Alara

I couldn't drag my eyes away.

I wanted to—I swear, I wanted to. As they shoved the woman onto a empty metal table, her mouth muzzled like an animal unable to do anything but glare with ferocious eyes. Her dark hair pools around her as they tie her down and rip open her clothes.

One of the guards that I have never seen before sorts through an assortment of items made to cut and deform human skin. He lifts one up to assess it. It's a pair of scissors, the tips razor sharp and easily able to cut into human skin.

He places it back down on the tray beside the table. The woman watching, sighs in relief and learns her head back, until he picks up a strange object that seems to be shaped like a spice pestle, but the surface of it is covered in dull spikes. As if someone had hammered old needles into the surface. The guard seems to be satisfied with that one, and hands it over to another guard.

That is when the Hakeem speaks, as the woman eyes the weapon of choice. "We have given you more than enough time to make your choice. What shall it be?"

She stays silent, her chin tilting up to defy him. If she could open her mouth, I'm sure she would spit at the floor where he stands.

"Very well." He nods, and the guards take action.

Not even the muzzle could stop the screams that left her.

And still, my feet don't move. But my hands shake, uncontrollably. Why? There is not a thing that this woman could have done to deserve something like this.

The Hakeem is right there, watching like a curious student searching for answers. "Anything you have to add, now?" His voice is cold, matching the expression on his face. So different to the smile that he carried earlier.

She can barely catch her breath. Pained sobs rattle her body. The blood drips down her body, soaking her torn clothes and the table beneath her.

A hand weaves around my mouth and pulls me back, silently shutting the door. No. No. No. I know I should fight, but my brain refuses to co-operate, probably because it is stuck on the image of that poor woman.

The feeling of bone deep fear makes it impossible to scream. The same feeling as jumping from a high building—a fear so paralysing that I forgot to scream, I forget to blink, I forget to breathe.

The cold fingers holding my lips shut finally let go. I turn, pushing against a hard chest, to find the prince. He is assessing me warily. His golden brown hair falls is ruffled as if he had just woken up. He slowly grips onto my wrists, stopping me from pushing him away.

Each breath feels too slow, taking an eternity to fill my lungs. Finally, I regain the ability to speak. "Look, I know I wasn't that nice to you but please don't do this. I—please. Please don't do that to me. I won't say anything. My m—" My mom. If I die, what happens to her? At some point our neighbour will get tired of babysitting and leave her. "Please."

He tilts his head to the side, not saying a word. His eyes are darkened in the empty hallways. There are no guards around. I may not be able to fight a prince, but I could run from one.

So I do.

I turn on my heels and go as far as I can, avoiding the wooden tables that sit at spaced intervals holding candles or vases. The carpet makes it easier to run through the halls.

I can see it so much clearer now, the small indents in the walls that were previously unnoticeable. Now they are all that I can see. So many hidden doors, so many secrets.

That woman's scream continues in my mind, unending.

Until the prince catches up to me, grabbing me. His grip jerks us to a stop, causing him to crash into me. It takes us both down to the ground, and he rolls on top of me, pinning me to the rugs and stopping me from running again. "You really thought you could run from me?"

He isn't putting all of his weight on me, but I can still feel the hardness of his body, the heat radiating from him. I hope he can't see my double chin at this angle.

I tilt my chin up, shame refusing to let me meet his eyes. I barely made it down the hall. I've always been able to outrun people. I would have been a terrible thief without that skill.

"Get off." My chest rises and falls rapidly as I try to catch my breath. I don't care about the deal. I don't care about him liking me. I don't care about the money. When life is on the line, everything else ceases to matter. It's a funny thing, how priorities can change in an instant.

"Don't forget who you're talking to." His eyes slip to my lips. He likes it when I disrespect him? Men are strange.

"Does . . . Are you going to kill me?" Is that a question you should ask a killer? Wouldn't they say no, even if they were going to?

He seems like someone that would break a heart, but not stop it from beating all together. Then again, people in power do what they have to in order to remain in power.

But it wouldn't make sense to kill me.

It suddenly becomes glaringly obvious, the position we are in and how empty it is here. He could do much worse than kill me.

I place my hand on his chest. His shirt is the softest silk I have ever felt. One of these must cost more than everything I own combined.

"Possibly, if you keep talking to me as if I am a peasant." He glances down at my hand, then meets my eyes again. "What are your intentions here, Malaika?" The way he says that name is melodic. It confuses me.

"To survive," I say truthfully.

"Nothing more than survival?" he asks, his expression is saying a million things that his lips are not.

"What more is there? We work to survive; marry to survive; we eat to survive. We live every day hoping to make it to the next, and hoping that the people we care for do too."

He opens his mouth to say something, then decides against it.

"What?" I ask.

"That's . . . not the way royals think." My eyes widen, realising my mistake too late. He notices my shift of expression and stands, holding his hand out to help me up. "Plus, it sounds unbelievably boring spending your life trying not to die."

Easy to say when you live in a palace.

I take his hand, and he easily lifts me. My eyes trail to another door in the wall that is now closed, the screams of the woman no longer audible. Silence seems to vibrate around us. I want to ask why they're doing that to her, but questions can be dangerous—and I have already spoken too much.

He must know what is happening inside these walls. He didn't look shocked, or worried. "Ask what it is you want to ask," he says, exasperated.

But there's so many questions swarming in my head. "Will she be okay?"

He glances at the secret door. His back straightens and he rubs a hand against the back of his neck. His Adam's apple bobs. "We'll see."

We'll see? How could he be this calm? I take a step back. "What do they want? Did you know her? Did she stay here?" Am I next?

"I don't know. No. And no." He steps closer, reaching out to take ahold of my wrist, but I step out of reach. My hands fold against my chest. I don't trust him. He has his fathers smile; the one that hides too much.

"You're the prince. Stop them." I can feel my chest caving in on itself.

The previous plan doesn't matter anymore. There is no way to guarantee that the Hakeem didn't invite me to stay, so that he could do the same thing to me. I have to leave—but I can't let the prince know that.

He smiles. This fool smiles. I have never been a violent person, but that smile makes me want to hit him.

But looking a bit closer, it's not a smile of satisfaction or happiness. A small, forced tilt of the lips. It's an empty smile. "Do you really think my father would listen to my command?" he asks, as if the idea of it is ridiculous. "He is the Hakeem. He does as he pleases."

"No, I can't allow it." I step towards the door, but he blocks me.

I tilt my head up to glare at him, ending up closer than I would have liked. His silk shirt shifts, reflecting the soft light of the moon. "Now is not the time to be a hero. It will cost y—"

He is wrong. Because it will not cost me. If I can save one person—one life, then I will die successful.

I throw the secret door open, and every eye turns to me.

"Arkadi!" اركضي. Run.

~~*~~

Q: do you guys have plants / flowers in your room? (I have an obsession lol)

T w i t t e r : xPineappleGirlx
I n s t a g r a m : laylaawrites
Y o u t u b e : xThePineappleGirlx

Lots of love and jelly tots - xThePineappleGirlx