WINNER OF READERS CHOICE AWARDS 2020 (Historical Fiction)
Stone hearts.
Silver to gold.
And the fierce need to prove oneself.
Highest ranks: #1 in Arabia || #3 in History || #51 in Assassin || #90 in Spiritual
A/N: JAZAKALLAH KHAIR AND THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR YOUR KIND MESSAGES AND COMMENTS!!! And to those who've been messaging me in tumblr and following me!!! I love you all, this chapter is dedicated to you. So SURPRISE! Love y'all and hope you like this chapter even though it's kind of short. Make sure y'all follow me on houseofkhalifa.tumblr.com to catch snippets of upcoming chapters!
warning- if you are squeamish around pain do not read this chapter. I will post a summary on the next.
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I am losing myself.
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T H E A R M Y, رَبِيعٱلْأَوَّل O A S I S
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As the night deepened over the encampment, the breathing of a thousand men slowed and a thousand minds floated into the abyss of the dreams.
A shadow flittered between the tents. Fast as lightening, as silent as the grave. His feet moved like feathers over the sand, and every step he took was calculated and precise. His green eyes gleamed with the adrenaline of the task ahead, a task he had completed a thousand times and yet the thrill of it never diminished.
Zuhair discarded his cloak when he reached the radius of the princes' tents, revealing his slight yet lean build. His beard and hair melted into the darkness, but his green eyes gleamed. He stalked fluidly to Marwan's tent, all attention on any hint of movement inside. The plan would not work if the Prince was awake.
Nothing.
He slipped inside, nodding at the Hashshashin who stood guard. They would not interfere with the Crown Prince's orders.
Darkness polluted the interior, and it was only by the dying fire light that the shapes and mounds were visible. The cot held his target, who was sound asleep. His huge form lay on his front, bare back open to the world. His eyes were closed and the dentures beneath them betrayed his exhaustion. The soft snores rippled through the taut air.
Zuhair reached into his belt and withdrew the dagger. His weapon of choice would have been something far narrower and shorter, but he could do with this. A blade was a blade.
He was inches away from his victim in seconds, observing the right angle to strike. He had done this a thousand times before, really- the observation was a simple formality.
With a swift swing of his arm, the dagger came down on Marwan's back. His blade barely scraped his skin when the enormous man suddenly caught his arm. His strong fingers tightened around the assassin's forearm in an iron grip.
