Her duties devoured her free time as soon as they returned to the castle. She couldn’t even get some time for her sword training. She even moved her training with Haitham to early in the morning, before even the castle came to life. After breakfast, she would go around the town inspecting the preparations for the yearly festivities—the Throne Day.

  Haitham was tense as they walked around the town. His playful demeanor did not show as he walked a couple of steps behind her, too much distance than usual. He was silent, too silent for her liking. She never thought there’d be a day when she would coax him to talk. His answers were curt and precise. Gone were his witty and teasing comments, the tidbit of information he offered her each time she stumbled upon something the princess was supposed to know already.

  She shot him a concerned look. She could see the muscles in his neck shifting tersely as he swallowed. Noticing her gaze, he tilted his head to the side. His eyebrow raised quizzically when she said nothing.

  A villager inched closer to her before she could inquire about what was bothering him. She saw Mazin straighten his posture and tighten his hold over the hilt of his sword.

  She knew she had to intervene before the situation escalated. With a raised hand, she halted the villager’s advance, and her tense shoulders relaxed as the knight’s stance softened, though his gaze remained fixed on the old man.

  A tragedy had been averted.

  It was unnerving how the knights still didn’t trust the villagers around her.

  “Your Highness, we would be immensely grateful if you set your holy eyes on the blacksmith’s contribution to the festivities.” He clasped his calloused hands together as if in a prayer.

  Daliya smiled. “Of course.” She nodded. It was a simple request, but a request nonetheless. It was also the first time anyone dared approach her and ask anything of her. Daliya became giddy with excitement. She might not have been the real princess, but caring for them had become her job now.

  Her smile soon fell as she saw the bronze statue the blacksmiths presented to her.

  Ah. Now she knew why Haitham was acting distant. This festival wasn’t just to celebrate the emperor’s ascent to the throne but to commemorate the fall of the Kingdom of Siraj—the birthplace of Haitham.

  A man adorned with a crown of flames was on the ground, his hand held in front of him in a futile attempt to protect himself from the sword descending over him. The emperor’s expression was hard and cold as he regarded the pleading monarch.

  The old man stood at the front of his group. They looked at her, eyes hopeful, awaiting her praise. She wanted to turn and walk back to the castle, dragging the silent assassin back where he could express his grief, away from prying eyes.

  She tried to smile, though she doubted she succeeded. The blacksmiths shifted on their feet, hopeful expressions gone with her silence. They glanced at each other, silent words passing between them.

  Daliya chanced a glance at Haitham and found him staring back at her. His jaw was set, and his expression unreadable. She felt something terrible would happen if she did not take him away from this place and from this statue. Something told her he was purposefully avoiding looking at it as if his last thread of sanity would be gone were he to.

  “I believe the emperor would be more pleased with something that nuances the peace he had achieved for the empire,” she told the anxious blacksmiths. “How about something that memorates his ascension to the throne?” The blacksmiths hesitantly glanced at her before nodding. “Perfect! I expect great things from you,” Then, she turned to Mazin. “I’ll be heading back to the castle.”

  He made to follow her, but she stopped him. “No. It’s fine. You can stay here and make sure everything is ready for the festivities.”

  He hesitated. For a second, Daliya thought she would have to reword her request into an order from the princess. But he bowed.

  “Of course, your Highness.”

  Haitham disappeared as soon as they entered the castle grounds. Daliya went to her chambers and waited. She could go and look for him. She doubted getting him to tell her all that bothered him would be easy. So, she stayed in her room, where he would find her if he wanted to talk. There was nothing else for her to do. She had already handed the festivities’ preparations to Mazin.

  A trickle of guilt shot through her chest. It seemed like she was leaving all her duties to the knight captain. Worse, he never complained; he just bowed and did her bidding. She should thank him once he got back. Without his help managing official duties, she would have been found out long ago.

  Hours after, it wasn’t Haitham who sought her out. She sat next to the window, watching the color turn from pale blue to orange and then to a deeper shade of red. Just as she debated whether to seek him out herself, a knock sounded.

  “It’s open,” she called, her mind lost in all the things she could tell him.

  What could comfort someone who had lost his home, his country, his everything? Everything that made him the man he was had been destroyed by the empire. And still, as if the blood spilt wsn’t enough, the warring nation still sought them out, velifying them and hunting them dowm like animals,

  Daliya straightened. But when the door opened, Mazin entered, not her bodyguard. He bowed and stood silent.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He glanced at her, then back to the floor.

  “You can speak freely.”

  He nodded, but a moment passed, and he still didn’t utter a word.

  Daliya sighed. Why was it hard to get the people around her to talk like normal people? It was at these moments that she felt an aching for her world. People would rant for hours without prompting.

  Another knock sounded, and a maid opened the door. She paused at the entrance. At Daliya’s nod, she asked about when she planned to have dinner. Taking it as her chance to escape the awkwardness, she stood up, casually telling her she would look for her missing guard first, but they would have dinner in the hall, as usual.

  The castle’s servants had loosened around her a little. Sometimes, they would glance silently at her, gouging her mood, keeping away at the first sign of a frown. At these times, she found herself missing Thuraya. Her friend was healing, but it would be a while before she would be back to the castle.

  “Your Highness,” Mazin called, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “If you’ll allow me, I would like to ask again to reconsider your involvement with the assassin.”

  “He’s no longer an assassin. He’s my guard,” she reminded him.

  Mazin paused, swallowing whatever words he intended to say, thinking better of it.

  “Earlier…your Highness’s departure stirred quite the talk in the village,” he started. Daliya waited for him to continue. She had a hench where this was going. “They think the princess no longer approves of the empire’s conquests, that Your Highness is displeased with the emperor’s methods.”

  It wasn’t really a secret. Daliya had never approved of the way the empire dealt with its own people, let alone the ones they conquered. It was like they weren’t considered humans in the eyes of the emperor—mere numbers instead of individual people with their own hopes and dreams.

  Something shifted in Mazin’s face. Whatever he saw on her face made him falter.

  “Your Highness. Disagreeing with the empire means disagreeing with the emperor. Your Highness will lose his favor if His Majesty hears about this. I urge you to give this a second thought.”

  “Are you asking me to celebrate the massacre of a whole nation?”

  “I’m asking you to preserve your life!”

  Daliya remained still, taken aback by the intensity in Mazin’s voice. He had never dared raise his voice in her presence. Noticing his slip, he bowed deeply, apologies falling from his tense form.

  She waved him off.

  “You can leave now. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

  He hesitated as if wanting to say more. But Daliya was having none of it. She was tired. She was tired and angry at everything and everyone. She wanted to imprint some sense into these people’s heads. She wanted to yell at them. Massacres weren’t something a person should be proud about. They weren’t something to be displayed as glorious.

  But she didn’t want to direct her anger at the wrong person. She feared she would say something she would regret once she calmed down. Mazin wasn’t the one responsible for the deaths of those thousands and thousands of innocents. He was merely trying to look out for her.

  She took a deep breath, forcing her clenched hands to loosen. She could already feel the pinpricks of pain as her nails dug into the skin of her palm.

  “Leave.”

  Hurt flickered momentarily in his eyes. He bowed and left.

  Daliya stood there, unmoving, debating what to do next.

  “He’s right, you know.”

  She whirled around. Haitham was sitting on the window sill, his legs dangling outside.

  “Since when were you here?”

  “Since we came back.”

  Daliya gawked at him. She was waiting for him all this time, and here he was, perched like a crow, just outside her window.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re stalking me in my chambers now?”

  He shrugged, a small smile tracing his lips. “I’m your bodyguard, aren’t I?” he pinched his chin in feigned thought. “How did you describe it? Always near the employer, protecting his body from any harm. Aren’t I doing the same?”

  Daliya pinched the bridge of her nose.

  This little…

  She stilled, then shot him a startled look. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sleeping here!”

  He grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Insufferable!”

  She threw her slipper at his head. It connected with a satisfying thump. But then, in its momentum, it fell off to the other side, disappearing down the sill. She hurried to the window, watching as it fell, smacking over the head of one of the guards before tumbling to the ground. Daliya jerked back, yanking Haitham with her right before the guard looked up. They stayed on the ground, silent, listening to the guard’s quizzical voice.

  She turned to Haitham, words ready in her mouth to chastise him. But before she could get a word in, he burst out laughing. Something eased in her chest. She swatted him gently on the back of his head before joining him, not caring if any of the guards below heard their unhinged laughter.

  They sat side by side, watching the light cast by the moon on the carpeted floor. They had long missed dinner, but still, none of them moved. One issued meal was hardly something to fret about. Daliya had survived on less.

  What was suspicious, though, was that the maids had yet to knock on her door to inquire about her absence. Not even the head butler had come nagging about missed meals and whatnot.

  “Tomorrow, you should tell the blacksmith to keep the statue.”

  “But–”

  “Much as it pains me to admit, the showoff is right. Better not rouse any suspension.” at Daliya’s displeased look, he continued, “This is not my first year living through Throne Day. It has been more than ten years since the fall of Siraj. I’m used to it.” He shrugged. “Besides, I barely remember what happened. I was still a child, barely over eight.” He smiled. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  Daliya wanted to argue with him. He didn’t look fine. He looked anything but fine. He was inches away from breaking down.

  But dislike it as she might, he was right.

  Mazin was right.

  She should be more careful.

  She sighed. “Fine.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “For trying to stop it.”

  She nodded.

  They stayed silent for a while, then Haitham chuckled. “You think it’s still there?”

  “What?”

  “Your slipper.”

  He cackled as she groaned.

  The next day, she found her missing slipper waiting for her next to its pair.

  She didn’t dare ask who brought it back.