One Thousand and One Nights

xvii

Hello!! I know I have been gone for 865458 years but tbh I wrote this chapter 2 times before I changed the entire plot and went with this.

So, a quick recap of what happened because it has been so long: Scheherazade escaped the palace after she found out that the king remarried, he brought her back after killing his new bride (as usual smh) and they had a ball where he killed the Persian ambassador who had tried to rape Scheherazade and who was disrespecting her. There also was a shahrazade "moment" ;) and our main bish is going to try to find out more about the rebellion.

Fear.

The kind that is silent yet loud because it drowns out any assurance of safety until the only remaining reality is how fast-approaching the end is.

The kind that crawls out of the throat and makes blood feel like ice in the veins.

The kind that makes the heart seem like a bird trying to escape its cage, until the rhythm of the heavy thump thump thump is enough to drive any man insane.

And in that moment, Scheherazade was paralyzed by this sinister monster that had decided to take control of her body. She didn't know whether to focus on the feral look that twisted Shahryar's features until he looked like a creature of the night or on the blood that clung to him like a second string.

Or perhaps she should have focused on the body of the only man who had ever tried to save her.

* * * * * *

Two Days Earlier

Scheherazade's door opened without a knock.

She bolted upright, half asleep and half alarmed that the soldiers had come to kill her again, even though it seemed highly unlikely.

He was standing in the doorway, hair disheveled and clothes dirty. The only source of light in the room was from the small lantern that Scheherazade always kept lit at night, and it was currently casting shadows on his face that made his cheeks seem hollow and his eyes empty.

His face was bruised, and there was blood everywhere; on his clothes, on his skin , on his hands.

A silent moment passed where they simply stared at each other.

Shahryar's eyes were frightening, almost unrecognizable. He had shut off all his emotions again.

Did they deserve it? Scheherazade wanted to ask. Were they innocent?

Instead, she asked "How many?"

He took a deep breath and averted his gaze to the window. More coldness stilled him and stiffened his shoulders.

"Twelve."

Scheherazade got off the bed and walked up to him, her bare feet pausing a few inches away from his.

He blankly watched her hand graze his shoulder then cup his cheek. He closed his eyes and slowly, almost imperceptibly, he relaxed.

"Did they deserve it?" Her voice was soft, making it seem like the topic that they were discussing was not as grave as it really was.

He opened his eyes, and as always, Scheherazade was shaken by the intensity with which he looked at her.

"They deserved worse."

Standing so close to him, she could smell the blood and sweat that clung to his clothes. But she could also make out the scent that belonged to him only and that always managed to draw her closer.

He leaned into her palm, his stubble scratching his skin.

"I could not get rid of them."

"Of who?"