Collaterals

Say Anything.

She was not looking at him. No, she seemed very much preoccupied with her feet, tucked safely beneath her comforter. Her hair was simply braided, and her back was so casually reclined along lifted pillows that it felt wrong to look. And yet Khaled looked. He ignored the eyes— the so very many eyes— and moved towards her.

"Leila?"

But the Princess did not look away from her feet. Khaled took a step closer, "Leila—." But they were not alone, and she was not just Leila, not anymore, not even to him. He cleared his throat, "Your Royal Highness," he looked to her, waiting to see how she'd respond to the title. Only she remained impassive, and so Khaled continued, "I...I tried to see your Highness, yesterday. But they told me you were unwell."

The young lord pressed his lips together, glancing to the assembled retinue. He ignored them, moving to sit on the side of her bed. It did not occur to him how close he was to her, it did not occur to him that he'd never been this close to her before because in this very moment she truly very well may have been a million miles away and if only he could prompt her to just, to just look at him—

Khaled reached out, setting a hand on the one she had settled onto her lap.

Someone gasped.

Still, he would not think of the feel of his skin on hers, or the fact that her hands were so very cold and how could they possibly be this cold when they were so scorchingly deep into the summer and was it that the air had grown thicker or that he was just all too aware of how tense the room had gotten and—

Her eyes moved. Slowly, off her feet with such a daze— one that made him think it was unlikely she registered the room, the ladies-in-waiting or the diviners or the burning bokhoor— and slid to the side so that she was finally, finally looking at Khaled and;

he smiled. "Hello."

She only blinked.

"I...heard you ate, today."

The only real notion he received that told him she was, in fact, alive was the steady rise and fall of her chest. Khaled fought off the urge to shift in place, the urge to pull his hand off her unmoving one. Still, he could not hide the pleading from his voice when he asked, "Leila, can you— can you hear me?"

The silence was suffocating, scaffolding its way along Khaled's chest so that breathing had begun to grow uncomfortable.

But when she nodded...Khaled let out a breath. "Good. Good, that's..." he straightened, his hand sliding off her own as he gave her another smile, "Good."

The young lord looked past his shoulder, wishing he could have each staring eye averted, wishing for some semblance of privacy. He pressed his lips together as he looked to Leila, "How about we...promenade?"

He looked to her vacant expression, allowing her time to process the words, understand them. And when she opened her mouth, brows creased just slightly, Khaled scooted closer to her. Perhaps it was his movement, then, that frightened her because she closed her mouth, looking away from him. Khaled sighed, looking down at his lap.

What was this? Why wouldn't she speak? He did not care if she shouted, screamed. He did not care if she used that pretty mouth of hers to curse the foulest of language or cry out to the world, to the Almighty, to— to Khaled. To cry out and tell him she was hurt so that he may hold her, calm her, and tell her that he would sit with her, that he too felt the unenviable pull of sorrow, its tides strong and damning.

But she did none of that, so Khaled could do nothing but pull back the urge to yell at her, to grab her shoulders and shake her awake, to bid her speak. Instead he straightened his shoulders. He had a duty to her, now, a duty to Ali. Perhaps if she knew the truth, she would know there was no time to wallow, no time to sit in bed. There were kingdoms and revolutions and empires and a people who were not so stupid as to leave the death of their king, their heir, unnoticed.

"Very well. Then I ask you forgive my frankness, for I fear there is no time for semantics." He looked to the braid, now settled on her shoulder, so very neat. Had her maidservants bathed her fainted? Or had she been awake in her catatonia, unmoving and unfeeling? Khaled pushed all those thoughts down. He'd thought of this. The order with which he'd deliver the news.

"Her Majesty the Queen has passed. The Heir to the Crown, his Royal Highness Ali, as well." And yet he could not help the quiver in his voice when he said, "Her Royal highness Zarqa has passed."

Khaled cleared his throat, pushing back the emotion. Who was he to grieve her death? When he had seen it all and just stood there— he looked up. Leila was looking at him, eyes wide. Khaled looked away.

He would get through this. He would let her know. "His Majesty the King passed just one night ago, upon hearing of the tragedies."

Leila's eyes flittered away from his so that once more she was looking to her feet.

Khaled gulped, liking his lips as he tried to move even closer, "Your Highness. That leaves you as heir."

She did not respond, eyes so still he could see the reflection of the bed covers in them if he focused. "Leila, with the investigation still pending people will look to you to take the lead and— and it is imperative you make clear that you are—" he glanced back. These people. All these people. How would she lead them if they saw her...like this. How would they see anything but a sickly girl refusing to move and— Khaled frowned.

The door knocked, someone moving behind Khaled as he stared longingly to Leila. "I am...I am so very sorry for your loss, but—."

"Your Lordship."

It was the same Lady from before. The one who had stood between him and the door. "Yes?"

"Prince Haitham asks that his sister come see him."

Khaled raised a brow, "The Young Prince...Beckons the Heir to the Throne?"

She pressed her lips together, glancing behind her to where the Blue-Eyed Diviner stood. She took a moment, as though finding the words. "It is only...with his hand and all...The Prince finds himself in too much pain."

Khaled looked to Leila, who was looking to the girl, now. And so he sighed, nodding as he stood, "I shall await your Highness in your reception, if I am so allowed?"

And when no answer came, he looked down and bowed to Leila. His hands were fisted by his sides as he rose, looking to her pleadingly.

Say something, he pleaded with his eyes. Say anything.

But she did not so much as glance to him. And so he left.

It was in the reception that he turned, looking to the Lady-In-Waiting, "There needn't be so many in the room with her. It's suffocating."

"The Protocol—"

"The only Protocol that need be followed is the one that will aid her healing. Henceforth you may care for her. The rest of her staff can return when the Princess deems fit."

She gave him a long look, "And...the Diviners."

He thought back to the entourage lined alongside her wall. "Just two should do. And should anyone refuse you, let them know it is I whom you speak for."

She bowed her head in submission, "As your Lordship decrees."