Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.

- Friedrich Nietzsche

SLEEP HAS LEFT his nights and peace has left his days. All day long, he keeps thinking about ways he can convince Aswad bin Motassem not to marry Marajil bint Hirash. All night long, Rahaf won't leave his mind.

Marrar watches with a flat face and a tight heart the caliph talking to the young woman whose beauty is no match for Adara bint Nurahan, yet she has a beauty of her own that he cannot deny. There's a grace and delicacy to her, reminding him of Rahaf, and a purity in the way she cannot hold the caliph's gaze for long and shies away. He worries Aswad bin Motassem might take a liking to her.

Though unlike Rahaf, there's naivety in her speech that reflects upon her youth and wraps one away from the world. Marrar doesn't know whether it's a quality or a disadvantage, but that for him it's a lack of skill which Rahaf possesses- where instead of being wrapped away from the world, one is lost into her. And he doesn't know if his Ameer will prefer it given that the wit of his queen is something he has always admired.

The thought keeps him restless all day. So when night falls and he's given some time alone with the caliph, he decides to bring it up.

"Did you decide something about the proposal, my Ameer?" Marrar casually slips the question into the conversation. He's sitting with Aswad bin Motassem in his chamber and they're done discussing some political matters.

"Which one do you ask about?"

Aswad puts a paper down before him on the table and looks at Marrar. The general clears his throat.

"About yours and the daughter of Ameer Hirash, sayyidi."

The caliph picks up another paper and begins to study it. For a moment Marrar thinks he might have crossed a line with him. It only makes him feel more ill at ease.

But then Aswad asks, "Should I?"

He doesn't know how to answer him. He doesn't know how to say no without giving away his personal interest. But perhaps for a second it had slipped his mind that he cannot fool the man sitting before him. For the caliph of Cordoba is no ordinary man.

"I'm afraid Ameer Hirash's interest is only in an heir to the throne, as you had mentioned, while his daughter is quite different than our Malika," he reasons.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Perhaps not. But perhaps you should have a match worthy of you, my Ameer. I haven't known anyone who can compete with queen Adara."

Aswad looks away from the paper to him and smiles a knowing smile, eyes burning into his as he exposes him with his next words.

"Does your conscience make you guilty, Marrar, or do your fears make you selfish?"

"P-pardon?"

He's unable to react timely and appropriately. Marrar feels caught red handed and lowers his eyes.

"You should think for yourself. It's time you should get married too," Aswad changes the topic from one difficult one to another.

"The worry for the children keeps me occupied from such thoughts, sayyidi," he tries to excuse.

"Don't worry about the children. They're safe with me in my palace. How long do you intend to use them as an excuse to avoid settling down?"

"Of course not, sayyidi. I just haven't met someone who I can consider settling down with," he hurries to defend, his ears growing warm and himself drowning in shame. Marrar can still feel Aswad's eyes on him but cannot bring himself to meet them.

"In twenty six years of your life?" Aswad asks ironically. "My brother was your age and he settled twice the number of his age while he was alive. It was both a pity and a blessing that none of his relationships worked. But then you say so far you haven't met anyone to your fancy?"

Unable to reply, Marrar only keeps quiet. What does he tell him? His heart is crazy to be crazy for a woman who he knows cannot be his. Aswad bin Motassem might hang him upside down from a tree and lash the love out of his veins if he's to learn of his reasons.

"Zurarah leaves with us to Qurtuba," Aswad informs him, changing the topic once again to his relief.

"I'll make the necessary arrangements."

"Make arrangements for what might happen once we arrive at Qurtuba and my sword finds its way to Kanan's neck." Aswad begins to gather the papers and Marrar rushes to assist him. "I think Zurarah might be a good candidate to consider as my next advisor."

"You know better, my Ameer," Marrar says, unsure if this favor towards Zurarah is because Aswad bin Motassem might be considering him for his sister or because he's not, so he's giving him the rank instead.

He doesn't also know between Zurarah bin Hirash and Furat bin Kiyan, who even is a more suitable match for Rahaf. No matter who he sees her with, it hurts him. Though he still wishes her to be happy and for some reason, Zurarah appears much gentler to him than Furat- better both as a man and perhaps as a spouse too.

"Marrar?"

"Yes, my Ameer?"

He looks at the caliph. Aswad bin Motassem holds his eyes a long moment, as if searching for answers to inexplicable riddles, and Marrar forces himself not to look away.

"Make acquaintance with Marajil bint Hirash. Perhaps you'll like her and consider the idea of marriage with her. As for the children," Aswad clasps his shoulder, "It's my responsibility that you've been carrying all this time. I'm really grateful to you for it. But I think it's time you should start thinking about yourself."

He lowers his eyes once more, taken aback by the request, and Aswad leans away.

"Give Marajil a chance, and yourself too. And leave Hamama and Humran to me."

"Their safety-"

"They're safe with me, are they not? Now when the threat is gone."

Marrar doesn't argue and nods in agreement. The threat is gone and he has paid the price for it. Everyone has. But how does he remind Aswad bin Motassem that he has way more enemies than he's aware of and that the truth about the children should be the last of his secrets unveiled?

Qurtuba, Al Andalus
(Cordoba, Andalusia)

SHE MISSES HIM. How strange is the realization. How strange is the unsaid confession when she brings her handkerchief to her nose. The fragrance of his perfume is the only sign of him around her. But when she puts it away, the world becomes heavy with his absence.

Why does she even miss him? Or perhaps she only thinks of him. Perhaps during his stay in Qurtuba she got used to his presence. Whether she misses him or not, whether she wants him in the palace or not, she doesn't allow herself to find answers to.

But Rahaf feels as if his prayer has been granted fulfilment. She has thought of him each time she has been to the rose garden. And she has thought of him every time it has rained. And she has smelled him on her handkerchief more times than she would like to admit. Her own thoughts have been betraying her and it bothers her.

The thought of Furat bothers her.

She fists the handkerchief in her hand when she sees Kanan approaching her and tucks it into her sleeve. Her betrothed smiles at her when their gazes meet but she doesn't return it.

"Rahaf."

Rahaf only tips her head in greeting when he comes to stand with her under one of the archways to the garden.

"My messenger brought the news that the Ameer will be arriving to the palace tomorrow, God willing," he tells her.

She nods in acknowledgement. "That's good news. This palace is alive only with the presence of its Khalifa."

"Indeed," he agrees, extending his hand towards the garden, silently asking her for a stroll.

The rose garden. The thought of Furat makes her heart beat faster again and she has to look away from Kanan. Rahaf swallows, suddenly a little guilty and embarrassed, and turns in the other direction.

"The sunset looks beautiful from the gazebo," she suggests, going in the direction.

"I agree."

Kanan follows after her. But then he stops at a bush and plucks a rose for her. Rahaf stares at it as he presents it to her.

As if nature is cruel to her, as if not letting her forget Furat, a drop of rain falls on her hand as she proceeds to take the rose from Kanan. She hears him order a guard to bring them their cloaks. Rahaf observes the thorns on the rose stalk. She's reminded of the rose without the thorns Furat gave her.

"I'm not really fond of roses," she mumbles, trying to convince herself of a lie, relating that flower to a man.

"I thought you liked roses," Kanan points out. "I've always seen you gazing at them."

"They look beautiful in the bushes. But they can hurt you if you try to hold them in your hand." She grazes a thorn with her fingertip, secretly admiring it- how it's not entirely harmless to pluck a rose but comes with the risk of hurting its offender. "I like lilies. How pure and innocent."

Roses, she loves them. But now roses remind her of Furat and she doesn't like the thought of him plaguing her.

"I'll bring you lilies." Kanan steps closer to her as a guard brings them their cloaks and he offers her hers. "I'll bring you any flower you like. Anything you like- anything that makes you happy. I always want to see you happy and smiling, Rahaf."

Rahaf smiles at him, and he smiles back, unaware how empty her smile towards him is and how hollow is her heart when it comes to him.

"How fortunate are those who find love in life," she says.

His hazel eyes grow alight even under the casted sky, probably confusing her statement for something she didn't mean. Probably thinking Rahaf believes in his pretense and believes herself to be among those fortunate ones.

"You and I are fortunate to have each other, aren't we?" he asks, and she doesn't bother replying, knowing well he has his own false assumptions to his pleasure.

They come at the gazebo by the side of the pond and seek its shelter from the rain that's slowly gaining weight. The sky is a deep shade of lilac and gray and the pond a deep blue against it. The sun is a faded lamp reflected in the water. The rain creates ripples on the surface of the pond and Rahaf watches it from where she stands in the gazebo with Kanan. He's looking at the sky and she at the rain. Around them, the leaves rustle whenever the wind whistles through the trees canopying the gazebo.

"When you and I are married and living in our own palace, I'll have a similar place made for us," Kanan promises her without tearing his eyes from the sky. "Where we can sit together and talk for hours."

"What will we talk about?" Rahaf asks, with a tinge of curiosity and irony.

"Us," he replies, as if they've so much between them to talk about. "I'll request to the Ameer again to think about our marriage once he returns. I mentioned it to him previously but he didn't show much interest in it."

"I wonder why."

They stands in silence for until the horizon is dark and the rain is loud. Until the world is colorless like their relationship. They part ways and instead of returning to her chamber, she goes to Marrar's to check on the children. Hamama runs to her upon seeing her and Rahaf kneels down to receive her.

"Rahaf!" The child throws her small arms around her neck. "You're here!"

Rahaf kisses her cheeks and grins at Humran who has crawled his way towards them too. She picks him up in her arms.

"Hello, sweet one. Why are you awake so late?"

"I was just putting them to sleep, my Amira," their caretaker replies.

"I'll take them to my chamber," Rahaf informs, and she tips her head.

Rahaf brings the children to her chamber where the fire is lit and Dimah has left warm milk and fruits at the table. Her kitten, Mushk, welcomes her by coming to rub herself on her dress. Hamama picks her up and pets it.

"Rahaf will tell us a story now." The child looks up at her, her big, bright eyes gleaming with hope. "Will you, Rahaf?"

"I will, habibti. Come, get on the bed and warm yourself first."

Rahaf puts the children on the bed along with her kitten and brings them the food Dimah has left for them. Hamama is more interested in the story than anything else while Humran eats without causing her much trouble.

"This is the story of Abraha Al-Ashram and his army of elephants," Rahaf begins to narrate, "who went out to destroy Ka'bah but was destroyed by a flock of birds before he could do so."

IT'S NEAR DAWN when she hears urgent knocking on the door. Sitting on her prayer mat, her heart begins to pound frantically in its cage at such an untimely call. Throwing a glance at the children to make sure they're not awaken, she quickly puts on her cloak and goes to receive whoever is at the door.

"Masruq?"

Her guard stands at the door disheveled and panic stricken. A sick feeling instantly settles in her gut at his state.

"What's the matter?" she anxiously inquires.

"The Ameer has returned to the palace, sayyidati."

"My brother has returned?" She doesn't know whether to feel glad and grateful at the information or worry about what more her guard is to reveal. "Where is he? Is he alright? Is everyone alright?"

Masruq nods, then shakes his head, seemingly in some kind of a shock. "He's alright. But nothing is fine."

"What do you mean?"

"Ameer Aswad has beheaded Ameer Kanan, Amira."

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