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Far away in the land of arabia, in a kingdom by the desert, is a Princess, who goes by Qadira. She was born with talent and skill, the hands of a physician and the mind of a skilled herbalist. Simply put, she is a healer. Then there is Prince...
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THE PRINCE OF SABA' SLUMPED DISGRACEFULLY against the cold walls of the training room. He sat on a wooden plank inhumanly high above the training grounds, watching down on the other princes below. It was by far his favourite room in the castle, inviting a peace to his heart that not even the luxuries in his chambers would suffice for him. The ancient stone walls were decorated with hundreds of varieties of different weapons which looked like a masterpiece of its own, incomparable and dangerous. Just how Qaswar liked it.
He focused his attention on the apple which was gripped in his hands, red and ripe. Badr had used his archery skills to cut the apple fresh off its branch off one of the trees in the plush castle. He sized it up and then threw it in the air and just as it came into level with his eyes, he sliced at it expertly with Khalid and the apple had halved smoothly.
It was the longest that he had been sat in the training room without, well, training. His presence went shamefully unnoticed by his brothers below. They weren't particularly fond of him, neither were they fond of eachother. Though they were brought up together in the same palace walls, ate the same food, they were all aware of the constant competition for the throne, the vengeful scheming behind one another's back. And despite Qaswar's lack of interest for the throne being one of the younger brothers, he was most despised by them all.
Reluctantly, his thoughts drifted back to the girl he fought in the forest. His eyes slithered to the cuts across his palm which she bandaged up. He had never seen a wound heal so miraculously.
Qaswar's golden eyes narrowed into glimmering slits. He touched the hilt of his sword with his fingers, his posture alert.
Another sword met his own, the clash of metal familiar to his hears as his heartbeat. He was now balancing easily on the wooden plank, facing Badr who looked awfully pleased with himself.
The other boy grinned slyly. "You were caught off guard."
"I felt your presence," replied the prince.
"Do not think that a millisecond of hesitation will go unnoticed by me. This is your first time hesitating. Already getting old brother?" Badr laughed, his laughter vibrating through the swords into Qaswar's own chest.
The lion of a prince returned the smile, looking like a beautiful beast. "Please, we'll see who ends up in the infirmary first with a twisted arm."
Badr pouted. "Don't be mean."
"I wouldn't dream of it—" Qaswar felt it when he brought his sword up, the blood pumping in his veins through his arms, his body providing him with the energy he needed. It was that feeling—full of pleasure and vengeful lust. Warrior instinct.
Badr was as good as Qaswar, and he knew if there was anyone who had a point percentage chance of winning against him, it would be him. There was a gracefulness to which the two moved to, as if a rehearsed rhythm was finally being acted out.
