It would be late in the night, five months before Shahin’s arrival to Mahsul, that Hala awoke from her sleep with a shrill scream. Haya, who had been mid-prayer at the time, rushed into her room with haste to sit at her daughter’s bedside and comfort her.


    “Hala, my love, did you have another bad dream?” She asked, bringing Hala into her arms.


    “Mother…” Hala said. “They never stop…!” She wept quietly, hugging Haya tightly.


    Haya squeezed her daughter, noticing a spot on the back of her robe: another opened wound. Never having seen Hala’s back, herself, she swallowed her fear and instructed her daughter to undress. Namir’s words of Bròn’s warning echoed in her mind, as she readied herself for whatever may lay beneath the gauze.


    “Let me change your bandages, darling.” She said, helping Hala disrobe.


    “Mother…don’t…” Hala said, cautious at the thought of her mother seeing her wounds.


    Her core shook as she took in the sight of the bandaging alone, the way it covered her from the base of her back, and up past her shoulder blades. She took a mental note of how the gauze had been wrapped, taking a new roll out of Hala’s bedside table and untucking the old bandages, letting them fall loosely. The moonlight illuminated her back, and what Haya saw mortified her. Deep carvings in her back, though a bit more than halfway healed, still had layers of tissue exposed. The scabbing and indentations in Hala’s back made Haya’s eyes widen with terror, as her hands began to shake. It looked like chunks of flesh had been scooped out of her back, leaving craters in their place. Rage boiled within her, starting at her stomach and pumping up into her chest, reaching her heart.


    “Darling…how did you ever live like this?” She asked, clumsily opening the healing salve as tears welled in her eyes. “How could someone do this to you…?”


    Hala remained silent, unable to answer her mother’s question. She was incredibly uncomfortable by her mother seeing her back, as if she had just shown Haya her worst nightmare. Hala tried to swallow her tears as her mother applied the salve, feeling shame and disgust towards herself. She could only hear her mother’s sniffles as the sensation of her fingers ran across her back, making Hala all the more entrenched in her self-loathing. The sound of her mother’s nose sniffling felt amplified due to the lack of words between the two; with Haya quickly wrapping the bandaging around Hala’s body, pulling them taught. After she finished, Haya wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and blotted her eyes with her sleeves. She stood from the bed, fetching a new robe from Hala’s closet. Hala stood from the bed, as her mother helped her into her new robe.


    “Hala…” Haya began. “I had no idea it was this bad…”


    “I’m sorry, Mother…” Hala said, still fighting back tears as she looked over her shoulder to Haya. “I didn’t want you to see my back…ever…”


    Haya looked sympathetically at her daughter, pulling her into a hug as another tear fell from her eyes. She quickly wiped it away, shaking her head at her daughter’s apology.


    “You’re not to be sorry for this. That man, on the other hand…” she said scornfully. Anger filled her voice in a way Hala thought unimaginable, making her nervous.


    “He’s going to pay.” She said in a low voice. “I’ll kill him myself, I swear to God.”


    Haya turned on her heels to leave the room, with Hala following just a step behind her.


    “Mother, please! Stop!” She called, stumbling as she followed her mother down the hall. Haya marched back to her chambers, with the commotion between the two causing Namir to wake up.


    “Themaz…!” Haya shouted, her voice raw with emotion.


    “Huh…?” Namir asked groggily, jolting up from his sleep.


    “I’m going to kill him myself…! That rat is as good as dead!” She scorned.


    “What man, Haya…? What are you talking about…?” He asked, rubbing his face vigorously. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Haya attempting to pick up his sword, only to hear it clank loudly as it hit the stand it was kept on. Namir rose from his bed, frantically assessing the situation. His eyes fell upon Hala, standing in the doorway with a meek expression.


    “Bròn was right, Themaz, her back is worse than anything you’ll ever see!” Haya exclaimed, looking at Namir with pained eyes. She had given up on picking up his sword, but her anger was palpable.


    “Her back…?” Namir asked, still piecing together the context of what was going on. As realization set in, he felt his adrenaline rush through his body.


    “You saw Hala’s back?” He asked.


    “She bled through the bandages, Namir, someone had to change them! It was horrific!” She stated.


    Namir looked to Hala, still standing behind the doorway fearfully. He inched towards her, looking at her as if he were trying to tame a wild beast.


    “Hala…” he said quietly, motioning for her to move from the doorway.


    “Come here, Mitalah. It’s okay.” He coaxed.


    Hala stayed put, refusing to listen to her father. His heart ached at her obstinance, knowing it was coming from a place of fear. Though she could fully understand her father, she was still intimidated by him—fully believing him to disdain her from having sent her to live in Otlak those years ago. Namir felt his pulse quicken as he tried once more to get his daughter to come see him, beckoning her in the gentlest voice he could muster.


    “Ya, Hala, it’s okay my dear. Baba just wants to see you. Please, Mitalah, come here.” He pleaded.


    Hala stood still for a moment, peering at him before taking a step from the doorway towards him. She approached him fearfully, keeping her shoulders tensed. Namir felt powerless in that moment, trying desperately to reach his daughter. As she came closer, he placed a hand on her shoulder, slowly reeling her in for a hug. For the first time in nine years, Namir was reminded of his daughter’s touch. Namir’s large frame dwarfed Hala, sending anxiety through her as he hugged her. She persevered, though, forcing herself to feel her father’s strong arms as they caressed her gently. He cooed to her, with a soft voice she hadn’t heard since her childhood.


    “It’s okay, Hala. Baba is here…you’re safe.” He whispered.


    Hala’s eyes pricked with tears at his voice, sounding so strained and quiet. She slowly wrapped her arms as far around him as she could reach, hugging him back and squeezing gently as her shoulders trembled. Finally able to express herself effectively, she spoke to her father.


    “Baba…why did you send me to that palace?” She said through soft cries.


    “I didn’t want to, Mitalah, believe me…” he said, sounding so remorseful it even made Haya’s eyes prick with tears.


    “I didn’t want to…” he repeated.


    “I thought you didn’t want me anymore, Baba…After he started hurting me…I thought you knew what he was going to do to me…”


    “No, Mitalah, I couldn’t have imagined in a million years what he was going to do to you. That man is a snake. I never should have trusted him. I’m so, so sorry.”


    “Please, don’t make me go back there…!” She cried, hugging him tighter. Her reopened wound stung as she squeezed him, holding onto him in sheer desperation.


    “I’d never.” Namir said with conviction.


    His daughter’s weakened state made his blood boil with rage, though he knew he couldn’t act on it quite yet. He squeezed Hala back gently, being mindful of her back given how Haya had mentioned her reopening a wound.


    “We can talk more in the morning, Mitalah. There’s much to discuss. For now, go back to bed.” He told her in a hushed voice, wiping her tears with his hand as he cradled her face. Hala nodded, letting go of her father as she turned around and left the room. Finally alone, Haya looked at Namir with a serious expression.


    “Do not look at her back, Namir.” She warned.


    “That immortal was right…it’s gruesome. If you take even a glimpse of it, you’ll go mad.”


    Namir felt both confused and miffed by the incessant warning he’d kept receiving, telling him not to look at his daughter’s wounds. It made his mind race with possibilities, wondering just how bad her condition truly was. He couldn’t help but wish he could see what was under her bandages, if only for a moment, to understand why everyone was so insistent for him not to lay his eyes upon it. He rubbed his face with his hand, wishing Abyad’s plan could quicken its pace. He sighed impatiently, placing his faith only in Abyad and whatever higher being was out there to help him lead both his family, and his people.


    ————————————————————————————————————


    The next morning, Zaima came to fetch Hala from her room. She helped her sit upright, pulling her hair back into a braid with the utmost care. She went to Hala’s closet to find a new robe for the day, choosing one of lavender color, and brought it to her.


    “I think this one will suit your skin nicely, Your Highness.” She complimented with a warm smile.


    Hala returned the smile, nodding in agreement and standing from the bed on her own. Zaima seemed concerned at first, but as she watched Hala balance herself, she offered minimal help to the Princess, knowing she’d be upset if treated too tenderly. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    “Al’Namir asked me to come get you, he was hoping to speak with you this morning over breakfast.” She said, tying the sash to Hala’s robe.


    “Okay…” Hala replied, feeling unsure of her father’s motives despite their heartfelt interaction the night prior. Her heart beat quickened with anticipation, as if she were going to be reprimanded.


    After being fully dressed, Zaima walked Hala to Namir’s room. The large cherry wood doors seemed much more forgiving in the morning light, as its deep auburn stain sparkled with the sun’s beams reflecting off of it. Zaima opened the door with impressive strength, and Hala crept in. Her father sat at his personal dining table, alone, with two plates of food before him. Hala inched into the room, still feeling her heat beat in her throat, as her father welcomed her with warm eyes.


    “Hala, come in.” He smiled.


    She took a few steps further into the room, making her way to the table slowly. Namir noticed how she limped a bit as she walked, placing less weight on her right side. As she sat, a small grunt escaped her lips. She looked at her father nervously, with her hands folded in her lap.


    “Eat, my child.” He said, motioning his hands to the food on the plate with a warm smile.


    Eggs with salt and pepper, mixed with grains and vegetables sat in front of her. The smell was mesmerizing to Hala, so she listened to her father’s beckon and picked up her fork.


    Namir followed suit, eating his food while also keeping an eye on Hala’s movements. She seemed to sit with her weight shifted to her left, indicating her right side was more tender to movement. His face fell as she met her own hand halfway to eat, unable to bring the fork fully to her own lips. Feeling her father’s eyes on her, she met his gaze. The morning rays bounced from the green haze in his eyes, allowing her to see his emotions clearly. Pity, sorrow, and grief could be read from the rings in his eyes, making her feel inadequate.


    “Father…” Hala began. “Why do you look at me in such a way?” She asked.


    Namir took a bite from his food, wiping his lips with his napkin as he chewed it. He thought about his answer for only a short moment, before answering her.


    “Because, Hala. Look at you. You used to be so…lively.” He said, trying to find the right words.


    “You’ve changed, and it’s all my fault.”


    His admission was a surprise to Hala, who had been expecting her father to be much more angry at her condition. She looked at him with shock, as a small wave of closure washed over her. Such a small exchange seemed to have a profound effect on the young woman, making her put her fork down and look at her father with appreciative eyes.


    “Baba…You said you didn’t know Shahin would do this to me, right?” She asked.


    Namir shook his head, appearing remorseful as he took another bite of his food. Though his expression remained stoic, his eyes expressed his grief with little attempt to hide it.


    “Then, I forgive you.” She stated bluntly.


    Her words caused him to look at her immediately, shocked at how easily she had offered her forgiveness to him. After all the times she’d yelled at him when he tried to visit her, he expected a similarly explosive conversation from her this morning. Her Mahsulah had gotten much better, with little Otlank accent as she spoke. He took a deep breath, letting it out and nodding in understanding.


    “Thank you, Mitalah.” He said. “I truly thought I’d never hear such words from you.”


    Hala was slightly surprised with herself, as well, finding her capacity for forgiveness to be far more than she’d anticipated. While the nagging voice in her head told her not to trust her father, she fought it by recalling all the times he’d been there for her as a child. He’d never purposefully steered her in the wrong direction, or laid a hand on her in a way to make her think he’d despised her. The narrative she’d created was one she’d allowed to run rampant for the sake of sanity. The two sat in the dining room, eating quietly for the most part. It was after they ate that Namir struck up conversation.


    “You know, he’d never say it…but Abyad missed you terribly.” He said, deciding Abyad could act as a good conversation starter between the two.


    Hala raised an eyebrow at Namir, smiling slightly.


    “Yeah?” She asked. “How so?”


    “The day after you married, he sat in his room pouting until Asad carried him out by the collar of his shirt.” Namir recalled with a humorous inflection.


    “If you’d have seen him, you would have cried of laughter.”


    Hala’s smile grew wider, imagining a young and wiry Idris fighting Asad as he forced him out of his room. She had many questions about how he had been during her absence, using the story as a doorway into them.


    “Was he happy, while I was gone?” She asked.


    A new glimmer shone in Namir’s eye, one Hala couldn’t quite pin an emotion to.


    “Heavens, no. He was snappy all the time, with a tongue as sharp as a blade. Asad had to start taking him to the sparring grounds to let off steam with me by the end of the first year.” He said, talking with his hands.


    “Once the boy gained some muscle, he was all about fighting. He tried to best me once, that was all it took for him to learn his place.” He continued.


    Hala seemed entertained by the idea of Abyad showing his rage, only knowing him to be calm and kind. She wondered what Namir did to put him in place, interjecting as he began to speak once more to inquire about it.


    “What did you do?” Hala asked.


    “I had Asad bring him to the training grounds and try to fight me.” Namir chortled. He seemed to recall the memory fondly, like it were coveted to him.


    “He barely ended up breaking some of the ground beneath him as I pummeled him for being to rough.”


    Her father’s might intrigued her, as she leaned into the table with her elbows to listen more intently to his story.


    “Father…you didn’t beat him up too horribly, did you?” She asked with a judgmental gaze.


    “I roughed him up a bit.” Namir winked. “The boy has a mean jab, but he was no match for me.”


    Hala raised her eyebrow at him once more, not very happy by his pride in his brute strength. He shifted in his seat under her watch, as if it were Haya scornfully looking at him.


    “The boy’s resilient.” He reassured her. “It was during his birthdays that he missed you the most, though.” He said, changing the topic.


    Hala’s eyes softened at Namir’s words, probing him to continue with her expression.


    “We tried throwing a couple of banquets for him, inviting nobility for him to socialize with…he was the life of the party, able to socialize with most anyone—but when no one was watching, he’d look around the room in search of something. I know deep in my heart, he was looking for you…” he said, looking at his now bare plate.


    Hala imagined the scene: Abyad acting as his usual self, livening up each face he’d come across and winning their hearts—only to have his own face fall with disappointment in the crowded room once the party goers were occupied with other things. The thought pulled at her heart strings, making her chest sink with sadness at her inability to have been at his birthday parties.


    “We sent invitations to Shahin’s palace.” Namir finally spoke up once more. “He asked us incessantly after each party why you hadn’t shown up—and all we had were letters saying you were away on personal matters with that Duke.”


    The King spoke the man’s name with disdain, as disgust filled his eyes. Hala watched her father intently, never recalling a letter ever reaching her eyes regarding Abyad’s birthdays. The sound of Shahin’s name sent a wave of cold blood through her, and her back emanated a deep ache from its wounds.


    “After the third party, Abyad said he didn’t want to throw them anymore—not if you weren’t going to come.” He admitted.


    This intrigued Hala once more, curious again as to why he seemed so attached to her. Deep down, she knew the reason—but her mouth would move before she had the chance to suppress her question.


    “Why?” She asked.


    Namir offered a somber smile at her, looking at her affectionately. He was endeared by her cluelessness, and thankful that her sense of wonder remained despite all that she had gone through.


    “Mitalah, why do you think?” He asked in return.


    “Because we’re friends?” She asked, looking at her father innocently.


    Her inability to broach the topic in an age-appropriate way made Namir laugh, as he shook his head.


    “I was never the best one to have these discussions with you…” he said after sighing.


    He looked at her knowingly, and she returned the look. Both of them were aware of the true reason for Abyad’s decision, but didn’t dare say it aloud. Hala, because she couldn’t come to terms with being loved; and Namir, because he knew the young adults were more than capable of coming to such conclusions on their own. Part of him, though, also kept quiet out of paternal instinct, wanting to keep his daughter away from any man than himself—to make sure no further harm could come her way.


    “Abyad is a good young man.” Namir finally said. “I’m glad you insisted on keeping him around.”


    Hala felt a sense of pride in Abyad, knowing he was a strong and loyal subject to her family during her time away from home. Just as she’d gotten lost in thought, imagining his transformation, Namir said something that piqued her interest.


    “While you were away, many women tried to admit their feelings for him.” He admitted, throwing the topic in ever-so casually. He eyed her with amusement, gauging her reaction.


    Hala’s initial response was one of little surprise, considering his appearance and kind demeanor—it wasn’t impossible for her to wrap her mind around the idea of women lining the Kingdom’s palace in an attempt to be wedded to him.


    “Did they?” She asked with a bit of a smirk. “I’ll bet he was pretty excited.” She commented.


    “They did…and he was, for a while.” Namir replied.


    Hala seemed entertained by Namir’s response, looking up at him with a glint in her eyes.


    “He dated a couple of girls, but he’d always complain that they had nothing to offer.” He recounted. “One was too quiet…the other was too needy…whenever I asked him how a woman was supposed to act—“ he said, cutting himself off with his own laughter.


    The Princess watched her father as a smile played at her own lips, intrigued to know the answer Abyad had given the King when asked such a question.


    “He’d always say ‘I don’t know! Like Hala?’” He said through laughter.


    Hala offered a pitiful laugh at the comment, finding it absurd. She recalled how she couldn’t find a suitor in her younger years due to her outspoken nature, and independence. It was almost comical to her, that she’d be his standard for how women ought to act. She shifted in her chair uncomfortably, feeling her back grow stiff and achy from remaining seated in the wooden chair for so long.


    “Did you and Mother miss me?” She asked after a long silence between the two.


    “Of course we did, Mitalah.” Namir replied, reaching his hand out and taking it in hers. The Princess looked at her father with a somewhat hopeful expression, happy to hear that her presence was missed.


    “We spoke of you every day, just not around Abyad.” He smiled, leaning into his elbow closest to her with a lighthearted expression. Hala smiled back at Namir, enjoying his warm nature.


    It was during their time together that they slowly rekindled their broken relationship, coming to understand where things had gone wrong. Namir explained later into their discussion how exactly Hala wound up forced into a marriage to Shahin, bridging the gaps in the story she had been told by the Duke. She kept many of the details private of what had occurred between the couple during their marriage, only discussing what she felt comfortable. Though Namir wanted to ask her more, he didn’t want to push her past what she could handle. It was only when Idris was mentioned that Namir noticed Hala’s eyes light up, causing him to smile whenever he saw the glimmer in her eyes reappear. He offered her words of wisdom, telling her to follow her heart—and to no longer feel obligated to find love for the sake of her kingdom; but for herself.


    Hala took his words to heart, thinking heavily over the next few months about how to go about speaking to Abyad; how to tell him she couldn’t fathom his seeing her as anything more than a friend, and express her inability to comprehend love as a whole after what Shahin had done to her. After four nights of careful, heavy deliberation, she’d come to her conclusion: she’d tell him how she felt in Mahsulah, a way that felt right for her. She conferred with Bròn on the topic, who encouraged her to embrace her womanhood and use it to her advantage.


    “Ya got yer figure back, ya may as well use it to yer advantage.” He commented slyly. “Whip out yer new fangled language skills sooner rather than later.”


    Hala recalled her time at the brothel in her teen-hood, wondering if the women in the establishment may have been onto something. She decided Bròn was right, even taking time to look at herself in the mirror in her spare time alone to figure out how to comfortably look appealing while still healing from her injuries. She was concocting her own plan to find herself, and where her heart wanted her to go, just as Abyad was concocting one to save his Kingdom and prove himself a man worthy of staying by Hala’s side.