Collaterals

Habebti

Trigger warning: gore.

Khaled was not sure what she'd done.

Suddenly, the brute had leapt off her, holding his hands out, palms open as he shrieked in pain. His shouts hadn't lasted very long. Leila all but fell off him, now, prying her sword out of his skull as Khaled watched in horror.

Tameem's hand was on his shoulder. Moments ago, it had been holding him back as he'd meant to interfere, somehow. Only now the hand went lax, the entire crowd silent as they watched the Princess fall to the ground.

Three men began to pull the dead man away, and by the time they'd cleared him off, Leila had collapsed. It took a moment for Khaled to notice the yellow scarf, discarded in a hand that was now uselessly lax by her side, the other holding onto the pommel of her blade for dear life. It took Tameem pushing him forward for Khaled to finally rush to her.

"Leila."

Her eyes closed as she grit her teeth.

"Leila, listen."

She shook her head, face cringed in pain.

Khaled glanced to the hourglass, where the Advisor peered. At some point, a crowd had gathered outside the palace gates, heads pressed onto the the metal bars as they looked ahead. They, too, stood quiet. And so Khaled gulped, moving even closer before kneeling. He reached for her, only to pause: heat was pulsing out of her in waves. Khaled took a breath, feeling the stares pinned on his every action. And so he pressed forward, hand shaking as it peeled off the blood soaked shirt,  a gasp jammed in his throat, lips curled.

He couldn't see anything past the torn flesh, blood seeping out as water did through a stone grate. He let the bloodied flab of fabric go, fingers slick with blood. The Young Lord ignored the sick churn of his stomach as he glanced to the hourglass once more. "I have to move you."

She shook her head frantically, sweat sticking hair onto her face as it dripped down the tip of her nose. 

"Leila, there is no time. Seal the wound. Do you understand me? You have to seal it. Cauterize it. Leila!"

Only she would not stop shaking her head, the ground's dirt clinging to her face. Khaled grit his teeth. There was no time for decorum, not as he stepped over her, slid behind her so her back was to his chest, and curved his arms around her bloodied torso.

He almost let her go. Heat plunged through his shirt, biting at bits of his exposed skin: he grit his teeth against it. The Young Lord clasped a hand over a forearm and another onto her flesh. 

"Forgive me," was all he managed to plead before he pulled her up.

Leila pushed against him, at first, trying desperately to get away. Only to go lax at that very same moment, throwing her entire weight against her so he stumbled. He'd never expected her to be this heavy.

And when she looked up, mouth open so wide that Khaled knew, he just knew that she was wailing... The Young Lord looked away, blinking the blur doting his vision, "I'm sorry." Khaled forced his feet to move as he ignored the blood wetting his own shirt, the words like a desperate prayer, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

She gasped, her breath rasping against a sob she did not have the energy to give. 

It was all he could do to ignore her, setting her down at Tammy's feet,  and looking away as she curled inward once more. Khaled turned, unable to meet his brother's eyes.

It was to Haitham he looked, now, the Lords and Ladies of the court parting as Khaled took a few steps forward. "My Liege. I ask that I be allowed to speak on your highness's Champion's stead."

Haitham's eyes were glued on Leila, teeth grit. Slowly, he nodded.

"She must seal her wound. If you would allow her to remove the cuffs, if only to seal the wound—."

"The Prince has already ordered she be allowed only that which he—," Advisor Hafez began.

Only Haitham raised a hand, "This advantage is not within the duel. I will allow it. But the cuffs return after."

Khaled nodded, his hands clutching each other as he dawdled in place. He looked around, and for a moment his eyes settled on his mother's cool gaze. She raised a brow at him, her fan stilled in her hand as she made to move toward him.

"I believe your time is up, Lord." Advisor Adel was tender when he reminded.

Khaled blinked, breathing as he nodded more to himself than to the Advisor, bowing before he forced himself to turn.

Her sword. He needed her sword. 

The Captain had kneeled by her, watching as the Blue-Eyed Diviner rushed to her side. Only Khaled crouched just in front of her. He opened his mouth to speak, but found he could do little more than gulp. His hand was gentle when it went to hers. He tried to urge the sword out her deadly grip, but she would not budge. Khaled looked to her: her chest rose and fell rapidly, shallowly, falling into itself with each breath as though she could not bear the expansion of her own rib cage. He ignored the tremble of his hand as he reached to the hair clinging onto her face. She'd lost that overbearing heat, only the sizzle of the sun warming on her skin. He swept the hair away, his fingers brushing her cheek, "Leila."

Open your eyes. Show me you're fine. Show me the wound is shallow. Open your eyes.

"Leila, Habebti." He squeezed her hand, "The sword, my Love. Let it go."

She took a ragged breath, and her grip softened.

Khaled grabbed it, forcing himself up on two steady feet as he locked eyes with the Captain, who gave him a curt nod.

And with that Khaled moved, her sword in hand. 

He stood, his back to Leila, to the crowd. He heard the distant sizzle of flesh, smelt wisps of that metallic tang, of the char of burnt flesh. He bared his chin against it, teeth grit and hands grasped so tightly around the bejeweled pommel that they hurt.

The feet he heard walking towards him were far too steady to be hers, though, and far too familiar. And so it was with caution that he turned, turning the sword so that it was ahead of him, ready to—

"Tameem?"

His brother had a sword in his hand.