Collaterals

How Lucky, Then.

Khaled had not known the sound a heart made when it broke. Then his sword had flung through the air, thudded against the crack of a skull. And when the wretched creature of a man had fallen, he'd seen it all: Leila, eyes flashed wide against the splattered crimson of blood decorating her face. She'd called his name out– he who'd been Khaled's lifelong companion, his closest friend in this fleeting mortal life— before she'd run to him, grabbed his fallen body and cradled his head into her lap like a mother did a babe.

And when Ali had uttered what Khaled could only understand to be the final deliriousness of death, when Ali had taken his final whistling breath, Leila had looked up with her mouth opened wide and given that deafening wail. Khaled had never heard such a thing. And now, the sound haunted him in his sleep.

Well...what little sleep he'd gotten since that fateful night.

They'd discovered Haitham in an adjacent hallway, passed out as he bled through his mostly severed forearm. The physician had said that if the young prince had been discovered but moments later, he'd have lost more than his hand.

As for Zarqa...Khaled huffed as he dug the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to squash the memory away. As though sensing his dread, the door to his room flung open. Khaled pushed off the bed, already reaching for his shirt as mother walked into the room.

"She's moved, finally."

Khaled stopped, blinking at mother, "Leila?"

"Who else?" Mother raised a brow, mouth skewered to the side as she looked him over. For a moment, her eyes settled onto the pair of rings Khaled had looped into a silver necklace he now wore around his neck. She looked to him, "I thought to let you sleep some more before I told you. Only I see you've done little of that."

"It is not the time to sleep," Khaled moved to the wet room attached to his room. Ali had always ensured Khaled had adequate quarters when he spent nights in the palace, so that he'd be comfortable enough to not miss his own dwellings back home and— Khaled gulped the thoughts away. Ali was dead, now.

"No," mother hummed as she watched him lean down, bring the miswak to his teeth and scrub at them. "Another might even say it is the best time to seize an opportunity like this."

Khaled set the miswak down, ignoring that which she'd said for a moment as he gargled his mouth clean. He cupped some water into the joint palms of his hands, letting it wash over his face before he took a breath and turned, water dripping off his beard, "Mother—."

She raised her brows, shaking her head ironically, "Another, I said. Not one as noble as you, dearest, who abides by pledges sworn decades ago and to loyalties given to those now dead, by those whom are, also, now dead."

The feel of the towel's cloth was one Khaled savored atop his skin, patting along his face before setting the cloth by the basin. "The King is dead. His—," Khaled cleared his throat, "his heir is dead. And so the throne now moves to Leila."

Mother eyes stayed icy when she relented, "How lucky, then, that she finally does more than sleep and eat."

Khaled gave a long look to his mother. His father had not been one to wish for more. It was mother who'd wake father at dawn to see to their estates, mother who made it so father began to trade with the foreigners, and mother who made it so their family had acquired most hostels and rentals in the city. And when Khaled had taken over father's duties, it was mother who'd made it so the stewards, the tax collectors, the household staff,  and the local Qadis all knew to report to Khalid, all knew to recognize him as the new head of household. And now...with he throne in tatters and the nobles in chaos...did mother want more? Did she see Khaled— in the odd position of power he'd held over the past three days— did she see him now....on the throne? As their ancestors once were?

Did he?

Khaled shook his head before looking past mother, "Excuse me, mother. I should see her."

Mother grabbed his arm. For a moment, Khaled feared she'd  push her ideas, push him as she had father. She looked up at him before giving a coy smile, "You should dress, boy. I do hope you will not see your future bride in the same garb you've worn since her brother died."

Khaled looked down at his clothes. It was true, he'd had such little time to do anything but organize the chaos, answer to the ministers and the nobles and the head of staff, oversee the investigation held to understand who had ordered the attack, ensure all those present that night did not run off and exclaim to the people that their king was dead, his heir had choked on his own blood, his daughter fallen into a slumber so deep that she awoke ...Khaled wiped at his face before he nodded, "Yes. Yes, it'd be wise to change."