Dead Girls Tell No Tales

t w e n t y - o n e

GLIMPSING THROUGH THE DARK night, gold inked pages peeking through fingers is not how she had expected her hours to pass. But Shahrazad is the crescent moon tonight, beaming shades of pale silver as she reads the words, weaving stories in her native tongue. 

Somehow, it is beautiful watching Shahryar trace the lettering. 

It has been a while since she has uttered tales and seen the sun rise from the dunes, blushing fervently as it bled into the skies. This time, it is different. It does not signify another day, a night escaped, but a beginning she yearns. "No death threats at all, Khalifa? Impressive."

He frowns then, lips thinning into an unimpressed line. "That fails to amuse me, Malika."

She cannot control the quiet laughter that escapes her, silently curling into the air of the library that houses a dearth of frayed scrolls and leather bound books. The ceiling to floor arrangement of books had beckoned her faster than the dwindling darkness of night, and she had fond herself reading, and reading until the first brush of dawn. 

It almost seemed to veil the simmering war in its fringes.

Shahrazad's arm reaches to shield her eyes from the glaring sunlight, and he observes the rays glittering across her bangles. "I would like to spend the day with you," he says quietly.

Her brows furrow, contemplating. The mornings comprise of preparations for the oncoming battle, but her heart races nonetheless. "And why would that be?"

The curling smile dimples through the shadows of his facial hair, teeth indenting his lip. "I suppose the Malika would have to find out for herself." He leisurely leans in, until his face angles beside her, whispering into her ear, "You see, she is very good at that." 

"She really is," Shahrazad adds smugly, folding her arms, walking towards the double doors. "And she accepts the invitation." 

Fingers reaching towards the handles, she steps behind in a startle when an unparalled force knocks it open in haste, Farah grimly staring at them. "Sire, you are needed immediately at court."

Shahryar's stance fluctuates, demeanour stoic suddenly, like a tiger stealthily grooming itself for the hunt. "What is it?"

Clutching the doorframe for support, Farah rushes her sceptical gaze towards the queen. "The bazaar  has been ransacked, and the shops torched, possibly in the late hours of last night."

His strides emanating power, Shahryar crosses her, poised before Farah. "Inform the head of the guards, the ministers, and my brother of this immediately."

The eunuch casts a brief look at Shahrazad, intently lingering for the longest time before she heads into hallways, speckles of sunlight seeming to evade her. 

"I have to," he mouths lowly, casting a softening expression. "But I would like a tale tonight, no matter what."

She shuts her eyes. "You should go, Khalifa, your ministers must be waiting."