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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 NIGHT WAS FEELING SPECTACULAR AND YOUNG WITH FEAST PREPARATIONS, bustling and busy. The air tasted warm, the scent of food wafting its way through her bedroom chambers.
Qadira looked at the abaya-dress before her on the bed. It was cream and luscious, with no jewels but the finest of gold embroidery weaved the neckline, all the way through the arms. It was plain and simple, yet the simplicity of it was exactly what caught the eye of all the maids.
They fussed over the dress, and she could see why. There was a note pinned to her bed pole, by a jewelled dagger she had seen earlier in the hands of Qaswar. It read in extravagant cursive writing:
Remember your promise. — your Prince
That was all that it read. Whilst the maids continued to blush and flatter her with commentary, she shivered at the subtle threat.
She had burned the note he had given earlier that evening, one which asked her to find what viscount Naseer Al-Toure was hiding, when she was with the women in the banquet hall. She sighed. To put it bluntly, he wanted her to listen on the gossip of the ladies and extract information. What a delightfully perfect way to use her as a political pawn.
For the briefest moment she considered not wearing the dress he sent her, but then changed her mind remembering that he wouldn't care either way. It would only put her through even more hassle in choosing a dress.
She stood in front of the mirror as Layla ordered the maids to help her get dressed. They slipped it on—the size was perfect—then did her hair under her hijab, before wrapping silk around her hair. Amara, her friend of a sister in law had sent her a jewelled headpiece to wear on top of her hijab, and she thought that today would be the perfect day to show her gratitude for the gift. After puffing her cheeks and painting her eyes with kohl, she was finally permitted to leave.
When she opened her door, she was startled to see all of her brothers standing outside.
"What are you all doing here?" She lifted a gloved hand to her lips in wonder.
"I wanted to escort you," said Bilal hesitantly. His eyes looked apologetic and guilty. This was the first time they had seen her after her nikkah.
Omar and Owais pushed one another aside as they knelt before Qadira. "Actually I wanted to escort you, sister," said Omar, holding out a hand.
"I came first," said Owais, nudging Omar to the floor.
They sat on the dust, sprawled and glaring at one another.
She looked at them all. "Whilst I appreciate the gesture, I already have an escort, and I am late."
With that, Qadira left her puzzled and confused brothers behind and began towards the banquet hall. Layla had already shown her the way, but Qadira needed to find the garden.
