in a cage and 'forget' to feed them until they wasted away?

"I'll sleep on the floor," the thief offers. "I'm sorry. I—I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising." I hate that I want to hug her again. It felt surprisingly good to hold her in my arms. The way her body melted against mine. It made me feel protective of her. It was stupid. "It's not your fault. This is better than sleeping in a strangers house, or out in the dirt. We are grateful."

I look to the others for confirmation and they both nod. She really shouldn't be sorry. A starving man would not apologise for not having food to offer.

Her head is lowered but she looks up at me through her lashes, a few of her curls falling forward. The look in her eyes . . . Flip. I look away, worried about where my thoughts might lead me. "Let's just eat and get to bed."