[ WATTYS '18 LONG-LISTED ]
❝ I have slit throats far more beautiful than yours.❞
In which a thousand brides have fallen, and she is the last, so she spins a tale as old as time to live the dawn.
| an arabian nights x beauty and the beast crossover...
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SHE RISES TO THE RAYS OF the sun hitting her lithe form, the slumber easing her distresses for the most fleeting of moments. It is the longest she has slept in a while. Wiping at the faint crust of sleep from the corner of her eyes, Shahrazad stirs quietly.
Laleh isn't there, although her dress has been laid out, and she hurries herself with it. The handmaiden usually accompanies the dawn, arriving in her chambers like the sun. Her absence is unusual.
Surprised, she peeks outside the windows, squinting through the assaulting brightness.
Before her is a kingdom in ruins, devoid of people. Miles and miles of arid land stretches, empty inside out. Then there is her, caught in a web of lies, blood, and war. And all this while the throne gleams, occupied by a heartless ruler, and desired by his brother.
Shahrazad feels like she's the pawn in between.
Stitching her brows in a seam, she pushes past the doors, greeted by the occasional stray guard. They bow on her way out, and she offers polite smiles, almost running into Farha. "In a rush, Malika?"
If she is being honest, this handmaiden is hardly likable. She is unreliable, speaking in vague terms, and it does not sit well with her. "Have you seen--"
"Laleh?" She says, popping pistachios into her mouth. "I'll guess that she's around the stable boy, that scorned substitute of Khalifa."
The storyteller smiles wryly. "Thank you, Farha."
She latches her gaze on the Queen, like she knows something that the rest of the palace doesn't. "Why didn't you leave when you had the chance?"
"What?"
"Yesterday," she exemplifies, drawing her embellished veils closer. "You could have left, but you didn't."
Shahrazad looks away, face burning. "I don't know what you mean."
The eunuch smiles, slipping past her quietly, the rest of her words breezing into the wind, unheard. "People are always watching, Malika."
Supporting herself against the polished pillar, Shahrazad glances at her retreating figure. Shaking her head, she turns down the corridor, tracing it through her faint memory. In a palace so grandiose and extravagant, it is difficult to manoeuvre without a guide.
After hours, she reaches the stables, slightly out of breath. Huffing, Shahrazad steps into the dingy area, wrinkling her nose from the stench of dirt. There are only mares and horses, and piles of straw, so she saunters towards the exit that leads her to the gardens. At the centre, surrounded by shrubs, is a fountain from which clear water springs, and sitting beside it is Laleh.
She is not alone, though. Anwar is crouching across her, talking. It is low, soft, breaking into stillness when the Queen approaches.
Anwar speaks first. "Someone attempted to break into the palace this morning."
