[ 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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE WIND BILLOWING HER CLOTHING IS dry and harsh, sweltering with particles of sand that cling between the curls of her hair. Anwar and she have ridden across the lanes of the humid kingdom, across the sands of time, and despite her resolve, Shahrazad is overcome with fatigue.
"How much longer?" She inquires, tugging at the reins sharply in her fist.
Halting in his tracks, the king's brother slants his eyes, squinting through the dusty ochre puffs washing over them. "They were somewhere here last I saw them, but Afshar keeps shifting the tents."
A wry smile glosses her lips. She had expected that. "When was the last time you came here?"
"It has been," he begins, rethinking, "two or three days, I suppose."
"Then they cannot be far off," Shahrazad assures, scanning the lengths, "It is not an easy task to move contingents."
Her throat is parched from the heat, and she gulps in response. Sensing her discomfort, Anwar untangles a camel-skin pouch attached to the horse, popping the wood stopper strung to it.
"Water," he offers, and she greedily drinks from it.
"Shukran," she thanks, wiping her lips with the jewelled sleeve of her shamla. The fine ends of it dig into her chin, reminding her of days and nights that make her heart ache. "Is that a flag in the distance?" She suddenly says, furrowing her brows.
Following the direction of her gaze, Anwar holds his hands over his dark eyes. "That is it, Malika, you have found it."
Waving vehemently through the air, like a bird fluttering its wings, is an umber hued flag. In the clouds of sand scattering into the air, it merges effortlessly with its bearings, and perhaps that is the intention.
Silently, she urges her horse forward, rounding farther until the apex of the dunes conceal her form, the least distance she can put between them before a sentry catches sight of her. "I recognise some of the men," she whispers, "they're old friends of baba's."
"Why," Anwar muses, "are they aiding him then?"
Shahrazad worries her forehead. "I do not know. I will be going there, and I need you to stay at the palace with one half of our contingent, in case they figure it all out. Laleh will be leading the rest here, and since they shift positions as you said, I will signal from the inside."
"A planned infiltration," he murmurs, rubbing his jaw. "But how will you signal us? We must know whether it is you or not. And what if they harm you to get to the King."
She touches his arm comfortingly. "I'll set it ablaze, if I must, and if there is anything I have learnt from the Khalifa, and my experience with Afshar, it is that he will be using me as a barter."
Holding her breath, she unmounts the horse, freeing it from the restricted cords running along its neck. "Take me to them as prisoner, Anwar," she sighs, holding the restraints forward.
