Dawn had arrived. It was time, possibly, for another death.

Shahrazad opened his eyes, watching an unfamiliar plethora of shades all around. He remembered he was no longer in his home. It was the palace now.

It was the presumed day of his death.

He looked around to find the room vacant. Shahryar must have left before. He didn't blame the Shah; it would be difficult for any man to face something this mysteriously sinister like a regular pattern of life.

"So... where's my killer?"

It would be very easy to now come and slit his throat since the Shah was not close. But maybe the ones who plotted were as clever as Shahrazad and didn't let anyone suspect them. He couldn't underestimate the human who carried out ninety-nine murders in cold blood.

His eyes fell on the tray of food kept on his bedside table. It boasted of a scrumptious array– purple grapes, thick soup and baked bread to which still stuck particles of ash.

Would he eat it? No.

"Better satiate my hunger with the fruits from the garden."

He changed into a lighter pink robe and combed his hair. He didn't know what was waiting for him next, but he had to take a bath first in the morning. So out came the hundredth spouse from the royal room, heading towards the bathhouse. The soldiers lined up in the corridors bowed to him. Shahrazad saw fear in their eyes. The eerie silence of the palace was freezing his skin and made the blood clot in his heart. The guards parted to give him way into the bathhouse. Some maids insisted that he used some oil or fragrance, but he denied everything.

"I would like to be left alone," Shahrazad said.

So he dipped his feet inside the hot water, then his waist and finally his whole body. The muscles relaxed when in contact with the warm water. He stretched his arms and let those rest at the sides, lolling back his head.

Amidst smiling and taking deep breaths of peace, Shahrazad didn't hear the very quiet, bare footsteps that were coming closer and closer. They came and waited behind him, staring at his pretty calm face.

"Shahrazad... "

In a flick of a second he opened his eyes and his heartbeats took a sharp rise. Before he could jump out of water a thick rope fitted with little pins went round his neck.

Shahrazad's eyes bulged out. He held onto the rope and tried to free himself. The woman was not the one to give up either. Shahrazad's neck was already bruised. Maybe some more time and he would leave the mortal realm.

Just like Khushboo had, the woman thought. Her mother had carried out the task in Khushboo's time, later paying it with the price of life. She would be doing the same. And in return get a generous lump sum that she would leave for her son.

To her, this spouse didn't matter. So many had died and another one could be sacrificed too. It would mean nothing.

She watched the young man wrestle with death. His face reddened and his breaths became more miserable and weak.

Shahrazad gave up, finally. His limbs fell to the side. Lifeless, pale, tired. His eyes were still wide open. It was a horror to look at. But the woman was pleased with her work.

She threw away her weapon and chuckled. Turning back, she headed towards the corner of the bathhouse were several bottles and vials were kept.

But something pulled her by the braid.

Now, the rope was around her neck.

"You should have given one last blow to me"–Shahrazad dragged the woman and pushed her head in the water–"before assuming I was gone forever."

Now, it was she who struggled to breathe. It was she who was drowning, suffocating. It was she whose heart gave up.

Shahrazad was not satisfied though.

He searched for something that could be useful. Fortunately, there was a thick granite pestle nearby that was used to grind herbs and petals.

"Not a good weapon, but I need to make this work."

He took the pestle and pounded it against her head as hard as he could. He let the beast in him take over. No shriek. No shout. No yelp. The woman was as numb and mum as a doll. Her forehead bled and her beauty was destroyed.

"You are dead."

Shahrazad could be sure. He then searched the pockets of the woman and found a vial. He sniffed it– it smelled worse than decomposing debris.

"Maybe she had brought this to poison the water. But I caught her before she could do it."

It was some good timing and brilliant luck!

And he stood there for what felt like an eternity. He cheated death. He dodged the first attack.

It sank in his head.

I am alive.

****

Shahryar had long woken up and busied himself with a book in the royal library, just like he had done all the previous times. But he wasn't able to read the book. His mind, as usual, was somewhere else.

Will he die by poisoning or by falling from the stairs? Or will he commit suicide?

No, he was sure he would live, too sure. He would not kill himself.

"But he can be killed, right?"

There was a knock at the door.

So the time has come.

He died.

It pricked him. That man was so sure he wouldn't leave, but he had to, like all the others. He was unlike all of Shahryar's wives. He was a fire that sizzled and smiled. Smirked even.

"You can never defeat fate. Goodbye, Shahrazad."

He got up and trudged towards the door. The burden got heavier every moment. He leaned on the door, exhaling deeply, and then opened it, keeping a stoic face as he always did.

It was Parmenion.

"Begin the preparations for his last rites. Inform Bagaos of the news," Shahryar said.

Parmenion heaved a sigh, scratching his chin. He turned around, craning his head and gesturing someone to come before him.

Shahryar's jaw dropped. Out of all the things he had expected, he saw a dripping wet Shahrazad standing in front of him. There were marks on his throat, spots of blood splattered on the robe.

"A servant had tried to choke the consort and kill him," Parmenion said. Shahryar nodded, trying to listen as eagerly as possible despite the bolt from the blue.

"The royal consort has been able to defeat the woman, the culprit," Parmenion completed.

"Unfortunately"–Shahrazad came forward and stood between the two–"you will not be able to question her. I killed her in self-defense."

"Killed her?"

"Yes, Shah. Killed her."

Parmenion stood with his head hung low.

"But I found this vial with her," Shahrazad said. "Can you please make the doctor test this and find what is in here? Be careful to not spill it anywhere or let it come in contact with you."

"I-I shall immediately do-do this," Shahryar stuttered and took the vial. "What about your neck?"

"It hurts a lot, Shah."

"The rope that was used to choke the royal consort had pins attached to it. I inspected it," Parmenion said. "We are waiting for the Shah to come and check the spot."

"Alright," Shahryar whispered. His gaze darted to Shahrazad– his wounds, his oh-so-irritating and self-conceited smile, his eyes.

His eyes... It struck Shahryar that they were very similar to someone.

"You will not go anywhere now, Shahrazad," he said sternly. "Parmenion, summon the doctor. I will first see that he is treated and then we will go to the spot of the incident together."

Shahrazad brushed back his wet hair. "I would also be glad if someone gives me something to dry myself with. Everything happened so suddenly that I had to immediately come to you. I will catch a cold otherwise, and definitely dying due to cold sounds boring."

Parmenion wheezed. "Excuse me, I shall go and see that the bathhouse is guarded and no one enters while you two are away."

Shahryar held Shahrazad by the hand. "Come with me."

Shahrazad entwined his fingers with that of his Shah, who shot him a reprimanding glare. Though it didn't have the desired effect on his spouse.

"I will perturb you for a long time, Shah. Ain't leaving so soon."