Inscribed In The Stars

Chapter 6

Dalia clenched the cushions beside her. As much as she knew to speak cautiously with her father, her anger only sharpened her tongue.

"Right, to form an alliance against foreign threats through marriage, the reason for my existence. The one thing I have been raised for since birth," she hissed.

"There is another reason," The king hummed, unfazed by the sharpness in her tone.

Dalia's eyebrows knotted together.

"Don't tell me this is about that woman-" she sneered, head whipping to her father.

"It is not what you think,"

Dalia's frown only deepened.

"Then tell me, what is your obsession with this woman? You have plenty in your harem, what does one difference make? Why is she so important that you are willing to forsake our bad history with your rivals and marry your daughter off to them?"

Her chest heaved with fury.

"It is greater than you imagine, and the only reason I will disclose this with you is that I put my full trust in you. It has to be you that goes to Balqaas, Dalia." her father continued, his composure almost too calm for her liking.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her confusion dampening her fire.

The King did not break his gaze from hers as he reached over and took her hand in his. Dalia almost flinched back at the strangeness of her father's affection, but something about his odd attitude made her want to brace herself for what he was about to tell her.

"Only you can convince your sister to return home."

***

"This is a foolish idea," Musa muttered behind the Prince for the seventh time as they followed the servant ahead of them.

With the night full on the way, the Palace had finally settled from the buzz of preparations for tomorrow's farewell. As they stepped out onto the gravel path, a dozen stars greeted them with glimmering smiles. With the absence of the moon, their bright lights dominated the pitch-black sky. Abbas felt goosebumps appear when a cool breeze licked his skin. As Rughad bordered the sea, the weather was much cooler than in Balqaas, and he scolded himself for not preparing something thicker against the chill of the night. Nevertheless, he would warm up soon, if he assumed correctly why the snarky Prince had requested to meet him in the training grounds.

His assumptions were affirmed only a minute later when they found Prince Masood locked in a swordfight, his opponent not lasting long when the sword he held was knocked out of his grip. Prince Masood grinned triumphantly, the tip of his sword hovering right beside his sparring partner's jugular vein. Abbas observed the young man curiously, Musa coming up beside him to do the same. Considering how young he was, Prince Masood had a good, firm posture. The way he held his sword was evidently well-practiced and his wrists did not buckle under the weight of the heavy metal, which at a closer look, was most definitely not a regular one.

Abbas grimaced upon discovering the smooth groove that cut through the middle, the dreadful memories flooding his mind. The scar on his face throbbed. It had been just over a year since the fateful day he received it, but the pain was still fresh in his mind.

"You grip the sword well," he uttered, announcing their presence.

The young Prince dropped his sword, allowing the noise to echo through the night, before turning to them with a pompous grin. A servant scuttled onto the dusty field to pick it up behind him, wiping the dust off of it with a cloth.

"I am astounded that you accepted my invitation," Prince Masood smirked.

"Well it was the first and only invitation since my stay here, so I thought I ought to accept, out of courtesy," Abbas replied.