NIGHT: 07

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SHE ROAMED THE HALLS THAT NIGHT.

After seeing the carnage of her disappearance, she decided to let Rukun find her.

Let him kill her.

She had left her maids back at her room; none of them looking twice once she had decided to leave during sundown.

'You let her die, you let all of them die.' A voice repeated in her head as she walked. How many had Rukun killed before her arrival? How many hadn't been as lucky as she was?

Would she have been able to prevent their deaths if she had been the first?

Azade's footsteps were the only thing echoing the halls that night, assuming everyone else had buried themselves in their rooms in fear. He wouldn't have a hard time finding her.

She came upon a window, a glass coated sill that covered the night. Sitting upon it, she waited for the murderous King to find her.

'You could've prevented it all.'

The night looked endless.

Laying back on the cold window, she waited for the footsteps of the killer. Her feet were huddled to her chest in an an attempt to keep herself from running away. Minutes passed, more minutes passed and there was no sound of a King. Of anyone, rather.

Closing her eyes she decided to let herself wander in her thoughts instead. It let time pass as she recounted the events of the nights before. The nights before everything.

The night before they stole her away.

..

[WADI DESERT, KROOS 1594]

It had been a loud and silent—less night.

Beyond her masters enclave, slaves gathered around their tents after their day's work in whispers. One slave had heard the news on the lips of their master's daughter and word traveled from her mouth to others quicker than a horse on sand. One slave told another, and another told another. Until the news was on the lips of everyone among the tents that night.

"The king's men are coming!"

Azade had been helping Amya carve bowls over the open fire outside of their tent. Amya had taken the motherless girl in, teaching her to spin wool and carve wood. Her master had been sympathetic enough to not send Azade to unfortunate field-labourers. Amya had been right. She was lucky.

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