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 40
Ayaz first thought it was Minah whose curiosity got the best of her, but then her clothes and her face gave him pause. It took him a moment, two moments long for the person's identity to sink in.
It wasn't Minah. She was much older, and a lot taller. She wore a simple garb—a blue and white abaya that hid most of her light brown skin, and a matching thin shawl that wrapped her head full of dark curls. Nothing too extravagant, nothing that screamed that she was the Sultan's wife. Or that she used to be.
No. That can't be. . .
Words failed Ayaz. His sword arm started to waver, the weapon suddenly too heavy on his grasp.
"Ayaz?" the woman repeated. "Is that you?"
"Who a-are you?" His voice came out like a croak.
"Look at you," she said, ignoring his question. Her eyes, black as his, shone as she looked at him proudly. "You've grown so much since I last saw you. I bet you're taller than me."
The woman took a step forward. Ayaz took a step back, never taking his eyes off her.
"And I see you've learned how to wield a weapon." Her gaze flicked toward his sword, almost looking amused. "You aren't going to strike your mother with that, are you?"
"You're dead." Ayaz's voice was thick and loud, too loud even for his ears. "You're supposed to be dead. I saw you bleed to death."
The woman's expression changed to horror in an instant. "Oh, Ayaz. No, no. You weren't supposed to see anything. You were supposed to be asleep in your room." Her lips curled down. "Where were you?"
Sands, she sounds just like her. Gentle, concerned, but would always get the answers that she wanted. How was that even possible?
Ayaz swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He felt like a child all over again. "I-I. . . I was having n-nightmares again, and I wanted to sleep with you. I didn't find you in your room, so I. . . went upstairs but then. . ."
He didn't have to continue. They both knew what happened next.
If she was even real, she'd know too, and she'd not bother pressing him for an answer.
If Bilqis Babur Al-Hakam did anything right, it was that she emphasized with everyone. She read a person's emotions like an open book—and was clever that way. She wouldn't speak about anything that might cause discomfort or hurt to anyone. Especially her son.
Bilqis started, her arm reaching for him, "Ayaz—"
"Don't." Ayaz raised his sword, his gaze hardening. "Don't take a step further."
Hurt was written all across her face. "B-But it's me."
Whoever she was, she acted well for her part. It only made Ayaz angrier.
"How do I know you're not a fake?" he demanded. "Did my father send you? Is this one of his mind games? Because I won't fall for it. Not again."
It must be the Jewel, Ayaz thought. Shahrayar made a wish to intercept him, to distract him. The Jewel must be in his person, then.
Which meant he wasted his time for nothing. And that he had to take down his mother's impostor.
While the impostor thought of her next words, Ayaz eyed her every movement. The twitch of her fingers, the creasing of one of her brows in concentration. Her tics were so familiar to him it was eerily uncanny.
"Ask me a question," the impostor said after a while, her voice confident. "Something that only you and I would know. If I answer it wrong, you are free to kill me."