8| His Weakness

First of all Eid mubarak to everyone who's celebrating it tomorrow ❤ may ALLAH keep you all safe and happy.

Secondly, I have a question. If there is merely two and a half hours time difference between India and Saudi Arabia, why is it that we celebrate Eid a day later???

I mean there is only one moon.

I have always wondered this. If anybody knows the answer do tell me. 🙈

H I S    W E A K N E S S

Hayat had desperately waited for the scroll she was promised by the rebels but a week had gone by since she started living in the palace and she had received nothing.

She had wondered if it was really Tayyab behind it for his allegations on her were on point.

She was perched on her bed, her eyes glued to the beautiful shamla that she was wearing, the intricate embroidery on it reminded her of home. Her dress was expensive but a cheaper version of this shamla had been owned by Hayat in the past, and it was probably still there in her tent.

Her heart started to harden at the memories, the tears had somewhat faded. She felt numb.

Except for at night, when she sometimes dreamt of them. Dreamt of their beautiful faces, their lips smiling and then she would see Tayyab, his sword drawn. She had seen him kill them one by one and by the time he reached her, his sword ready to pierce through her skin, she would wake up with a shriek, her hands trembling, sweat trickling down her forehead.

She would sometimes cry and sometimes not. She had stopped her maids from staying with her in the room. She didn't want them to ruin their sleep for her.

Hayat would sit on the silk mattress and cradle herself for a while, resting her chin on her knees, until her muscles relaxed, until terror drifted away and anger took it's place.

Hayat had wished she knew the name of the ayats that Mahnoor use to recite. She wanted to study the Quran. She wanted to learn arabic. Her father had discouraged her education, her amma had tried to convince him but he had simply ignored saying, "Girls should learn how to cook."

Hence, Hayat never knew what was written in the Quran. She only knew a few verse of it that she had remembered because she had to pray her salah.

When abduction of young girls had started, all of the girls in her Qasba were given a training to defend themselves incase they were ever attacked but Hayat's father had refused it too. He had said, "She knows her boundaries and Ahmar and I are there to protect her."

She regretted it, she wished she had tried to persuade him for if she knew how to fight, her first kill would have been Tayyab long ago. She would have done something to protect her family and not merely watch them die.

Hayat had received a scroll soon after Humza efendi had left. When she entered her chamber, she had seen a tray full of food placed on her bed.

It was odd because, it was always Zehra who brought her food. She tried to look for her but she could find no one in her chamber.

There was a glass full of sharbat and a few loaf of breads were kept on her plate. She scrutinized it with curiosity. This was not the usual food that was brought to her.

Just then a parchment had slipped from under the door to her chamber. She was puzzled and she had rushed to open the door at once, to see who it was but when she did, it was as if the person had vanished.

She went back in and bolted her door before picking up the parchment.

We need to know about the North tower. All we know is that there is a small dungeon within the palace somewhere. Find whatever you can. Look for a map of Al Qasr. We also need you to get closer to the prince of Hudaan. Be careful of him. Know his weakness. Do not disappoint us.

Or.. Hayat had understood the warning that was not scribbled accross it.

She had read it again and again. She knew she had to burn the parchment but since she had no resource to kindle a fire, she hid the piece of paper under her quilt cover.

She had barely seen half of the palace. Hayat knew she had to be very careful and look very naive because the king didn't trust her and Tayyab basically could see through her fake facade. Getting close to Tayyab was not even in the option, no matter how hard she tried, she could no way be in the same room as him without wanting to stab him to death.

She knew she couldn't keep wandering around in the tower, her only option were her maids. They were the only one's who thought she was innocent, they pitied her and they definitely knew the gossips of the palace.

That evening, Leila had relentlessly apologised for something she hadn't done. Hayat knew Leila couldn't exactly help her. Leila and Zehra sat around  her scrubbing sandalwood over her bronze skin while sharing gossips about the palace.

"How many children does Altamash bin Zoravar have?" They had already revealed that Tayyab had a half brother, Aziz bin Zubair and a half sister, Rumaysa ibn Husna.

Hayat was astonished to know that their mother was a Sahira. She had heard the story of Kingdom of Seher which was practically home to Sahiras like Husna and many unknown creatures she didn't even know the name of.

"No children. He is impotent. His wife stays locked up in her chamber. She doesn't really come out. Prince Tayyab sometimes goes to meet her because she took care of him when his mother died." Leila had replied.

"What about Aziz? Does he have a wife?" Silence befell in her chamber as Zehra looked distressed. "What's wrong?" Hayat was confused.

"Prince Aziz is not married. He has kaneezs. Lots of them. He doesn't marry them. He just throws them away when he's tired of them. Zehra had been his kaneez. She had fell in love with him but he discarded her like a piece of cloth last month." Hayat was disgusted, she loathed him before even meeting him.

"I am sorry Zehra. He didn't deserve you. Where is your  home? Why didn't you go back after whatever he did?" Zehra had simply lowered her head and gazed at her own feet. "I wanted to but when Aziz throws us away, we are not supposed to leave the palace for about a month. He wants to make sure that none of us are with his child. If he finds out about the pregnancy, the girl will be forced to give her child and then she'd be thrown away, never allowed to meet her child." Hayat couldn't believe her ears, the tyranny of the royal family had to be stopped.

"This is cruel. Does the king know what his sons are doing behind his back?" Hayat demanded. "Prince Tayyab is not the same. Meher was his one true love and The king knows yet he allows it." Hayat's curiosity was at its peak, she remembered the girl being mentioned by the King too.

"Who is Meher?" Hayat had asked almost immediately.

"Meher was a kaneez. She had been gifted to  prince Tayyab by his father. The prince didn't treat her like a Kaneez though. He demanded respect for her from everyone in the palace. He even fought for her with everyone. She was too innocent and often bullied. They were in love and he wanted to marry her." Leila disclosed.

"Yes, they looked really great together. She was soo beautiful." Added Zehra but soon after she realised how insensitive she had been, she apologised. "I am sorry my lady."

Hayat had only smiled, "It's fine Zehra, I have no feelings for him." Except for hatred, she wanted to add.

"What happened to her then?" Hayat asked.

"She just vanished. The prince had proposed her marriage but soon after it she was kidnapped by the rebels." Leila had explained.

"Prince Tayyab had gone crazy. I still remember that night. Everyone was worried for him. The general's father had died too." Had Hayat heard this story before, she would have sympathized with him but now she couldn't bring herself to feel bad for him. Knowing how cruel he was, he deserved every bit of it.

"So are you pregnant?" Hayat had turned to Zehra dismissing Tayyab's story, not wanting to hear anything good about him. Zehra had remained quiet. "I don't know. I am hoping not. I have no family and I have always yearned for it. If they take my child, I would prefer dying than enduring the pain of separation." Hayat had felt her pain and agony, knew what it was like to have no one.

What it was like to dream of a happy life.

On the day of the ball, Hayat had been seated on her sofa. Leila had been tugging on Hayat's waist length hair while Zehra dusted her bare shoulders with flakes of gold that caught the light from the setting sun.

"I don't wear necklace." Hayat said when Heba began to fasten jewel-encrusted behemoth around her throat.

"You will look very beautiful. The King would love it."

"But I don't like it."

Heba had forcefully clasped it around her neck, insisting that it would give her the regal look.They began to assist her in her gilded mantle.

As the two young women eased the weighty garment onto her glittering shoulders, Hayat studied the finished product in the mirror before her.

Her midnight tresses gleamed like polished obsidian, and her hazel eyes were edged in alternating strokes of black kohl and liquid gold. At the center of her brow hung a teardrop ruby the size of her thumb; its mate dangled from a thin chain around her bare waist, grazing the silk sash of her trousers. The mantle itself was pale damask and threaded with silver and gold in an intricate pattern that grew ever chaotic as it flared by her feet.

I look like a gilded fool.

She had thought.

She had felt anger. She had felt that she was betraying Ahmar and her parents. Celebrating with their killer made her feel ashamed of herself.

Later when she walked to the throne room, with her grief resounding through the halls, Hayat’s feet refused to carry her but a few steps down the cavernous corridors of the palace. She halted, her knees shaking beneath the thin silk of her voluminous sharwaar trousers. She would have to face people, would have to listen them belittle her.

“My lady?” one of the guards prompted in a bored tone

“Just a moment. Please.” Hayat gasped.

The guards exchanged clueless glances.

Her own tears threatening to blaze a telltale trail down her cheeks, Hayat pressed a hand to her chest. Unwittingly, her fingertips brushed the edge of the thick gold necklace clasped around her throat, festooned with gems of outlandish size and untold variety. It felt heavy . . . stifling. Like a bejeweled fetter. She allowed her fingers to wrap around the offending instrument, thinking for a moment to rip it from her body.

The rage was comforting. A friendly reminder.

Ahmar.. Amma.. Abba..

Her life.

She curled her toes within their sandals of braided bullion and threw back her shoulders once more. Without a word, she resumed her march.

Again, the guards looked to one another for an instant before following her.

When they reached the massive double doors leading into the throne room, Hayat realised her heart was racing at twice its normal speed. The doors swung open with a distended groan, and she focused on her target, ignoring all else around her.

At the very end of the immense space stood Prince Tayyab bin Zubair, the future Caliph of Hudaan.

The cruel emir.

The monster from her nightmares.

With every step she took, Hayat felt the hate rise in her blood, along with the clarity of purpose. She stared at him, her eyes never wavering. His proud carriage stood out amongst the men in his retinue, and details began to emerge the closer she drew to his side.

He was tall and trim, with the build of a young man proficient in warfare. His dark hair was straight and styled in a manner suggesting a desire for order in all things.

As she strode onto the dais, she looked up at him, refusing to balk, even in the presence of her king.

His thick eyebrows raised a fraction. They framed eyes so pale a shade of brown they appeared amber in certain flashes of light. His profile was an artist’s study in angles, and he remained motionless as he returned her watchful scrutiny.

A face that cut; a gaze that pierced.

He reached a hand out to her.

Be at your best behavior. This was his best behavior.

Just as she extended her palm to grasp it, she remembered to bow.

The wrath seethed below the surface, bringing a flush to her cheeks.

When she met his eyes again, he blinked once. She knew he was pretending to be nice to her and he knew she was pretending to not hate him.

The entire throne room was full of important people. People who needed to know that Hayat was alive, that the merciful king had murdered her parents for their crime and married the orphan girl to his son.

It was then that she had seen Aziz and Rumaysa too. Both were dressed in expensive clothing. Aziz had only surveyed her from a distance while Rumaysa had smiled at her.

"This is Hayat bin Hashmet. Her parents and her fiance had transgressed against the kingdom. They were executed by our brave soldiers however an innocent must not face the wrath. She is now the wife of my elder son and the future queen of this kingdom. This ball is in her honour. I expect you to treat her with dignity and respect. Lastly, enjoy the ball." The king had announced and people had clapped for them. Tayyab stood beside Hayat, looking ahead at his people. His hand held her's firmly.

The fingernails of her free hand dug into her palms; tiny crescents of steely resolve.

The night had only begun and she wondered if she could have unsheathed Tayyab's sword, clasped tightly around his waist and put it through his throat. It would merely take seconds before he would stop breathing.

The idea was tempting yet Hayat knew he didn't deserve to die an easy death. She would love to torture him and for that, she had to learn his weakness.

Shamla means an embroidered dressing gown or robe.

Sharbat is something I know you guys know.

Sharwaar is also something I know you guys know.

BTW Tayyab says Hi! 😁

Vote and comment please.❤