Collaterals

Our Beloved

He was going to be sick. Thrice he'd tried to get up, and thrice Haitham had put a hand on his thigh and pushed him down. The sun's light had flooded the room, now, and Khaled could do little more than look down, a hand clutching the edge of the table, the other fisted on his armchair as he sat with his back hunched forward. Every time his eyes so much as blinked, he saw her: on the ground, sword poking out of her leg, dying.

Another cheer went through the crowd and Khaled cringed his eyes shut.

"Oh do cheer up," Haitham leaned closer. "I have never seen a man seated by his King's right side be so..." he took a moment, looking him over, "distressed."

"Perhaps..." Khaled gulped, not yet looking at Haitham. He took a breath, "Perhaps if you'd let me see her, my Liege."

"But I have already assured you: the best doctors have been sent to her. In fact, by now she must be in surgery. That leg of hers seemed quite bad. I do so hope she needn't suffer my own fate," he gave a pointed look to his amputation, lifting the hand ever so slightly.

Khaled's lips curled as he imagined it. It would kill her, not being able to stand and wield her sword. It would kill her more than any duel ever could. 

"Lord Khaled? Did you not hear me?"

He sucked in a breath, "I...too hope so."

Slowly, Khaled looked up, glancing at his brother. Tameem had moved to the window, peering out of it as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. He'd given him one nod when dawn had risen, and Khaled knew she'd been moved. The Captain. How grateful Khaled was for him, now. But Tameem could offer him no other tidbit of information, his brother as captive as he was in this forsaken banquet. And so Tammy only gave him a curt nod, now, seated as he was by Mother, as though to comfort him.

Khaled looked back down. "Perhaps, Your Highness, you would allow me reprieve?"

"Reprieve? When there is such good news to celebrate!"

"Good news?" Khaled looked up eagerly, thinking perhaps he meant Leila had made it out of surgery.

Haitham raised his brows, "My coronation, no? Now that I've won, I will surely need one."

Khaled blinked in realization. "Of course, your highness."

"Majesty," Haitham said.

Khaled frowned, "What?"

"You should refer to me as you would a king, now, Khaled." Haitham's words were short; his gaze suddenly sharp. 

Only Khaled had little patience for him, "Of course. Your Majesty." He took a moment, "Only for three days I have not slept, eager to stand in for your champion, Majesty. Perhaps I could be allowed dismissal, so that I may bathe and present myself to you in a manner that is befitting your rank."

Haitham's voice was lower when he challenged, "And have you run to my dear sister, Lord Khaled? Disturb her surgery? No...I think I like you just as you present yourself now." He turned suddenly, slapping the table and turning, "Boy, come! Pour this good man some drink!" 

The hall's doors were loud when they were pushed open. Khaled sat up, watching the herald give a bow before he cried, "The Honourable Hand of the Tainish Empire, Your Majesty."

Khaled did not feel himself jump off his chair. Already? He'd estimated it was perhaps early afternoon by now, but... Even if they had operated on her, how had she possibly pushed herself out of bed?

The Herald moved aside, revealing the Hand.

It most certainly was not Leila. Khaled looked past the tall man now bowing to Haithamm, half-expecting Leila to limp in behind him. But when she did not magically appear...Khaled looked once more at the man.