CHAPTER ONE

MAZEEDA WAS NOT A SMART girl, but she was a clever one. Indeed, her quick tongue and persuasive mind would save her life.

Because her looks will not be enough for the Caliph's cold blade.

As the two maids took out her braids in a haste, a story was building in her head. A story so magnificent and grand she will live to see another day.

Because her life was not for the taking. The warm crimson liquid in her will not spill out to these luxurious carpets. And her throat will not be touched by the murderous king.

But Mazeeda would gladly take his life without a single thought. Feel his blood on her fingers. Let it paint the sand red for all the girls who died before her.

She would be a martyr. She who went to serve the Caliph was a savior, bringing life to many others girls for just another day.

And she would be dead.

This time though, Mazeeda was determined to live for more than a day.

The smell of jasmine began to fill the room and the aroma gave her a pounding headache.

Her obsidian hair was down, reaching just past her butt. Her family dress -sewed by Mazeeda and her mother- was no ordinary one. She had stitched the elegant yellow embroidery on the collar, wrist, and ends of the royal blue dress.

But together, with her mother, they had also woven secrets and dreams into this dress. Things that could never really come true, just simple wishes.

And now she laid bare in front of two maids she didn't know. Her dishdashah neatly folded on the dark bed.

The maids worked effortlessly to take off the jewelry, knowing exactly what to do.

They ushered her into the steaming tub, where the smell of jasmine was not helping her frantic nerves.

One of her caretakers pushed her down, wetting her entire body from head to toe. When Mazeeda resurfaced, she coughed relentlessly.

Living in the sand for so long had made this much water feel foreign against her sun-burnt skin. They were going to clean her to the bone, ridding any traces of home on her.

And be reborn again as the Caliph's wife.

The jasmine smell was beating against her head relentlessly, a war that was so painful she wanted to yell. "Why jasmine?"

It was her first words to the maids, surprising them. The one scrubbing off the henna inclined her head. "It is what the Caliph desires, Malika."

She avoided Mazeeda's stare, looking instead at the intricate henna designs that ran up to her elbow.

Mazeeda said nothing else for the rest of the time, simply watching the two as they scrubbed all the sand from her. They cut her nails, trimmed her hair, and redrew new hennas that matched the qasr.

In her new dress, she looked like she had lived in these walls for years. It was elegant, simple, and yet so heavy.

She sat on cushions lined with the finest silk in the kingdom. A platter of figs and olives were placed nearby.

She would not touch it.

The maids stood in front of her, eyes casted down, like a mouse trying to hide from an eagle. "Malika," the taller one said, the same girl who answered Mazeeda's question. "We are to leave now. The Caliph should be coming in right after."

"Thank you," Mazeeda told them. Her voice was soft, like darkness caressing the beginning of dawn.

They left then, leaving the Malika with her raging thoughts.

She repeated to herself, I will not die. I will not die. I will not die.

To the point where it turned into, I will live. I will live. I will live.

Mazeeda was half asleep when she heard the sharp click that belonged to the sturdy doors. She straightened her back and compressed all her turbulent thoughts into bleakness.

Their eyes locked, the silence in the room so quiet a pin drop would be deafening.

He wore silks just like her, his dark purple was a contrast to her lighter one. His trousers hung just above his waist with an exuberant, but simple belt that wrapped around four times.

His shirt had big sleeves that extended to his wrist, where a gold bracelet lay against his bronze skin that was lighter than hers.

The dress her maids chose for her was simple, with ties -once tugged with enough force- would display her body beneath it.

If there came a time where Mazeeda had to undress him, she wouldn't know how.

She prayed that it would never come to that.

The Caliph sat on the cushion across from her, sitting with a straighten back just like Mazeeda.

She squinted her eyes, making them slits, as she thought if he was mocking her.

He crossed his feet at the ankle before saying, "I have heard a great deal about you, Malika."

She felt his gaze on her and returned it. "And I you." Her eyes quickly glanced at the dagger tucked at his side.

He smiled, displaying his white teeth, straight with no gaps in them. Mazeeda did not trust his smile. It was as deceiving as a sick camel -you never know if it is until it's dead.

"And what have you heard, love of my heart?"

She scowled at what he called her. It made her feel strange. "That you, Caliph Khai Al-Fadhli of Yaheisea, was a great hunter. Greater than anyone has seen. And then, you became reckless and stopped."

Khai's smile was still on display and Mazeeda wanted to snatch it away. His voice was smooth and confident when he spoke. "You come here to seek answers. Answers I will not give out so easily."

His hand with the bracelet skimmed the hilt of the blade, quick enough to go unnoticed.

But not to Mazeeda. It was the only thing she could focus on.

"I look for no answers." And what she said was true.

The Caliph found it hard to believe every word that came out her lips. "Then tell me, Mazeeda Bahjat, why have you come here instead of your friend? Whom has been rumored to be far more beautiful than you."

"Even for a powerful man like you, seeing a woman only for their appearance, is quite low." She expected far more modesty from this man.

He laughed, tilting his head back, teeth gleaming against the light. It would have been a warm and contagious laugh if it was anyone but the king.

He leaned forward, and Mazeedap had to fight the urge to lean back. He was testing her, she knew it. There was a sense of wickedness in his eyes as he spoke. "Say, Malika, are you afraid of me?"

She scowled at him, her face strained like she was trying to move an object with her mind. "No. There is nothing to fear."

Another smile. This time, it reminded her of a rattlesnake in her village, always there but never striking. "You do not fear that I can call upon your death, right here in this room at any moment, if you do not satisfy me?"

Her eyes instantly fell onto the dagger that was now in his beautifully calloused hand. "I know that you can and that you will." She was finally able to pull out of the trance that the dagger bestowed upon her and looked at her husband. "Sandstorms are summoned without warning, coming fast and lethal. And if you aren't sheltered, there is nothing to fear. For it will take your life without a single thought."

His handsome face became serious, and Mazeeda came to realize that no matter what face he displayed, it would be flawless.

"What you say is true," he crafted his words carefully. His hand caressed his dagger. "But that will not save you."

It was so swift and quick that Mazeeda did not react when Khai grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him. The sharp curved blade was now pressed against her warm neck.

She swallowed.

The blade felt like a tundra against her beating neck, so cold it burned. She was sure blood was coming out. Just a little further and her life would be his.

She would not give it to him so easily.

They were millimeters apart, face to face for the first time this night. And Mazeeda realized that this murderer, the Caliph of this kingdom, was merely a boy.

A cold-hearted, cold-blooded boy.

She practically sat in his lap now, and she felt uncomfortable in this tight dress. But she looked him in the eyes, brown against brown, and said, "No, indeed you are right. But this story will."