To Love A Prince

4.

***

They say that when death comes knocking, only then will true men rise up to the occasion. Men are born from chaos, and war is the spark which gives meaning to their lives. One does not hesitate when the time for action calls. When the sword trembles with the need to be wielded, and the shield aches in readiness for battle, you do not stop to think, or doubt or wonder. That is the time for action.

Arafat had this drilled into him from a very young age. And so, when he saw the pandemonium breaking out all around him, and he saw the armed men attacking his father, he did not stop to think. His sword was already in his hand, and he charged down the enemies without pausing to think.

Bello had stepped in between them and the sultan, and his own sword was drawn as well. He attacked the first man, and the two were locked in combat while the others continued on their path towards the sultan.

Arafat darted past the bystanders who were so shocked that they couldn't even move out of the way. His eyes were locked on his target's back, and the only thing on his mind was that he had to save his father.

The first man turned right as Arafat descended on him with his sword, and he was lucky enough to bring up his blade and stop the attack. Arafat rounded on him, and he used his height advantage to attack the man so quickly and deftly that he didn't even have a single second to breath. His blade stabbed into the man's chest, and Arafat kicked him away as he drew his blade once again.

Behind him, five more men had emerged from the crowd, and they all had their sights on the sultan's barouche. The few men from the crowd who tried to stop them were stabbed instantly, and bodies fell everywhere. Arafat whirled his horse around, and his gaze fell on the driver of the carriage who was frozen with fear.

"Fall back to the palace!" he barked at him, turning to face the enemies once again. Bello had struck down the other man, and he came to stop beside Arafat with his sword dripping with blood.

"We should fall back," he said. "Make for the palace, and let the soldiers deal with them."

"Over my dead body will I run from these worthless scum," Arafat spat before he charged at them, his grip tightening on the blade. Bello watched in awe as his brother struck down two of the men with one powerful slash of his blade, and he barrelled towards the others without even pausing for a breath. He was like a man possessed, driven purely by the need to protect. Several others were emerging from the crowd, all of them dressed in marching black garments and wielding daggers in their hands. Bello knew that he should be fighting alongside his brother, but he couldn't bring himself to move. The sultan's carriage had turned back already, and the guards flanked him on either side as they made their way back to the palace.

The crowd was scattering everywhere, and the screams of terror filled the air even louder than the drums from earlier. The insurgents were pouring in by the minute, and Arafat was the one who took them down the more they tried to advance.

When the battle seemed to swing in his brother's favour, the men threw their swords down and fled. Arafat chased them down, as did the soldiers who were now moving through what was left of the crowd and trying to restore order. Bello found the strength to move then, and he charged after his brother who was heading them off before they reached the gates of the city. Six men remained, and Arafat took them down one by one. Only two managed to get beyond the gate, and he would have chased them down if Bello didn't overtake him and block his path.

"Let them go," he said. "We should go back and check on father."

For a moment, it seemed like Arafat wasn't even listening to him. His eyes were filled with rage, and he looked like he could have taken on a hundred more men. But then he blinked, and his senses returned to him.