I awoke the next morning to the floral fragrance of Tiger Lilies tickling my nostrils. As my eyes fluttered open, I caught their vibrant red and orange petals in my peripheral. The sight alone stirred a memory within me I thought I’d lost to time.


    ‘Tiger Lilies would be nice…’


    ‘Much more befitting of the daughter of Al’Namir.’


    My eyes burned with a sobering sense of awakening, and my heart lurched. There was no way I had been so stupid, so unimaginably ignorant. My body moved faster than I could think, grabbing one of the flowers from the intricately blown vase and springing up from the bed. My feet argued with me each step to the door, begging me to stop, but I prevailed. I was resilient. My time in Otlak was proof of that. If I could survive six years of brutal torture, I was more than capable of walking the distance it took to find my childhood friend. I opened the door and strode through the halls—limped may be a more apt descriptor—as servants and maidens and eunuchs watched me with looks of bewilderment. For the first time in nine years, the palace staff laid eyes upon me. For the first time in nine years, I was walking with more of a purpose than ever. For the first time in nine years: I was going to see Idris. I remembered his curly, unkempt hair. The way he shrank in the presence of strangers. I recalled how he spoke with the calmness of Jidhaq fasting, and his ability to deceive even the wisest of scholars into believing a tall tale he’d weaved together in the blink of an eye. The memories were clearer than the daylight that flooded the large windows of the palace, shimmering upon the marble flooring.


    The maidens and eunuchs littering the halls scrambled at my sudden appearance, both amazed and horrified by what they saw. One step at a time I willed my body. One step at a time my body barked back in anger. I stared down a servant, beckoning him over, and he ushered to me with haste.


    “Have you seen Abyad?” I managed to ask in a shoddy string of Mahsulah.


    “…over by the training grounds with Asad, Your Highness…” was all I could understand as he concernedly tried to offer me help. I refused it, biting back the anguish that tore through my body as I walked further. I managed a faster pace than I’d expected, nothing but sheer determination fueling my steps.


    One step at a time. I reminded myself.


    Palace staff watched through the courtyards, eyeing me with disbelief. It almost made me angry—I was more than some damaged girl who’d found the courage to walk. I was the daughter of Al’Namir—how dare they balk at my tenacity?


    I laid eyes upon the sparring grounds in no time, still clutching the stem of the Tiger Lily tight in my fist. I saw Uncle before anyone else—his large frame almost dwarfing Abyad’s more lean build. He was no Uncle, but by God he had become such a large man. I gathered all the air I could in my winded lungs, all the courage from within my weak body.


    “Abyad!” I called from the other end of the sparring grounds.


    Abyad turned around, his face filling with apprehension as he laid eyes upon me.


    “Hala…?” He asked as he jogged over to me with wide eyes. I stared at him, willing myself to continue standing despite my body’s pleas to stop.


    “I came to ask you…” I began, taking a tired breath and lifting up the Tiger Lily. “If you had any clue as to who brought me a bouquet of these…this morning…” Abyad smiled warmly at me in response.


    “It was me, Princess. I saw them in the garden and asked a servant to bring them to your room. They’re stunning, aren’t they?” He asked.


    I looked at him with a perplexed, scornful expression.


    “They are…but why this flower?”


    “Because…” Abyad said, offering a playful look. “They suit you.”


    “Abyad…you…” I said, trying my hardest to hold myself up on my own two feet. “You’re playing a joke on me, aren’t you?” My knees gave out after that.


    Abyad’s face fell, just like my body had, as he quickly reached out and caught me. I let out a pained moan, feeling his arm slam into my back to break my fall.


    “A joke? No, Themaz, the flowers suit you.” He repeated. His eyes had a glimmer in them that I recognized, almost like he was trying to hold back a laugh.


    “You’re the worst, you know that?” I spat. “You bring me these flowers; make me come all the way out here to you to ask about them, and then answer with ‘they suit you, Themaz,’” I mocked his voice as I spoke, my face scrunched with pain and annoyance as I shot him daggers. It felt like there wasn’t enough strength in the world to hold me up using my own feet. He was holding most of my weight, and even then, I was still gripping his tunic with all my power to stay upright.


    Abyad let out a small laugh, as Uncle finally made his way over to us. The two had a quick exchange of words that I didn’t fully understand. I could tell Uncle wasn’t pleased to see me out and about—he was disgruntled, to say the least. He looked from me to my friend, the same disapproving glare as when he’d first caught us on the beach all those years ago. Another demand from Uncle, and Abyad nodded as he loosed another breathy laugh. I was fully wrapped in his arms, now, as he carried me with a smirk and murmured something under his breath in Mahsulah. I shot him an annoyed glance, unable to understand him.


    “What did you just say?” I asked.


    “Nothing, Princess.” He chuckled.


    I wanted to smack him. He knew how I felt about him calling me by my title—even when I didn’t know who he was, I’d told him to stop using it. Idris could see the annoyance on my face, his smile growing wider. He was enjoying this.


    “I can’t believe you.” I spat. “I wasted my time thinking about you.”


    “Oh?” Abyad questioned with a wry smile, peering down at me. “Have I been the topic of your daydreams, Princess?”


    He was smug now, much more smug than our childhood. I couldn’t blame him, though. He went from a young boy whose clothes swallowed him whole to a strapping young man, wearing clothing that had been tailored to the centimeter to fit his muscle-bound torso. I swallowed the anger that bubbled within my throat, nearly tasting its bile-y presence inside of me.


    I kept my voice quiet, but harsh. “That’s not what I mean.”


    “Do explain, then. In detail.”


    I eyed him with pure fury for a split second, huffing.


    “I could embarrass you so badly right now, if I wanted to.” I threatened. He raised an eyebrow, his smile unwavering.


    “And how would you do that?” He asked.


    We travelled through the courtyard as I kept my harsh words to myself. The servants who had gawked at me before were in for an even more entertaining show, now. My face was hot with embarrassment, being carried by the boy I once ran laps around. It was its own form of torture, watching them whisper amongst themselves smiling. A particular woman caught sight of us in an interesting dress, one I’d never dare to wear in public, with a plunging neckline. The dress was hardly long enough to cover her behind, making my own legs grow goosebumps imagining the air against them. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Her eyes narrowed on me, before widening in disbelief. I instinctually buried my head into Abyad’s chest to hide from her scornful gaze, much too embarrassed to maintain eye contact. The woman was familiar, but I had hardly regained the memories of my early teens at the time to recognize her fully.


    “How might you embarrass me?” He asked again, stopping in his tracks. It was as if he wanted the woman to see us together.


    “Don’t test me, Abyad.” I growled, head still buried.


    “I’d love nothing more.” He quipped back in response.


    My cheeks were burning. With a sheepish expression, I squared my shoulders to the best of my ability. Putting on a facade of confidence, I picked my head up from his chest and looked him in the eyes.


    “I’m no idiot, Idris.” I said, just loud enough for him to hear.


    His eyes widened, and I relished in the stifled bristle I felt from his body. The woman watching us was frozen with envy, but I had hardly noticed her as Idris braved my taunting. Another hypnotic smile graced his features as he stepped back into his facade.


    “I never said you were.” He drew close to my face as he said it, his voice lulling me into relaxing my shoulders.


    “I just wanted to quicken the process.”


    “Quicken your steps.” I managed to muster.


    He was right in front of me, his eyes searing into mine. Our lips were far too close—our noses almost touching. I wriggled from the discomfort, trying to create some distance. Idris’ newfound strength—it was a vice-like grip, keeping me in place. I would have panicked, had I not been so familiar with the man who kept our faces so unbearably close.


    “I’d rather not.” He japed, readjusting me in his arms before pulling away. My cheeks had to have been more blushed than ever. I could feel the heat beneath them, bubbling and simmering. The wounds in my back were a dull ache as I watched him with baited breath.


    Abyad fell into a casual pace once more, strolling through the courtyard with me as if I were a set of armor he’d been tasked to deliver back to Father’s armory. I forgot how far I’d walked on my own. The trip back to my room felt like it took an entire season. It wasn’t until we were out of that woman’s sight that Idris’ facade fell once more, and his steps quickened. Servants made way for us, some of the same faces I’d seen as I made my way to the training grounds now watched me with disappointment or remorse.


    “I can’t believe you lied to me.” I said, my voice showing more hurt than I’d have wanted.


    “Did I lie?” He asked. “You never mentioned an ‘Idris’.”


    I kept my mouth shut. He was right. I hadn’t directly asked about Idris, not to his face or to any of the servants. Maybe it was because something deep within me knew he was there the whole time. Maybe it was out of fear that he’d abandoned me. Whatever the reason, I felt nothing but a simmering anger at how right he was. When we made it to the Grand Building, he held me in one arm as he opened the doors. I winced, and his apologetic eyes met mine. I knew he was doing this for me, to help me, but I couldn’t help the annoyed glance I shot him. He was Idris in that moment. The way his shoulders slumped as his arms wrapped back around me. The way his feet almost dragged as he made it to my quarters, braving each step up. He managed to get the door open with both arms still wrapped around me, his elbows doing most of the work on the lever.


    “Idris, I—” I began.


    “I’d prefer not to be called that, Princess.” He said quietly. I bristled at his words.


    “Why not?” I asked innocently.


    Abyad steeled his resolve, shifting on his feet as if ready to get into a brawl. I almost sank into the bed, my body finally catching up with all of the movement I’d forced it through.


    “Because, Hala. I’ve always hated my name. I’m no mastermind. My parents gave me my name in hopes I’d make it somewhere—do something. I didn’t get here from my own plotting or scheming. I couldn’t even stop you from…” His throat bobbed. “From that bastard.”


    My face softened at his words, heart wrenching in sadness. Idris truly blamed himself for everything. He didn’t see how brilliant he was. He was unaware of how I saw him—as both a man, and my friend. I was rigid with apprehension as I sat there, watching him with a pained expression.


    “Abyad…” I said, feeling the name as foreign to me as my own mother tongue. “I’d never blame you for this. You told me that you didn’t want me to go—”


    “And it still wasn’t enough.” He interjected.


    “We were young, Abyad. We were children.” My voice strained in desperation, my heart aching for him to understand.


    “And I spent my time as a child hiding—from you, from your Father and Uncle; from the strength I could have attained earlier on. I could have done more, Hala.”


    He was holding back tears as he spoke, voice thick with emotion. An opining desire to have accomplished the impossible in what little time we’d had together. The daylight was at its peak by now, shining on his face. His eyes were the same shade of blue as the Hydrangeas we’d passed in the courtyard, pinning me in place as tears threatened them. I was more than captivated by the man before me; still the meager boy I’d once known, but hiding it now with a charming facade.


    “You couldn’t have been a better friend to me in those years, Idr—Abyad.” I had to correct myself. “Please…I’m telling you…you had nothing to do with what I’ve become. I’m like this because my father decided to marry me off to a despicable human being. This had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with him.” Bitterness lined my voice.


    “Your Father was backed into a corner, Hala. Shahin tried to ruin Mahsul’s reputation, and he wasn’t going to let up until he was given your hand. He lied about Zarvan, he lied about taking care of you.” Idris replied with an authoritative edge. He was trying to offer insight, but I was having none of it.


    “So then he should have let Mahsul’s name get dragged through the dirt.” I replied coldly.


    “I’m sure he wishes he had. He hasn’t seen your back, Hala, both Bròn and I specifically told him he shouldn’t.” He explained.


    “Because you want to shield him from the consequences of his decision?” I asked with an edge.


    “No, Hala, because he’d probably declare war on Otlak if he saw what’d happened to you!” He was almost screaming, talking with his hands as I sat gripping the side of the mattress; anger’s bile-y taste now present on my tongue, in my throat.


    “And why would that be so bad?!” I matched his volume.


    “We can’t just go about that right now.” Idris sighed, bringing his hands to his eyes and massaging them.


    I felt my heart in my stomach, like I was falling from the highest peak of the palace. I’d never get the vindication I wanted so severely, so desperately. My hands shook with anger as I clamped down harder on the bed, furling the sheets in my fists. I wished I had the ability to lash out like a child in that moment. My back made that far too difficult. Not only were my emotions bubbling within me, a kettle on high; my body was in resounding pain. I fought tears as I looked to Abyad, his hands falling back to his side as chagrin filled those ever-clear, usually calm, eyes. He was at war with himself.


    “Forgive me…” he murmured in Mahsulah as he walked up to the edge of the bed. His arms wrapped around me in their usual fashion, my head pressed against his abdomen. He was so strong, I could feel it beneath his tunic, but he always managed to keep his touch so gentle with me. For the first time since coming home all those weeks ago, it clicked: Idris was hugging me. My hands loosened from the bedside, reaching up, up, up as they shook. How they managed to settle around his waist, I’m unsure. I hugged him back, the smell of Agar Wood filling my nostrils. A scent I hadn’t noticed before.


    “When did you start wearing musk?” I asked trying to stave off the lump in my throat. I needed a distraction.


    “Several years ago.” He replied. Air blew through his nostrils—a laugh.


    “And how long were you going to keep your identity from me?” I questioned, my voice raising in pitch.


    “As long as it took for you to recognize me. I figured you needed a little help.”


    Craning my neck to look up at him, I caught his real smile. His full lips were thin now, as they pulled to the corners of his mouth. Pure ivory were his teeth, and a hint of pain in his cool eyes. This was the smile I was used to from him, always slightly upset about something. Most people didn’t see it: how the left side of his mouth twitched when he was smiling. He never showed them that, especially now that he’d mastered a philanderer of a persona.


    The idea of Idris; little, skinny Idris, standing fully in that persona as he walked through the courtyard, his hand lingering on that woman’s hip, flashed through my mind. The same woman who’d eyed me with envy. It was almost laughable. But that day, he was more than glorious after training—he was aglow. The seductive air about him made my heart gallop, as I sat in my bed watching him. How the woman enraged me; hanging by his neck like a lemur from a branch. When he smiled at her, his mouth hadn’t twitched. He was fluid. Graceful. His eyes were filled with the same amusement as a cat capturing a Kilsank Dove. He wasn’t the man he was in the very moment he was looking at me.


    I didn’t want to stop looking at this smile. He looked more like Idris in that moment than any other, despite the once unkempt curls that were now meticulously styled to fall back and away from his face. Despite his once scrawny shoulders that were now broad and brawny, with fabric that hugged them so flatteringly. He wasn’t Abyad—he was still shy, little Idris. I wondered if he still saw me for my younger self, in that moment, despite the way my eyes had lost their fire. I was a smothered flame by now, without so much as coals beneath the dirt that had put me out. Fate had bestowed me horrible dealings, and I didn’t know if I’d ever come out on top. I forced a small smile to my face, trying so hard to pretend I wasn’t broken and beyond repair.


    “You’re a jerk.” I insulted.


    “I know.” He replied, the left corner of his mouth twitching again as he still bore that brilliant smile.


    Despite the clouds that loomed over my mind, body, and soul—there he was again. A guiding light; a beacon of hope.