And the midnight hears my cry:
I love thee, I love but thee,
With a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old.

— Bayard Taylor

THE SKY is starless.

The moon from behind the curtain of the clouds shines every now and then. But it's less than half full, and though the clouds slip past it to show its beauty, the sky remains dark.

Marrar leans against one of the columns outside the palace and watches the sky in silence. The torches are lit around to illuminate what midnight is trying to conceal. Sleep is far from his thoughts, for his thoughts are in a chaos to allow him any peace.

It has been a year since he has to seek comfort in his own company. It was bitter and painful at first, to let go of the habit of being in the company of his dear friend— a friend who was never less than a brother to him. But it was never a choice after Tahman died. He had to adapt to his absence for there was no filling it with someone after him.

And how does one survive after losing someone close to one's heart? Why was it that those he lost, he lost so abruptly that he was never given a chance to consider a life without them? He knows if it wasn't for his sister's children he's bound to raise, whom he loves so much as if his own, he would've run away from this life somewhere far away.

Gentle footsteps behind him brings his attention to the present. He glances to the person coming to stand against the adjacent column with him.

For a few fleeting seconds, she shares his silence with him. But her presence makes him restless and he decides to tear through the silence.

"Why are you here, Amira?"

Rahaf replies monotonously, "I couldn't sleep."

Me neither, he wants to say. He wants to carry this conversation with her. He wants to ask her why, what bothers her. But he reminds himself of the boundaries between them.

"You shouldn't be here," he says instead.

"I didn't know I needed permission to come here."

"The hour is inappropriate," he points out. "Being alone here is inappropriate."

"Don't worry, we're not alone. Masruq and Dimah are with me."

He doesn't care looking back to where she had asked her servants to stay.

"The sky is beautiful," she states.

"It's starless."

"Beautiful nonetheless. It's peaceful."

Somewhere, he catches a tinge of remorse and longing in her voice. And before he could stop himself, he asks her.

"Something bothers you?"

He knows he should not have. He knows being around her is the most dangerous territory he can be in. Yet now and again he falls into the trap of his heart like a fool. What traitorous organ his chest is homing.

She turns to him. In the dark, he searches her eyes for the truth, as if she might lie to hide it from him. But her eyes are clouded like the sky above them, giving nothing away.

"Yes."

He should've told her to speak about it with her brother. He should not concern himself with her personal matters. Yet somehow he always ends up interesting himself with them. All these efforts of taming his feelings for her always break through the chains. Such folly it is on his part. What is forbidden for him, the only thing the caliph will never allow him, is the only thing he finds himself desiring.

"Is it about Ameer Kanan? Is that why you're here?" he inquires.

"Yes," she admits again honestly.

Marrar sighs. "Then we'll speak about it in the morning. Now you shall return to your chamber."

"I'll not be able to sleep all night if I'm unsure of what to do about my situation."

"Don't ruin your night thinking about him while he rests contentedly."

"At brothel—"

"He's at his chamber."

"You're not a spy on him," she retorts.

"And you are?"

The look she gives him is enough affirmation for him.

"Go to your chamber, Amira," he repeats, looking away from her face. Her eyes will make him weak and he doesn't want to submit to her. Her distress will someday compel him to bury his sword in the vizier's skull.

"At least hear me out," she requests. "Aren't you curious about what it is?"

"No, because I know what it might be. Your every matter concerns Ameer Kanan. And I don't want to be between you and your betrothed."

There's a pauses as she processes his response. Then she utters quietly, "You weren't like this when Tahman was alive. I think the day he died I died for you too."

He doesn't answer. She doesn't stay to hear it either and leaves him to himself again. Marrar closes his eyes, listening to her retreating footsteps until she's gone.

"I wish I could kill you for myself, Rahaf. But rather I'm killing my own soul."

He stares up at the sky again. The clouds have veiled the moon once more. Rahaf leaves his thoughts murky every time she is with him. He wishes he could tell her that he believes in her— that her betrothed indeed is a man she fears him to be. But voicing it out without being able to prove it to Ameer Aswad will only cause her more pain. Then why shall he? He would rather let Rahaf be in doubt than letting her suffer anymore with the truth until he's able to do something for her. Kanan has been skillfully covering up his mischiefs, and the caliph will require an evidence to punish a vizier as powerful.

"Kanan." Marrar fists his hands, the rage he's feeling suddenly creating a turmoil in his emotions greater than before. "I think I will have to kill you instead."

SHE WAITS FOR the sun to rise.

Lying on her bed, she spends the whole night staring at candle buring at her bedside. Then when the prayer-call is called, she offers fajr and leaves her chamber again.

"Prepare my horse, Masruq," she instructs her guard.

"As you say, sayyidati."

She goes out onto the balcony from the hallway where she could she the sun preparing to ascend the sky— where the horizon transverses it it's like a brilliant lamp. Then its rays travel further away to color the canvas of God in blue and gold. Such magnificence the creation of her Lord holds, she thinks. The day starts with His glory, the night has its own beauty. It is the heart that chooses to admire or ignore.

Lost in her thoughts, Rahaf doesn't realize someone has joined her on the balcony until they clear their throat.

She turns towards the voice, and her heart stops the way it had stopped the previous day when she saw the man from the brothel before her.

"Saba alkhayr," he greets.

Keeping her expressions indifferent and controlled, Rahaf tips her head in greeting. "Ameer Furat."

He smiles, a glimmer in his eyes coming to life.

Dressed in plain tunic and his medium length hair tossed back, he could very well be mistaken for a palace guard than an admiral of a fleet. His jaw is lined with thick stubble, and the ruggedness in his features is eased by his seemingly even-tempered aura. Rahaf found him an interesting man the first time she saw him at the brothel given how he had tried to help her instead of reaching out towards her. Although she never expected to cross paths with him again.

It was very apparent to her that he had recognized her when she was introduced to him. She saw the confusion and bewilderment in his eyes which had soon turned to realization. But none of them had stayed to discuss the irony of fate. Yet Rahaf knew it was to come, and here she finds him before her again.

"You seem to like sunrise," he tries to strike a conversation.

"Do you?" she questions instead.

"I do."

"I thought the journey to Qurtuba and the feast last night might have tired you so you would wish to rest more."

"I've had wilder experiences. Such events don't tire me anymore."

Rahaf notices the corner of his mouth twitching upwards, and she arches an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I wonder what you mean by that."

He places a hand over his heart. "Ah, my apologies. I don't know why I thought you might be able to relate."

She turns to him fully, and he ties his hands before him respectfully. Though she can clearly see the roguishness in his obsidian orbs.

"Isn't curiosity such a compelling force?" She smiles sardonically. "It makes one assume things which might be considered outrageous otherwise."

"Then I suppose it is bold of me to assume we might have met before?" He looks into her eyes. "Perhaps at a place where it would be outrageous for a princess to be at?"

"Do you mean a place where it wouldn't be outrageous for a nobleman like you to be at?"

Furat smirks openly now. She doesn't try to feign ignorance, holding his eyes and allowing him to confirm his doubts.

"Again, would it be too bold of me to ask why a princess would be at such a place, my Amira?" he poses.

"I don't think you've any right to know that, Ameer Furat."

"Of course." He gives her an apologetic smile. "I hope you know that night I wasn't there with any ill intentions. This is all I wanted to clarify."

"I know, sayyidi. Because if you were, you wouldn't be standing here before me. Rather, you would've ashen in the fire I set to that brothel."

"All my gratitude towards you for saving me and throwing me out on the street instead," he replies lightheartedly. "That gave me a stiff neck and a life lesson."

This makes her smile again, amused this time.

She turns away from him towards the sky again— towards the world awakening. Her gaze flicks down to the gardens surrounding the palace. Furat besides her puts his hands on the balustrade.

"Your palace is beautiful," he compliments.

"More than the ocean?" she asks.

"I think they're too dissimilar to be compared."

"Would you trade your home for mine?"

"I don't know. Would you, Amira?"

"I've never been on a ship. I don't have that experience for comparison. But you seem to like the palace."

They look at each other. Like before, there's a slight curling of his lips upwards.

"I'm a man of the sea. I may like your palace, but I will not be charmed."

Such odd man, she thinks. She finds him at places where other men would discard their morals. Yet somehow he resists— guarding himself at the brothel, and making such a claim at the palace. Though she may have to see how well he lives up to this claim. This palace that is beautiful has a tendency to turn its occupants otherwise.

"I heard Kanan received you in Al Mariyya," she says. "Could he not find you a place that you had to go to a brothel to rest?"

"Unfortunately he had to leave urgently and could not stay to do so," he excuses on Kanan's behalf.

But something tells her there's more to it than that— something which may strengthen her mistrust in Kanan rather than dissolve it. Rahaf cannot shake these doubts towards him. No matter the lack of any definite proof of his betrayal, her heart is not ready to accept him.

She wonders if Kanan had stayed in Al Mariyya, would she have found him at the brothel? She wonders if it would've been him than Furat before her that night. Could her spy really have misinformed her?

"Kanan is your betrothed."

It is a statement Furat makes than a question. Rahaf doesn't bother replying.

"Is he your friend?" she asks.

"If you can call him that."

She doesn't ask him to elaborate his answer and neither does he attempt to do so.

Masruq returns to her. "Your horse is ready, Amira."

She turns to him, and so does Furat. Her guard's eyes go wide upon seeing him.

"The man who gave me water unlike any water I've ever had before," Furat remarks casually. "I woke up past midday the next day."

"For the sake of the rest you so desired," Rahaf speaks on behalf of Masruq and tips her head. "Now if you'll excuse us."

But before she could leave, he calls her, "Amira Rahaf?"

Rahaf looks back at him.

"May I join you if you're going for a horse ride?" he requests.

"I'm going for a walk through the city."

He smiles politely, almost naively. "Well, may I join you if you're going for a walk through the city?"

She frowns at him. "What for?"

"It has been years since I've been to Qurtuba. It would be pleasant to see around."

Rahaf gives it a thought. Then an idea occurs to her and she agrees.

"You may, sayyidi. But I've a condition."

"What condition?"

"I'll tell you once we're in the city."

Furat considers it, his eyes becoming curious, and he nods a second later. Rahaf has to bite down a smirk.

"Masruq?"

"Yes, sayyidati?"

"Prepare a horse for Ameer Furat too. And send Tabrez a message to join us."

This is going to be a long walk through the city.

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