Collaterals

No King of Mine.

It was night when they came. 

Khaled had taken to hiding behind her bedchamber's door, striking before he'd laid eyes on the intruder.

By now the bodies had piled up, Khaled pulling them aside so he could sneak up on whomever Haitham had sent next. The Young Lord had thought of everything. He'd run to the end of the hall, desperate to call for aid only to find another had been sent to get the job done. He'd thought to carry her— even wrapping her in a bedsheet so he could withstand her heat— take her to a wagon and rush off to his estate: he never made it past her room. 

The sun had set, darkness overtaking them save for the candles Khaled had managed to light, and he still stood, sword in hand, on the defense.

And so when the door creaked open just enough, Khaled already had his sword an inch away from the man's chin, and paused. 

"Good Evening," was all the man thought to say, speaking in Tainish as he brought his hands up in a slow surrender. "I do so hope you'd consider lowering that."

Khaled's brows cinched. In his periphery, he saw the creep of another figure; he did not move fast enough. Before he knew it, the sharp tug of a steel scraped at the skin between his ribs. The voice that now spoke was female and sardonic, "Please."

Khaled stilled. He squinted through the Darkness, trying to get a better look at the man ahead of him, "Who are you?"

He spoke slowly, calmly,  "I am Davu. The friendly one pointing a sword at your side is Qadan. We are both Hands of the Tainish Empire, with orders to return the Aradian Hand to Tainish soil."

The sword settled on his side bit further into his skin so that Khaled winced. 

The girl—  Qadan— assured, "by any means necessary."

"So I've gathered," Khaled responded. He glanced at Leila, still in her feverish delirium as candlelight illuminated her. He did not lower his sword. "Stand in the light, then. Let me see your brooches."

"So that you may know we speak the truth before you kill Davu, as you have these men on the ground?"

"Qadan, let us do as he says."

"But—."

"He means to protect her. Let us show this gentleman that we do as well," Davu spoke gently, staring into Khaled's eyes.

Khaled took a breath as he felt the sword leave his side. She took a step away from him, closer to Leila, but Khaled inched closer to Davu. 

"No! In front of me. Stand by him!" Khaled barked the orders out.

She let out a sigh, but complied. 

Khaled did not turn his back on them, watching as the girl moved. Slowly, his sword angled threateningly, he took several steps back, gesturing for them to follow, till he felt the edge of Leila's bed hit his calf.

They did not move, letting him peer at them through what little light the candles provided. The girl was young, perhaps seventeen, with two long fiery red braids that fell down to her waist. The man was of a darker complexion, a strong build. There, on both their shirts, was pinned the Brooch of a Tainish Hand.

Khaled glanced at Leila as she gave another moan of pain. He licked his lips, "You wish to take her back?"

Davu plied his eyes away from the bodies piled in the corner of the room. "Take her back to Tain. A wagon awaits outside, ready to take us to our ship docked at the bay. We have a physician aboard: she will be tended to."

"Let us take her away. Under the cover of night, before," she looked around, "before someone else comes."

Khaled took shorter breaths, looking from her to the man.

Davu stepped forward, and Khaled flinched, stepping closer to put space between them and Leila. Davu stopped, bringing his hands up as though he were approaching a rabid animal, "It seems Leila—."

"The Princess," Khaled corrected. 

He raised his brows, but continued on, "Yes. Forgive me. The Princess means a great deal to you. But we are her friends. At least, more so than these pleasant—.'

"And dead," the girl added.

" And dead," Davu nodded, "men. Tell me, how long do you intend to leave her like that, on the bed?"

Khaled stayed silent, clutching his sword tighter.

"He has sent many men, your king."

"He is no King of mine," Khaled all but spat, his scraping against the walls of his throat. 

"Even then," Davu insisted, "He is sure to send more men, and you cannot fight forever."

Khaled glanced behind him, at her figure on the bed. Her eyes had drifted shut a long time ago, and it had been getting harder to get her to drink water. Khaled took a breath, and another, his eyes flittering back and forth.

And as the Young Lord sent a prayer, he looked ahead and lowered his sword.