Fortune Favors the Cursed
the-reticent-seer
diverselit
diverselit
1.3K5
An orphan girl with questionable morals. A scarred prince with two lives. One relic to change their world.
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Badriya As-Sahra is sick of piling up camel dung and ...Chapter 28
Ayaz had his saif unsheathed, but he still froze in fear. Badriya had a dagger pointed just a nail's breadth over his chest. At the sight of him, her jaw loosened. Her eyes, brown and wide as they were, flicked between him and the sword hovering on her side. She didn't let the dagger go.
Unlike her, his grip on his weapon quivered. Ayaz swore Badriya's dagger was so close to him that its tip grazed his thobe.
He clenched his fist harder until his knuckles turned white.
Why am I scared of her little knife? he scolded himself. I have a bigger knife than she has. She should be the one shaking.
But he was. He felt scared. Frightened for his life.
The last time he felt like this was when he almost died. With a stab in his chest.
Badriya's voice was barely a croak. "What are you doing?"
"What are you doing?" Ayaz demanded. "Why are you hiding in the bush?"
"I-I was here first." Badriya straightened her stature. "I came here to admire the plants. It's not every day you see this much green in the desert. Or am I forbidden to trespass on your garden?"
"This is not my garden." And she was lying, Fudail told him so after Idris left. She was eavesdropping on them the whole time. He almost wanted to turn around when Fudail told him that she was watching his back.
Ayaz glanced at her knife. It was an old yet sharp thing, its silver color tainted with rust on the sides. On its flat side was the faded carving of a crescent moon.
The Order recognized their own with a crescent moon symbol. . .
Could that be—
Badriya must've noticed that he noticed as she quickly lowered her arm. "If you fancy my knife, get your own."
Ayaz let go of his sword with a gasp. All of a sudden, a pounding ache bashed against his skull, and his hands flew over his head. He squeezed his eyes shut.
A hand grabbed the dagger from his grasp. "If you fancy my knife, get your own."
He frowned. "You cheated twice."
"I did not." Her face was a cloud, a blur, but he was certain that she was teasing him. "You should've laid out the rules better if you were going to make a deal with me."
"Fine. You win," Ayaz said grudgingly, though his voice was tinged with amusement. "Go ahead and say the word. I always keep to my promises."
"Good for me, then," she said. "Because you're going to treat me for a late fatoor."
Beyond the cloud glowed a crescent moon.
Ayaz staggered back, panting. He was still clutching his head. When he finally opened his eyes, Badriya was staring at him. Brows furrowed, lips pinched together. It was of confusion, but there was also. . . concern?
Slowly pulling her sleeve up, Badriya placed the dagger into a small sheath strapped to her forearm. "Are you okay?"
Ayaz drew a long breath, trying to calm his nerves. I'm fine. I'm not dead. She didn't stab me. It wasn't like it was her who did it.
"I didn't mean to, um. . . threaten you with the knife." Her sleeve slipped down. She straightened her abaya. "Habits die hard, I suppose. I hope I won't get jailed simply because of that, amiri."
Ayaz picked up his sword, putting it back on its scabbard. "It's fine. I'm also at fault—"
He stilled, his thoughts overcoming him once more. Since when did a noblewoman have the instincts of a fighter? Besides, she was at fault because she lied to him. At that moment, he trusted the voice of his dead uncle more than the fierce noblewoman with too many secrets.