[ WATTYS '18 LONG-LISTED ]
❝ I have slit throats far more beautiful than yours.❞
In which a thousand brides have fallen, and she is the last, so she spins a tale as old as time to live the dawn.
| an arabian nights x beauty and the beast crossover...
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THE SUN FILTERS WARM slivers of light entering through the fine, parted curtains, and Shahrazad blinks wearily in its afternoon hues.
"Malika," Laleh's carefully pitched tones begin, followed by the familiar chime of anklets. "Malika."
It is hurried, urgent even, and she sits upright almost immediately. She has learnt to be prepared for almost anything. "What is it?"
"It's Afshar," the handmaiden hisses quietly, peeping outside the doors before lowering her voice. "He has taken over as the leader of the rebellion, and they have already set up camps in the desert."
She clutches the material of her dress in tight fists. "What about baba?"
There is a beat of silence, unlike the soft ones, carving itself into her mind. "Laleh, what about baba?"
"We don't know," she replies in a hesitant, clipped manner, reaching out towards the Queen. "Shahrazad, he just-- disappeared. There are no traces of him."
It like the walls of the palace are red, blood flowing to her feet, reeking, and all she hears are the words of her father echoing in her ears. "No, no, no. That can't be it, nothing has happened, nothing has happened, right?"
She stumbles to the window, pushing the shutters forcefully to glare into the layers of sand that hide footprints that never were. Tears line the corners of her eyes, threatening to streak down the slopes of her face.
Baba is lost, baba is lost, baba is lost.
The Queen rubs her kohl smeared lids furiously. "We have more pressing matters, like Afshar taking over. He won't stop until the palace burns."
"How do you even know for sure?"
She looks forward, hand pressing to her beating heart, hoping that she's right. "Because I know him."
It is about an hour later, judging from the shadows lengthening and shortening across the desert, and they are slinking into the inside of the stables, finding themselves under the scrutiny of a stony umber gaze.
Anwar crosses his arms, knuckles white, tone accusatory, "You told her about him, didn't you?"
The handmaiden sits herself down on the dirtied, discoloured stack of hay. "We couldn't hide it from her forever."
Shahrazad fumes internally, glaring at the King's brother through narrowed lids. "You meant to keep it from me, even after it directly relates to me."
"I did not want you to worry, and complicate matters," he answers casually, brushing her off easily, and she pauses him midway.
She straightens her spine. "I know more about Afshar than anyone here."
"Oh yes, that noted spy," Anwar fires back, massaging his temple. "He almost had us all killed."
