I decided to meet the Monarch in the afternoon.

I entered his room with a small bang indicating that I was here. He was already awake and he was there where I had left him, staring outside with lonely hopeless eyes. If he came to know my existence he did not show. He did not even seem startled by my noisy entry. I frowned at the Monarch.

I looked around and noticed that all the drapes were pulled down except for the one window he was staring from. It made his room look dull and lifeless. Maybe it reflected the mood that he was in but I did not care.

I marched to the other windows and pulled aside the draped. I had to squint when the sun rays penetrated through the dark clouds that seemed to loom over his room. I saw his head moved towards me from my peripheral vision, I noticed that he narrowed his eyes on me but he did not say anything.

I ignored the window that he was sat with and went to the other windows and did the same. It felt nice to see the sunlight flood in his room. I stared at the portrait above his bed and could not help but smile. Queen Iqra looked radiant and Qamar looked more handsome.

"What are you doing?" He finally spoke up softly and looked at me confused.

I shrugged in response; it was not that he would understand my answer anyway.

He looked away and I sat on his bed and stared at him. How could I get him to talk to him? I just wanted to get him to speak his mind. I did not want him to get trapped inside his mind. He was trapped thought and now it was my duty to pull him out. I had given Omar my word. It meant something to me.

In order to make him talk, I walked towards him and sat opposite to him. He pulled his legs closer to him and ignored me. I felt like a small child seeking his attention but I did it anyway. I patted his arm and he glanced at me. I smiled at him and then pointed at the portrait. Maybe I was going directly to the root of the problem, but I also knew that if there was anything that he would like to talk about it was his family.

"No," he simply said knowing well what I had pointed on. I sighed and looked at him with pleading eyes. He ignored me.

Patience was never my strong virtue and I felt irritation ebb inside of him. I had to help him but to be able to stand true to my words; Qamar had to cooperate to some extent. I did not even know why I expected him to cooperate. If he could cooperate then that would mean that there was nothing wrong with him in the first place. I felt frustrated with myself. Why couldn't I get a reaction out of him? Anything would be better than something. I had to get the real Qamar out of his head, away from the demons inside of him.

I moved away from him and looked around the room. The room was very cosy and homelike. There was nothing too fancy and I knew in an instant that this was doing of Queen Iqra. She seemed like a woman of simple but elegant taste. There was a shelf lined up with books that I could not read the title of but they had beautiful covers. They had been dusted and well-kept and I ran my hands over them feeling their hard bounded covers. They were thick and I wondered whether they belonged to Qamar or the Queen. I turned to look at him and caught him staring at me. He looked away and I turned to inspect the shelf. There was a small miniature version of the ship made of wood on the shelf; a parchment rolled that turned out to be the map of the entire Alam, a crystal replica of the palace and a sheathed khanjar. I looked at it with delight and carefully held it. It was similar to the one that Master Wali had but it was different. It looked richer and if it was not mistaken, its sheath was made of real stones. I walked with the khanjar towards the Monarch and placed it below his eyes. He glanced at it. I pointed at the red stone that was in its sheath asking him which stone it was.

He looked up at me and then at the khanjar, "Yaqut."

I went back to the shelf and placed the khanjar carefully feeling a bit pleased with me but at the same time trying not to let it show on my face. Any progress was better than no progress.

In the adjoining shelf, there were small frames that had portraits of his entire family. I smiled at the sight of Aqib too among the frames. They seriously considered each other family. However, my eyes locked on a small frame that had the portrait of Omar. It was the younger version of him and Omar had uncontrollable hair that poked in every direction. I smiled fondly as I picked up the frame. He looked like he was the same age as me or maybe younger.

A small flame of hope ignited inside of me, maybe, Qamar did not loathe or despise Omar as much as Omar believed. Maybe, the hate had replenished over time and Omar had simply not given a try. But at the same time, I could not help but feel nervous. What if I was wrong? Omar obviously knew his better more than me. I kept the frame back and marched towards the Monarch for what seemed like my hundredth try to make him talk.

I patted his shoulder and he sighed looked up at me. I made sure to hold his gaze as I made my way towards the bed and dabbed my finger at Yusra's portrait. I would not go until he spoke more than one word with me.

Even though he looked away, I noticed that his gaze lingered for a bit longer.

I was not trying to hurt him, I understood that the memory of her still gnawed his heart but at the same time if he did not talk about it – to me or to anyone – then what was the point? He could continue to live in the confinement of his room scared of the demons of his mind. He was the Monarch of Alam – he had a responsibility towards us.

He had a responsibility towards his family too. Why was he sitting in the room when the murderer of his family roamed freely enjoying their life?

I closed my eyes and inhaled loudly.

I marched towards him and patted his arm but did not move as quickly as I had wanted to. He grabbed my arm and stood up, annoyance – not rage – evident in his eyes.

"What do you want?" He hissed, "Leave me alone!"

I pulled out of his grasp and rubbed my arm as I stared at him pointedly. He needed to know that he could not do that to me. I folded my arms then and looked at him, he continued to stare at him and I met his gaze evenly. Then, I pointed at the portrait.

"What do you want to know?" His voice rose but I stood rooted, "Yes, that is my family – the family that I loved and the family that is dead. Yes, that is my child! This portrait was made six months before her third birthday and nine months before she was burned into ashes. Yes, that is my wife, my beautiful and brilliant wife! The one woman that I loved with all my heart and soul! What do you want to know?" He knelt to the ground gritting his teeth stopping the tears from coming out. "I loved both of them and now they are gone and I am alone."

Tears pricked in my eyes as I felt the wave of despair that he felt. But took a deep breath to calm me and marched towards the shelf. I picked the frame that had the portrait of Aqib and hesitantly picked the frame that had Omar. Did I want to do this? Qamar needed to know that he was not alone. He had a brother out there who was doing everything he could possibly can to get Qamar back.

I walked towards him, passing the breakfast table. I stared at it and carefully grabbed a knife in one hand, in case; I needed him to get off me. I could not let him choke me again. I did not have anyone to rescue me – none of them knew that I was with Qamar. I was not sure how much the Guards listened.

I ambled towards him and placed the knife on the ground and sat on top of it. He was staring at the carpet and crying silently. I gently placed the frame of Aqib in front of him and waited to see his reaction. He looked at it but did not say a word. I pointed at the frame and then pointed at him. He looked up at me and I hoped that he was getting my message. He was not alone, Aqib was there and he is family.

Then, I pushed the small frame that had the portrait of Omar towards him nervously. I waited for his reaction. I noticed him staring at the frame, he had stopped crying and I held my breath. I fingered the knife under me to calm myself down. I did not know how sharp it was but then again I just needed it to distract him, I did not intend him to harm him.

He looked at me and something flashed in his eyes. I felt my heart stop and I struggled to get to my feet.

But he was quick too.

He grabbed by arm and bent it behind me as he pinned me to the door.

"Where are you going?" He spat his eyes blazing with raw rage, hatred and something completely indescribable.

"You think you can show me the portrait of the man who was the reason for my family getting burnt and get away?" he hissed at me and my arm pained as I struggled to get away from him.

I felt tears run around freely from my eyes and the pain was agonizing. The knife had fallen somewhere too and I struggled against his body weight. Even though he was frail and weak, he was strong. I caught sight of the knife, it was behind him. I kicked his knees and he fell to the ground and at the same moment the door opened and a pair of hand grabbed me and pulled me outside. I shrieked as they held my hand. It was bent in an odd way and I knew that it was broken. I knelt to the ground and stared at the door. I knew Qamar was on the other side feeling this rage towards his brother that I did not understand. Why? Why would he blame Omar?

_

So that happened...

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