The Royal feud✅

[22] A M N A

AMNA

It has been three days. Three days since the demise of the sultan. Three days since Dalia's arrest. These past three days have been dangerously slow and painful. It hurts to see Jawad in pain, and there is nothing I can do to take it away. Though he did not cry, but I can see the agony in his face, in his eyes and in his actions. He is trying hard to make me believe he is fine, but I don't miss the sad gleam in his eyes. The lazy smile he passes unlike the wide, enormous one he gave before that made my heart beat irregularly, uncontrollably.

I went to see Dalia yesterday. Unluckily for me, I wasn't able to have any conversation with her because two guards were standing close to her cell. The security around her has become tighter; I hope that isn't a bad sign. I asked for her wellbeing, but she only nodded her head. She didn't utter a word until I left. She wasn't in a mood to talk, or maybe she doesn't want to. I really want her to be out of that enclosure. I miss her. I wish everything will just return to normal.

Tonight, there is a prayer session holding at the Masjid for the sultan. I'm walking to the kitchen to supervise the food preparation when I see Khadijah's chamber. Yesterday, when I was returning from the dungeon, I stopped by at her chamber to console and offer my condolences, but her room was locked. The guards said she gave instructions that she doesn't want to see anyone. The death of the sultan must really be taking a toll on her.

Should I just keep walking to the kitchen or stop by to check on her again?

That's too late to answer because I'm already walking towards her door. I rap my knuckles on the door once.

"C-come in..." she stutters then sniffs. Is she crying? I twist the knob and enter into the room.

"Salam alaykum," I mutter. The room is quiet and dark, all the curtains are down. I can't seem to find Khadijah. My eyes scan the king-size bed, the settee, the drawer, the vanity, and she is nowhere there. "Khadijah?" I call out her name. I hear a muffled cry, that is when I look down. "Khadijah!" I rush to where she cramped herself between her bed and drawer. Her black long hair is over her face and her palms are on her eyes.

It seems like as I called her name, it gave way for the release of the cry she tried to muffle. Her cry becomes louder and she's shuddering greatly. "Khadijah..." I try to touch her.

"Don't touch me!" I flinch at the intensity of her tone. "Don't you ever touch me," she says lowly, but her glare is murderous. She stares at me with blood shot eyes that has tears pricking from its sides. What is wrong? Did I do something wrong? Or is she transferring her pain to me? That's perfectly okay. I should leave if she needs space.

I release my grip on the chair handle I didn't know I was holding, and then I straighten my posture. I tear my gaze away from her and duck my head down. I can't bear looking at her in that state.

"I came to offer my condolences and check on you, but if you need space, I'll give it to you." I peek to check if she's staring-oh, I mean glaring at me. And yes, she is. My eyes meet hers when I raise my head. "I hope-"

She shakes her head; tears continue streaming down her face. She cleans her face aggressively with her thumb. "I'm wondering how you're able to put on an act without blinking your eyes. Without feeling guilty." She stands and walks up to me. "How do you manage? How do you?"

Now I'm worried. What's she talking about? I've no idea, and I'm equally confused. She takes steps closer to me.

"What-"

"I trusted you..." she cleans her face again. It hurts to see her breaking like this. "My brother trusts you, Amna. I can see it in the way he looks at you. He never trusts anyone, but he trusts you. If he finds out, he'll be broken. You tricked us all. I should've answered my mother. She was right about you all along."