Abbas hated to admit that he was stuck. And yet, here he was, having insisted on bringing himself all the way into enemy lands, just because he thought he could solve the problem. Thinking he could bring back the Princess, let alone convince her to return with him.
How was he going to bring back the Princess with him? How was he to even begin convincing her when he had no idea how to talk to women?
Haifa, his wife, being the exception.
Abbas sighed, the thought of missing his wife made his chest tight. Haifa could have helped him, could have spoken to the Princess.
But, no. He could have never brought her into danger. Their own home had been unsafe at one point, and because of that, he vowed to never let that happen again. To ever put her in a danger again, because of him.
Abbas paused his pacing and shut his eyes.
The expressions of the young Prince and Princess flashed in his mind. He inhaled and exhaled, only to notice how shaky his breath was. No, he couldn't relapse into an anxiety attack now.
But the pure expressions of horror were something he could not forget.
"No," he murmured, refusing to let the whispers of the night tempt him into darkness.
Before they could, a knock pulled them to an abrupt stop.
He cracked open the door slowly and sighed in relief when he spotted his dear friend, General Musa, on the other side.
"Busy?"
Abbas gestured him inside, but not before searching the halls for any unwanted listeners. He couldn't be too sure when on enemy ground.
"Any progress?" Musa asked, taking a seat on the comforter by the foot of the bed.
Abbas sighed, shaking his head.
The General hummed back. Musa was three years older than him, the same age as Harun, which made them the best of friends. It was because of their bond, his brother had entrusted his dearest friend to accompany Abbas to Rughad. And any friend of Harun's was his too.
"And our men?" Abbas enquired.
"Restless, but wary. They highly disapprove of you traveling around the Palace without them,"
Abbas allowed his mouth to curve into a smile. "I appreciate their concern, but must I prove to you all again that I can fend for myself?"
Musa scoffed, remembering the wrestling match they had two nights ago. They had all reconvened in this very room after scouring their own for any suspicious items, for a quick briefing, when Abbas had received the invitation for breakfast with the King.
Every single one had volunteered to accompany him. But Abbas declined them all.
"I will attend alone." Abbas confirmed to the servant who had delivered the invite, and when he turned back to his men, the room was set ablaze by their furious glares. And so he challenged them all to a wrestling match, returning to the days of their youth when everything was decided by good old wrestling.
None but Musa had come close to defeating him. Musa may not have had the height of his, but his smaller, more agile limbs were able to slither past Abbas' iron grip locks.
The general's efforts did not go far when Abbas, knowing his friend all too well, lifted his light friend off the ground only to place his whole weight atop him. Musa could not wriggle free.
And so Abbas had attended alone, and thank god he did. If Musa had been there to witness the young Prince Masood's foolishness, his friend would have thrown the first punch before him.
"What of the Princess? Does she still refuse to return with us?" Musa asked.
Abbas gave a deep sigh, combing his hair back with his fingers.
"I hate to admit this, but I do not know how to proceed."
Musa hummed in thought.
"Well, I would have assumed that out of us, you would know how to get through to the heart of a young woman,"
Abbas laughed.
"The heart of my wife, yes, but not a stubborn hot-headed Princess."
"I wonder what your brother would make of her,"
"I wonder too. She is the complete opposite of the Queen,"
Abbas slumped himself on the majlis beside his friend.
"Have you thought about asking your wife? For help?"
"I cannot bring her here,"
"Of course not, what I mean to suggest is that have you written to her for help?"
Abbas sat up in his seat.
"Have you not sent her one letter since we arrived?" Musa asked again.
Abbas blinked.
"You heartless brute, have you not sent any correspondences since we left?"
"I sent one," Abbas mumbled.
Musa sighed. "If I had a wife, I would be sending her letters every day,"
The General wiped a fake tear from his eyes. "You married men take your spouses for advantage,"
Abbas bit his lip to hold his laughter. He patted his poor friend on the back. It was only recently that Musa had suffered from heartbreak, dissolving his dream of marriage.
"We really do. Don't worry Habeebi, the right time will come,"
Musa shrugged off the Prince's hand and lept up from the cushions.
"Your wife will be the best person to ask about this, so write to her, and we will go and post it together," he said, crossing his arms.
"But how can I trust it will reach her?"
"We must try," Musa affirmed, with a huff. A moment of pause drifted between them. "Go on,"
Abbas gave his friend a questioning look. "Right now?"
Musa grabbed him by the arms and pulled him up. "Yes, right now! We don't have time to waste!"
***
Since their previous encounter, Dalia had not seen the Scarred Prince again. It had been almost four days and clearly, his time was running out. So why had he not attempted to seek her out? Dalia would have thought he would be on his knees to her, but it was quite the opposite.
He really wasn't going to seek her out, or force her.
Dalia should have been focusing but the lull of the warm afternoon roused her mind to wander off, and all she could think about was the Scarred Prince and how to unscramble his iron personality.
From the moment the contingent from Balqaas had arrived, Dalia was afraid she would have to start tiptoeing around her home to avoid being approached, but it was quite the opposite. The Prince and his men did not intrude on anyone. It was like they had already left.
And to add to her list of worries, her father had not discussed the situation with her any further, let alone required her presence. Dalia felt unsettled. If there was something going on that she did not know about, Raysa would have collated information about the Palace for her.
Out of habit, Dalia slipped off her amber ring, an heirloom from her mother's side, and brought it up to her veiled mouth, pressing the cool gem on her tinted lips.
The sound of someone clearing their throat brought her back to the ground.
"Sahiba, you are drifting off again."
Dalia tore her gaze from the space she was spacing out to and turned to find the Head Librarian glaring her way. He gave her a condescending scoff, as he always did with the other female servants, and stroked the length of his white beard.
"Must I remind you that it was you who insisted I teach the same contents as I do with your brother? Yet, here you are making a folly of my time,"
Dalia imitated his scoff and rolled her eyes exaggeratingly. She slipped on her ring and adjusted her silk face veil.
The Head Librarian, like most of his scholarly friends, did not approve of her plea to the King to grant her the same education as Princes. Women were not raised to be intellectual, rather it was the duty of men to lead the country with their brains. And strength and strategy.
Women had no say in the matter. But Dalia made it a point to prove that her very existence was a protest against these societal norms. It upset many, including the women of the Harem, but that did not matter to her because Dalia had the support of the highest power, the King.
"What pressing matters must you return to my dearest teacher?" she said, leaning forward on her table and crossing her hands under her chin. "I assume you refer to entertaining the volumes of books around us with your romantic lines of poetry?"
The Head Librarian froze. His face began to turn crimson until it reached his ears.
Dalia did not hide the satisfaction in her eyes.
The old man turned away from her, clearing his throat once again. "I do not know what you are referring to," he murmured.
"You shouldn't trust your young scholars to keep their lips sealed. They even transmitted it word for word to me!"
"Sahiba-"
"I am but a prisoner to my heart-"
"Sahiba! Let us take a break here, "
Dalia lept up from her stool in celebration and bidding farewell to her extremely red-faced teacher, she dashed down the library halls, only to come face to face with none other than the scarred prince.
"My apologies, I was looking for the post room," The Prince mumbled, keeping his gaze away from meeting her surprised eyes.
"Didn't I tell you it was this way?" Came a voice behind him, and upon noticing her presence steered his eyes away after one glance.
"Sahiba," he greeted.
"Your bodyguard finally doing his job?" She smirked.
The Prince looked to his shorter companion and she could have sworn they exchanged an expression of amusement.
"This is General Musa, my dearest friend and yes, acting bodyguard."
Dalia's eyes fluttered between the two of them, pushing down a smile that threatened to make the corners of her lips rise. They were like a mirror reflection of each other, not in appearance but in actions. Both had their gazes fixed elsewhere apart from her.
At first, it had felt odd to her, even slightly insulting but why did it feel better than the times when men from other nations or even her own would gaze at her so boldly and most of the times, immodestly?
It made her question how respectfully she had been treated her entire life. And it made her wonder if all men from Balqaas were shy or just respectful.
It made her wonder about the King of such a nation.
Dalia shook the thought away. "The post room is on the other side of the Palace, who directed you this way?"
The pair frowned.
"It seems like the servants are not too fond of us either," The scarred Prince stated.
Dalia's eye glanced at the folded parchment in his hand.
"Who is the letter for?" She demanded.
Surely the Prince was naive to think he could just send his letter without it being examined for any hidden inscriptions, let alone be foolish enough to trust anyone to send his correspondences from here.
Abbas blinked and contemplated for a split second before admitting. "My wife,"
Dalia couldn't help but smirk more. It felt odd to associate the Prince with any form of affection.
"Follow me," She stated before waltzing past them. Dalia's lips moved in silent prayer, hoping they would follow.
"Sahiba, you don't have to take us there,"
It was the voice of the General.
"If I don't, no one will," she answered, and smiled when she heard their footsteps catch up behind her.
The two remained silent as she led them through the winding corridors. Many servants and maids stopped to look at them curiously, whispering to themselves. Dalia sighed, hoping no strange rumors would spread now that everyone had seen them together.
She hastened her steps cursing the servants who had conned the pair into leading them the furthest away from the post room to her.
"You have less than a week before your stay expires," Dalia admitted, shattering the silence.
"Indeed I do," came the Prince's gruff voice.
"And, dare I say, you have not made an effort to convince me,"
Dalia bit her tongue. What was she saying?
"How can I convince you?"
She almost paused in her steps but resumed her relentless pace, cushioned sandals slapping against the marble.
"Tell me about your King," she declared, letting the question which she had been dying to ask slide right off her tongue.
"What would you like to know?" the Prince responded, to her surprise, without an ounce of judgment in his tone.
But it was not him she wished to find out from. Dalia stopped just outside the doors that led to the outhouse and stables. She turned to the General.
"General, you tell me. How is he fairing as a young king?" His lips parted for a response but she quickly added, "And I do not appreciate lies,"
"Um, well..." Musa looked to Abbas for help but he could only give a shrug of his shoulders.
"I do not have any intentions of bad-mouthing by beloved King and friend, but forgive me if my words cause you to doubt," his friend reiterated.
Abbas smiled. "I will not hold anything against the truth, so speak my dear friend."
Musa inhaled deeply. "My king is young, so there is definitely a lot to learn. But he is welcome to learning and always seeks advice from us,"
Dalia nodded her head. "And how is he as a friend?"
"Definitely the most compassionate and sensible. Without him to stop us, we would have gotten ourselves into a lot of trouble when we were young," Musa chuckled. "We may be the same age but he stood out from us when it came to responsibility. It was engraved into him since young."
Dalia felt her chest constrict. It may have never been expected of her as a woman, but she always felt that sense of responsibility especially after her mother passed away, and even more so when the twins were born. A responsibility to lead her nation.
"And as a brother?" She said looking at the Prince.
"The most kind-hearted and caring individual in my family. My brother is very principled and firm in his beliefs. Yet the scariest when you anger him."
The mention of anger made her nervous. She had come so close to being on the receiving end of Masood's anger but her brother was too clever to know that one mark on her would only induce their father's anger. And so he took to harming the unfortunate servants who crossed his path, sometimes in front of her.
Dalia may have had to bite back her tongue in front of him, but she never not once did not visit the injured and provide the appropriate compensation.
She vowed to never marry a man who could not control his anger.
"How so?"
Noticing the slight change in her voice, Abbas glanced at the Princess and knew from the change in her demeanor that he had to be extra careful with how he answered next.
"His fury is like no other, it is deadly silent and contained. He may never lash out but his words of warning are like a sizzling fire,"
"I hear he already has a wife,"
"Indeed,"
Dalia took a second to respond. "Has he ever raised a hand against her?"
Abbas' eyes grew wide.
"Never, or at least from what we have seen. What happens away from us are their private affairs between them and their Lord, but I believe my brother would never do such a thing, not to his beloved wife-" He stopped abruptly, shutting his eyes.
"Our religious principles do not encourage such violence to anyone, let alone one's spouse," General Musa interrupted. "Unless there is a highly valid reason to do so, but even then it is highly discouraged. Our spouses are our garments and we must treat them with gentleness and compassion,"
Dalia felt the implications of his words lift the boulder off her chest. "Unfortunately, our culture has dominated our practices of religion. But I admire its influence in your society. I definitely notice the positive impact it has on an individual basis,"
"Does the idea of practicing religion feel burdensome to you?"
"No, I think it is refreshing,"
"About what you said earlier, it makes me wonder why your King wishes to take another wife when he clearly loves his first," she said, letting her voice drift off towards the end. Even allowing those words to escape felt like a stab in the chest.
"Does it bother you?"
Dalia laughed. Of course, it bothered her, but who was she fooling? Like many rulers across the region, her father had many wives, including a whole Harem of ladies to his disposition. But she wasn't going to admit it and make them think she was a selfish and immature child.
"Your letter," she demanded, stretching out her hand.
She noticed the reluctance in the scarred Prince but was thankful that he did not press any further and she did not have to ask him again when he placed it in her palm a second later.
"You may return the way we came. Rest assured, your letter will be posted under my responsibility,"
"How can we trust you?" Musa interjected, but Abbas placed a hand on his chest.
"We appreciate your help," The Prince nodded and pushing his friend from behind, left without further resistance.
Once they had rounded the corner and were out of sight, Dalia let out a slow, silent sigh. She clasped the parchment over her raging heart, taking deep breaths.
Only after she had calmed it to a distant beat, she entered the post room and unraveled the scroll. The mail boy dashed to the front to offer his respects.
"Sahiba, to what pleasure do we owe your presence?"
"Give me a second,"
She let a smile grace her face as her eyes skimmed over the neatly cursive letters. The subtle charm of his words was so befitting of him, and it made her wonder how his wife was able to bear him with such patience.
The next part made her burst out in laughter, earning a curious look from the mail boy. Dalia collected herself quickly and held out the letter to him.
"Check the letter for any hidden messages,"
"Yes Sahiba, but it may take a while,"
"I shall wait,"
The mail boy nodded and got to work. He dashed over to an unsteady-looking cabinet and pulled open its many tiny compartments until his eyes lit up at the right one. He then proceeded to pull out a small oil lamp and flint. Placing it on the tabletop by her, Dalia watched as he unscrew the compartment, and struck the flint a few times until a warm glow burst forth. He then held the parchment close enough for the heat to radiate onto the pages.
They both waited.
The boy repositioned another end of the paper, but the answer was clear enough. There were no hidden messages.
"Nothing Sahiba,"
"Have it posted with my Sulsul," Dalia affirmed, referring to her messenger falcon.
"Where to Sahiba?"
Dalia ushered him closer. Upon hearing the location, his eyes grew wide. Yet, he did not question any further as he brought her bird, prepared it for flight, and sent it off, the cool wind soaring its wings higher for the long journey across the desert.
Glossary:
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Aw our poor Prince! Where's our Haifa when you need her?! Oh right, he didn't want to bring her along lol. Also, what do you think he wrote in his letter to Eric that made Dalia laugh? Comment your suggestions, and I look forward to having a laugh myself!