There's a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly and he thinks if he could just maneuver one into place— well then, game over.

— Richard Siken

"YOU'RE A SNAKE."

Furat tosses back his head and laughs at the insult. Rouzbeh doesn't sound upset or angry at him but rather pleased and proud of the trap he has set for his so called friend.

"Just what Kanan deserves," he says.

Rouzbeh agrees with a hum as he takes a gulp of his wine and reaches for the pitcher lying beside his chair to refill his glass.

"Aswad bin Motassem will kill him."

Furat smirks at the statement. It wasn't what he had originally intended to do— he didn't intend to kill Kanan. But his friend has become too arrogant and audacious for his liking, so much so that Furat can sense a threat from him.

The fire in the fireplace is blazing just like the rain raging outside this cold night. Rouzbeh's chamber is lit with way too many candles, contrary to the starless, midnight sky. Every now and then, the thunder roars, and he can feel the window glass and palace walls shaking with it— a weather he doesn't mind.

"It's better that he does than I do." He leans forward in his chair and cranes his neck towards Rouzbeh. "Never in my life I'm letting another man take this throne and serve him."

Rouzbeh takes another gulp of his wine, his reply coming casually but not carelessly. "Many men have died for this throne, akhi. Not everyone can have it."

"But I will, for I've sacrificed too much for it." He turns away to look at the fire, its flames burning their way to some seething memories. "I don't thirst for a life of comfort and luxury. I want freedom from all that we've endured— I want an outcome now."

Rouzbeh puts his now empty glass of wine on the end table and rests back in his chair, closing his eyes.

"I only want revenge, Furat. You're my friend— my brother. You may become my caliph. You know no matter what, I'll always be by your side. I can sacrifice my life for you. But tell me, what burns warmer? The fire of love or that of revenge?"

Furat doesn't answer him. Rouzbeh doesn't want one from him, for he already knows they both share the same purpose. It's the same revenge they seek. And he too can sacrifice his life for him, for he's not a friend but the only family he has. The boy he shared his childhood with and grew into his youth with together. The only man he can rely on. The only person who's both his strength and weakness.

"I think that of revenge," Furat mumble.

Rouzbeh smiles and looks at him. "Do not forget this when you marry Rahaf bint Motassem."

He scoffs, tossing his head back once more and sinking into his chair. His eyes flutter shut, the sound of the angry rain outside rather calming to his ears.

"I wish she was as foolish as her useless betrothed to trap."

"Let your words be sweet and your actions sweeter. Eventually she'll be made a fool of."

Furat chuckles at Rouzbeh's advice. "Your number of lovers certainly exceeds your patience. I don't know what to think of your advice."

"My charm certainly exceeds yours too."

A laugh escapes him, half sleepy as he begins to doze off. "Tell me then, how do I win over that stubborn woman with my lack of charm?"

He doesn't hear Rouzbeh reply. He doesn't know if Rouzbeh said anything at all or not as he drifts off into a slumber that suspends him somewhere between sleep and wakefulness— somewhere between the past and the present. He can feel the warmth of the fire around him, yet what his mind sees is far more overwhelming.

The village is on fire. The night has darkened and the once clear sky is heavily casted by the smoke. His ears hurt with all the screaming. He's lost. Everything he has is lost. He frantically looks around for something, someone. Or maybe an escape. The world is closing in on him and it begins to choke him. He feels he might pass out any time.

He runs without knowing where he's going. Someone is crying. A familiar voice. He runs towards it. The fire is eating away everything. The crying gets louder. He finds a bloodied and dirt covered child amidst the world burning around him crying over the dead body of a woman.

"Furat?"

Someone shakes his arm.

Furat opens his eyes with a gasp. He's drenched in sweat and the fire in the fireplace still blazes before him. He instantly looks away from it, his body trembling. Rouzbeh looks at him knowingly.

"I'll burn out the fire."

Furat grasps his arm before he can get up and shakes his head. Without a question, Rouzbeh remains seated, understanding him, until he has calmed down.

"Are you alright?" he asks Rouzbeh, his voice raspy, not knowing why he needs to hear it from him when he sits perfectly fine before him.

"I should be the one asking you this."

"I'm fine."

Rouzbeh pats his hand that's still clutching his arm. "It has passed, Furat."

Furat unintentionally tightens his jaw, as if to bite down on something to relieve the ache in his heart, and clenches shut his eyes again, mindless to his vulnerable state before his friend. He let go of Rouzbeh once his heart stops beating frantically and stands up.

"Where are you going?" Rouzbeh asks.

"I need to take a walk in the rain."

He walks towards the door. Rouzbeh doesn't stop him.

The torches line and light the empty corridors of the palace. He quietly makes his way to one of the windows at the end of the hallway and pulls apart the curtains.

The storm outside is mad and frightening, yet strangely satisfying for him to watch. Every time lightning streaks the sky, it appears like a glimmer of life on the canvas of the midnight sky. Furat exhales heavily, his breath fogging the glass.

Reaching into his trousers pocket, he pulls out a small bottle of perfume and brings it to his nose. It's a fragrance he has no name for, not of roses or spring or of morning breeze, but it's a fragrance that soothes his wounded soul like nothing else— of hyacinth and happy days and everything he has ever craved for. Of crysenthemums and sunset sun. He takes a sniff of it and rests his forehead on the window glass, closing his eyes.

Raindrops hit every surface they fall upon furiously, the sound of it wrapping itself around him. He wants to go outside and stand in the rain. Even if the cold makes his skin crawl. Even if his body may fall sick. There's a healing in it for his heart. He sniffs the perfume again.

"This wrecked place has woken up such damned memories."

"Wrecked indeed."

Furat jerks away from the window, startled. The perfume bottle falls from his hand and breaks into a million pieces. The scent of it is now everywhere around him. He looks up from the broken pieces to the culprit. Rahaf looks at the broken perfume bottle between them before apologetically meeting his gaze.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to startle you, sayyidi."

He's surprised to see her at this untimely hour before him, but it certainly is a pleasant surprise. Furat smiles. Fate must be on his side to bring her before him so often.

"I'll admit you didn't find me at my best moment, but you've nothing to apologize for."

Rahaf turns to someone behind her. Furat notices a guard and a handmaiden with her.

"Dimah?"

The handmaiden, a young woman, steps forward. "Yes, my Amira?"

"Collect and pieces and ask Masruq to replace the perfume with exactly same bottle for Ameer Furat."

"You don't have to, sayyidati," Furat refuses.

"I insist."

Rahaf passes a handkerchief to her handmaiden who carefully gathers the broken pieces in it. When she's done, she quietly steps behind the princess, blending into the background, and Rahaf shifts her attention to him again.

"Dare I ask what keeps you up at this hour, Amira?"

"I can ask you the same thing," she replies.

"If you tell me your reason, I'll tell you mine."

Her lips curve into a faint smile, probably reminded of their first meeting at the brothel. But unlike how she had denied answering him that night, she choose to answer him tonight.

"Hamama is scared of thunderstorms. I went to check on her."

Furat resists the urge to ask any further when she doesn't explain anymore. Did she go to the general's chamber in the middle of the night? How inappropriate. He wonders if the child is only an excuse or if the Amira was genuinely concerned about her. Perhaps he should look more into the matter to make sure nothing is going on between the princess and the general or it can complicate things for him.

"I like rain," he gives her his reason, simple and not bothering to explain anymore either.

"Because it burns out the fire?"

Furat looks at her, a moment too long where the reflection of fire from the torches in her eyes begin to tangle him in. Her eyes are a shade lighter than the earth. He hadn't noticed before but with how they glow under the fire, they must somewhere between brown and hazel.

He only nods in reply to her query.

"I like it too, more for the same reason." She looks out of the window. "It rained the night my brother died. I was told his cabin was on fire but he was murdered before that. However, if it hadn't rained his body would've ashen in the fire. But because it did rain, his body was saved and he could be given a grave."

Curiosity tightens like a noose around his neck. A thousand questions flood his mind but he cannot let them pass his lips, afraid that too many of them might leave his intentions exposed before the Amira. If Tahman bin Motassem is dead, where is his grave? Who is his murderer and what happened to him? He worries if someone besides him and his men are after the throne, they might pose a challenge to him in the future. Yet what he doesn't understand is why Rahaf has suddenly brought this up when she has always preferred to keep boundaries with him.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I've heard the coffin buried in the royal graveyard of the late prince was an empty coffin," Furat subtly approaches the subject.

"Indeed it was nothing but an empty wooden box," she confirms.

"Then where is Ameer Tahman actually buried, Amira?"

"I don't know." She once more meets his gaze, this time her eyes a graveyard full of sorrows themselves. "No one knows. No one is allowed to know. The incident changed Aswad. He doesn't wish to speak about whatever happened in the past— our parents or our brother. His unborn child. Each loss one by one turned him into a completely different person."

Though Rahaf speaks to him, he can feel a hesitation in her speech despite her seemingly opening up to him. As if carefully measuring her words. As if aiming for something else with this conversation. And so Furat decides to ask her.

"I'm sorry for all of what you had to go through," he says, not feeling sorry the slightest bit in his heart for her or her wicked family. "But something tells me there might be something else you wish to say to me?"

Rahaf glances behind her, making sure what she's about to say is not heard. Furat notices her tugging on her sleeve, a sign of her apparent nervousness, and he gathers what she might have to ask for is something she would rather keep between them— something that might give him an advantage over her. A favor or an information she wishes to keep hidden.

"Sayyidi, you told me you've explored the forest I go to for horseriding?"

"Why, I have."

"You must also know it's the same forest my brother was murdered in?"

Furat slightly tips his head in affirmation. "But there's no sign of anything in that forest."

"How come is it possible that someone lived and died there but there's no sign of them there?"

He pauses, studying her, the way her eyes have gone wide with something like hope and wistfulness. The way they are forlorn and desperate. The way she's suddenly bare and vulnerable to him. Just like how he was moment ago before Rouzbeh. But where Rouzbeh is the man he can trust with his life, Furat should be the last man Rahaf should lay her heart out before.

Yet here is the woman he desires to trick into loving him, to help him get the throne her brother is sitting upon like a Pharoah. And here is his chance, he thinks, to win her over. Here is the chance destiny itself has gifted to him and he won't let it go waste.

"Amira," Furat speaks with a confidence as if he cannot be wrong with this assumption. "Would I be wrong in assuming that perhaps you already had someone look through the forest for you?"

Rahaf draws her eyebrows together, clearly not liking being called out. He bites the side of his lip to keep himself from smiling. So he was right, he thinks.

"His cabin was there, that I know. It's hard for me to accept that there's no sign of him there. His grave must be somewhere around."

"And you want me to help you find it?"

She only stares at him, her silence the only affirmation as she searches his face for an answer. Furat allows her to do so, all the minutes she needs just like that very first night when he let her commit his face to her memory.

"Will you?" she finally asks.

His eyes flick to the guard behind her. It's not her usual guard accompanying her but a different one. He has seen this man with the general often. Furat looks back at her.

"I feel honored that you would trust me with this. I suppose the Ameer and his general are keeping you under a watch. But I'm wondering what makes you think I'll not give away your secret to them?"

Rahaf smiles, and it's anything but innocent. So unlike the innocence she usually carries. But Furat knows better how witty and capable this woman can be. She once more glances behind her before fixing his eyes.

"You may ask me to repay you the favor anyhow you like. If you help me find my brother's grave, I can so much convince Aswad not only to allow you keep your rank as an admiral and rule the sea, but to give you governorship over the land too. Al Mariyya, Mursiyya, Balansiyya. Any coastal city, or even a major city. Whichever you would like to rule."

Furat sighs, his lips twisting into a deceptively innocent smile, unlike hers. "I appreciated your generosity, my Amira. But you wound me if you think of me a man of greed who'll ask you for a price to pay for an act of goodness. So don't bribe me with strength or wealth. I've it plenty and desire little of it. However," he ties his hands back, lowering his head closer to hers, "nothing would make me happier than helping you find the late prince's grave. For that, you don't have to offer me anything. If it brings you peace, then consider the favor paid."

Seconds add to one another and she can only speechlessly stare at him, as if he's unreal. Furat gently clears his throat and Rahaf blinks.

"Why would you do that for me?"

"Why do you think?"

Her lips part and his gaze jumps from those afire eyes to them. They look a little pale to him, probably from the cold, but they look nice to him, slightly round and complimenting those big eyes of hers. She's a beautiful woman, he admits to himself, even if not the most beautiful of all the women he has ever met. If she wasn't the daughter of Motassem bin Hazim, Furat might even have considered something more with her. Such a shame it would be to send her to her evil father and brother.

"I told you before—"

"Please don't," he cuts her gently. "Don't fault this heart for what it desires. For what the heart commands the soul obeys." He steals away his gaze from her, the lies heavy on his tongue and her eyes piercing him through and through. "I don't ask you to reciprocate what I feel for you but am merely conveying it to you. You may accept it or reject it. I only ask you not to blame me for it for I've no power over my heart."

Rahaf doesn't say anything and they stand in silence for a time that seems to stretch to eternity. He forces himself not to look at her, hoping she buys the lies he's trying to sell her. But he's well aware this woman might not be an easy one to lure. If she wasn't betrothed to Kanan by her father, that fool had no chance of ending up with someone like her.

"Have a peaceful night, Ameer Furat."

She turns around and walks away from him, leaving him standing alone in the corridor. He watches her go until she disappears out of his sight.

"I'll pluck you and kill you before you wilt with your age, wardati (my rose)." Furat stares out of the window into the dark night. "Ahlam saeda, Rahaf (sweet dreams, Rahaf)."

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To everyone shipping Rahaf with Marrar, our villain has only started so hold your hearts.