Collaterals

Stuffy

It was stuffy in the throne room. 

This was odd. Khaled had never known the throne room to be humid, the collective body heat of so many gathered people making it so that all charm it'd maintained in Khaled's memories were lost. He slithered past another noble, though he did not bother to stop and process who. They were all here, still. The palace gates were sealed, still. Another day had come and gone and nothing had changed, still. 

"Finally here?" Mother's eyes slid to look at him as she fanned her face. 

He settled in place, standing by her side at the front row overlooking the singular throne. Khaled cocked his head to the side, "I had matters to attend to..."

She frowned, "I don't see what you matters you possibly could have had what with the boy now running this madness."

"It is hardly proper to call the Prince— now next in line after Leila— a boy, mother."

"Even still," she said, taking a bored breath, "Only a boy would gather us as such. Have us here, standing, waiting, when some of the noble men and women have yet to retire to their homes  and recuperate since that horrid night."

Khaled only hummed in response, scanning the room as well as he could. Leila should be here. Surely she would not miss...whatever this was. "It is lucky Tameem did not attend that night. I only hope he is abale to handle the estate with all this chaos. I am sure he wonders what is keeping us from returning."

"I am sure he has already delegated all his responsibilities to Hassan," Mother countered.

Khaled chuckled, "Yes, well...my brothers each have their way of doing things."

Mother watched him laugh. She continued to fan herself, "I hope your little lady is done hiding."

"She is grieving," Khaled straightened. "Not hiding."

Mother only rolled her eyes. "Well her governess is here," she nodded to where the Captain stood, leaning by a wall, "and so she must be arriving." 

Khaled's head snapped to the side, "Mother—!"

"Oh, speak of the devil," Mother muttered as she let her fan fall into itself, curtsying. 

Khaled looked to where mother had been, blinking in disbelief before falling to a bow. There, from the side hallways that led to the throne, Leila emerged: impeccably dressed in Aradian fabrics, back straight as it was when she'd sworn fealty to Ali.

And so the whole room bowed, one right after the other, that incessant hum of chatter dying down so that a pin would be heard when dropped. Only Leila did not take a seat atop the throne. She merely moved past it, down the steps, and stood a few steps ahead of Khaled. He frowned, a hand fisting by his side. Far. She insisted on remaining so very far. 

Grieving, he reminded himself, she was grieving. 

Still, he'd not expected Haitham to emerge, finally dressed, his stump now properly bandaged. Not only was the Young Prince dressed, but he was entirely ordained in formal attire. One would think him ready to attend a coronation. Khaled frowned. He'd most certainly not expected to see Advisor Nabil, Advisor Hafiz, and Advisor Mustafa, all emerging with him, as though to showcase some sort of solidarity.

Still, the initial sight had not been enough to prepare Khaled for how Hatiham settled his hand on the back of the throne, admiring it while he stood, the way one admired a portrait not previously exhibited before. It was almost touching, as though the Young Prince were remembering his father. But Khaled knew Haitham better than that. He knew him well enough that the Young Lord's stomach had already dropped before Haitham had taken a step forward,

and sat onto the throne.  

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A.N: really short, I know! But I fell :( In pain but, god willing, I will have more through the week to make up for it!