Collaterals

Careful

She'd not bid him walk in step by her, and so he'd not dared do so. They were being watched. By the staff, by the Advisors, by the nobles still here since the day of the tragedy. She was being watched, and he would not have it appear that the princess was incapable, or that her silence was anything but grief. Yes. It was in grief that she remained silent. She'd take the time she deemed fit, and when it was time for her to speak, she would be unwavering. Strong. Yes.

Khaled stared at the back of her head. They'd braided it again, this time pining it up into a high bun that was loose enough to allow strands to move and even fall out the sides, as though the Lady-In-Waiting had not even wanted the tug of hair to burden the Princess. Khaled could imagine it, the Lady he'd appointed, helping Leila dress in silence, combing her hair and watching Leila's face for discomfort. Had Leila spoken in those moments of relative solitude? Had she appreciated the lessened staff? 

Had she even noticed?

Khaled kept his eyes trained on the back of her head. The Captain, as always, was behind them, two Diviner's behind him, and the group of Ladies-in- waiting still allowed to move with her in public. In a way, it was almost as though they were still courting, almost as though Khaled did not wear his parent's wedding bands around his neck, almost as though he'd not been preparing his household for all the requirements of a proposal, a royal one at that. 

The Young Prince's wing had more security than he'd ever seen it have before. One akin to that Ali had. It was odd to see, especially when Haitham had been known to enjoy his privacy, and the things he'd been able to do in such privacy.  And so only Leila, Khaled, and the Diviners were allowed into his quarters.

It was not to his reception they were let in, but past it, through the halls of his quarters, into an adjacent study. Leila had her hands idly clutched in front of her as she walked, shoulders lax in a way he'd not seen them before, as though she could not bother to go through the effort of straightening her back, of holding herself up. And the room...Haitham, too, seemed to share Leila's aversion to the nature's light, curtains drawn with only candles lighting the room. No incense burned here, though, the smell of bokhoor entirely absent from the room. In fact, the air was almost stale, a heavy thickness to it that reminded Khaled of Haitham's not so secret past-time habits. 

Perhaps it was just how many people there were in the room that caused the air to still. 

Heads turned to them, those seated rising, quick to bow or curtesy before Leila. Only Haitham remained on his chair, pale and beady with sweat, his bandaged hand settled into a sling over his bare shoulder. He did not to care for decorum, certainly not enough to don a shirt on, hair a tousled mess that stuck to his neck with sweat. Along the length of the long table were different papers, opened envelopes with broken seals. Khaled frowned. Those papers were eerily similar to the ones he'd been handling himself. Khaled peered at them: different maps of Aradian regions and the various roads the attackers could've used. Intel on the rebel groups.  Oh yes, similar enough that Khaled would do well to promptly return to the Advisor's Council room, the one he'd all but annexed the past few days, and look over the papers.

Haitham looked up at Leila, now, dragging a breath through his nose as though the rise and fall of his chest hurt. When he spoke, it was with a voice so gruff and husky that Khaled would have thought the Young Prince had grown into a haggard war general over the mere days since his operation.  "Forgive me for not rising, sister: the pain leaves me incapacitated."

Leila remained still in place. Khaled took a step forward, wanting to move by her side, wanting to see how she reacted to the bandaged stump on Haitham's forearm. 

Only he could do little as a body slithered by his side, leaving the tension undisturbed. "Where have you been all day?"

Khaled looked, now, to Advisor Hafiz. Why was he here? His eyes filtered through the room, spotting Advisor Nabil, Avisor Umran, and Advisor Mostafa. Why were any of them— save Adivsor Umran, who'd been personally overseeing the Prince's recovery from his amputation– here? Khaled looked to the Advisor to Defence, "All day? I last saw you at dawn, no?"

"And there have been changes since then, Young Lord," Advisor Hafiz looked to the Princess, now moving to her brother's side.

"Did the Prince beckon you here?" Khaled whispered.

"Yes. All of us on the High council, I think." He remained tight lipped.

"And yet only four of the High Council are here."

"Yes."

Khaled looked him over. And when the Advisor offered no more explanation, Khaled looked once more to Leila.  She was still as the statues carved into the ancient temples of Upper Aradia, screwed into place as though unsure what to do, where to go. Khaled scanned the room: looking. They were all looking. 

"Perhaps it would do well to lend them some privacy," Khaled took a step forward, but the Advisor held his arm.

"It is unwise to interrupt. The Prince has been irritable."

"I wouldn't know," Khaled said with little thought. "He has not left his room since his surgery."

"Neither has the Princess. And she walked out that night with minimal injuries," The Advisor retorted. His eyes skittered to where Leila sat, now, "To her body, at least. Her mind, though..."

"Careful," Khaled kept his voice calm, now. "She is now heir. Queen in a few days, even."

The Advisor gave him a long look. Then he nodded, letting go of Khaled's arm.

"I would have the room!" Haitham suddenly snapped. 

Khaled looked to the pair. He'd not seen whatever interaction had prompted the outburst, but all present were quick to filter out the room, bowing and curtsying. Khaled frowned, catching but a glimpse of Leila before moving out the room.