Empire of Dreams

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I swayed on my feet, feeling light-headed. Multiple voices cried out in panic.
"What's wrong with her?"
"Call the royal physician"
"Take her to the infirmary!"

I mustered my strength, trying to gather my dignity, clutching at someone's arm."No, it's just a small wound," my vision cleared and I looked up into Ali's eyes. "I want to go to my room," I breathed out.

He stared at me, his face hard and unmoving. "Please," I held my breath, feeling my composure slip, a tear leaking out of my right eye.

He sighed and nodded, his arm tightly wound around my waist, calling for my handmaidens.

"Take the Princess to her room, I'll be there momentarily," he'll be there? Why would he be there?

I shuffled to my feet, giving the Caliph and my brother-in-law a curt nod. They bowed their heads in respect, sympathy and concern radiating from their eyes.

Fear and unease curdled in my stomach. Sympathy was always a sign of worst things to come. I'd learned that from my mother's passing.

The day of her death, servants had come in, their eyes on the ground, their faces lined with sympathy. I'd known, even then, that the worst was yet to come.

They'd whispered behind our backs, sequestered in corridors, shoulders hunched together, as my father raged and grieved for his wife.

They'd clicked their tongues as I held his hand, my small fingers wrapped around his huge palm, trying to be brave. Trying to be better. Trying to be older.

Sympathy had led them to ignore his violent outbursts, his forgetful habits, his mistakes.
Sympathy was never an indication of things turning out well.

I shook my head, trying to distance myself from those thoughts, from the past.

My father had no hold over me, I wasn't under his thumb anymore. He'd loved me, but he'd smothered me. Smothered me so much that I'd had to escape to breathe. To feel alive. To be someone other than my mother. I was running all the while trying to evade her looming shadow.

It seemed like her shadow had finally caught up to me.

My eyes flicked between Haleema and Ayesha. Who could it be? Ayesha wasn't outspoken or conniving, she was a stickler for rules. But Haleema didn't have the finesse to pull this off. Or was the woman lying?

But why would she? She'd had me where she'd wanted me. She'd lost 8 of her men, one of whom, was captured alive.

She'd taken that big of a risk, for me? Why? To send a message? But to who? Ali?

'You've known him for a week, we've known him for years,' Which years was she referring to? The war against the Turkish Tribes had barely lasted 6 months!

And Ali was only a few years older than me. Baba had never mentioned him going off to fight such a war.

My head pounded and I collapsed on my bed, my body unable to withstand the weight of these questions. Ayesha and Haleema fussed over me as my eyes fluttered shut. I did not want to look at them, not now.

There was a spy at the palace. One of them had to be the one who'd tipped them.

I squeezed my eyes shut. This was such a mess. My heart ached thinking of Mehmet. Poor Mehmet.

I'd only met him a couple of times when we'd been young. Just a year older than me, we'd become good friends. Before these awful wars had messed everything up. He'd been such a sweet boy. Patient and kind. Was he still the same? Was he collaborating with the rebels? He definitely needed their support. He needed my support.