Among the monsters, I'm well hidden; who looks for a leaf in a forest?

— Angela Carter

"WOULD YOU LIKE some bread?"

The streets of Cordoba are quiet. It's early morning and the only conversation he can hear is that of the birds and of themselves. Rahaf holds up a bag with bread to him.

"Thank you," he replies. "Allow me to pay."

"You're our guest. Allow us to host you honorably," she declines politely.

Furat deters, but doesn't argue with her.

Standing before a small bakery across the street, she has her cloak covering her while he remains unbothered with the hood of his cloak down and no mask to cover his face. In this city, he's a stranger no one knows. This city that is a home to Rahaf is not one to him. So who here will know him to remember him?

They leave the bakery. The two men, Masruq and Tabrez as he has learnt their names, follow them closely behind.

"You left the palace with me," Rahaf says, "so I assumed you didn't have a chance to have a breakfast. And since our walk may take a while, I did not want to keep you hungry. You may have proper breakfast once we return."

His lips pull up into a one sided smile, the bag with bread held closed in his hand.

"Shall I be offended that you think I might faint from a few hours of starvation, my Amira?"

"What if you do?" She glances at him. "I haven't forgotten our first meeting."

"Ah." He chuckles, trying to contain it and keep his voice low. "Then I shall be rather wary of what you offer me. The people on land confuse me often."

"Maybe it's your life as a corsair you like that you claim not to be charmed by what you see here."

"Perhaps. But if we're speaking of the palace, then who will not like a royal life of luxuries? I'm sure there are others who will want it."

Rahaf looks at him. He only smiles innocently.

"Why, Amira, if you ever get a chance to live a different life, will you?"

She returns his smile but doesn't answer him. They come across an old man sitting at an intersection. Rahaf leans down and puts her bag of bread before him. The man, dressed in rags, looks up at her. Then he lifts his hands to his face to make a prayer.

"May Allah be pleased with you."

"Ameen," she says. "Pray that He be pleased with those whom I love too."

"May He be pleased with those whom you love too, sayyidati."

"Ameen," she repeats.

People whom she loves, Furat thinks, would also include her brother. If God is to be ever pleased with the likes of Aswad, a brutal and unjust ruler, then who's destined for hell? Certainly if the family of Motassem is someone to be pleased with, Furat might find himself in heaven before them. If by feeding a poor and asking him to pray for her Rahaf thinks they will be forgiven, then he could do the same and live a happy life.

Furat also places his bag of bread before the man without putting in a request for a prayer like the princess did. Behind them, the two palace guards put down pouches of coins for him as they step ahead. He has seen bad days before life gave him good days. Heaven and hell, right and wrong, if he was to worry about those, he wouldn't be here in Qurtuba to kill the caliph. But then again, what is wrong in seeking one's revenge?

They continue their walk through the city, sticking to the quiet streets than the busy center. Rahaf turns to him once more.

"Have you heard of Bahlul the wise, sayyidi?"

"The man at the times of caliph Harun al-Rashid?"

"The one."

"I have, but I don't know much of him," he tells her.

"Do you mind if I share a story of his?"

"Of course not."

"One day," Rahaf begins to narrate to him, "Bahlul was on a ship to Basra. On that ship were other travelers too, including a merchant with his slave. The servant was scared of the ship's motion and turbulence, so he started crying. Now his crying was annoying the travelers. In order to silence him, Bahlul asked for the merchant's permission to advise the slave and the merchant agreed. What do you think Bahlul could've done to help the slave understand that the ship was his safe place after all?"

He ties his hands behind his back, thinking. She looks straight ahead, awaiting his reply. But after considering possible answers and none of them satisfactory to him, he asks her, "What did he do, Amira?"

"He ordered that the slave should be thrown into the sea. So that was what happened," she continues the story. "He was rescued when near death and afterwards the slave quietly sat in a corner. When asked about how the experience helped, Bahlul replied that after being thrown into the sea, the slave had learnt the value and comfort of the ship."

Furat ponders over the story. Rahaf turns to him again.

"You asked me if I would live a different life if given a chance, this is its reply." She gazes away to the empty street and sighs. "One thinks not of the comfort of their lives but seek the comforts that lie outside. But greater the life, sayyidi, greater are its problems. The palace is not like your ship, but the palace is no heaven. A shipman with a small boat sailing in the same sea as you might think of your mighty ship to be a heaven and you to be a king, does that mean you lead an easier life than everyone you're given authority and power over?"

"Ah, I understand." He lets out a short laugh, unable to keep the half smile off his face or the devilry out of his voice. "But you see, I was a shipman with the boat once— a man without the privilege of being born in a class of admirals. I don't think it's fair to compare my efforts of making it to where I am today to the one born among the royals."

Instead of taking offense, Rahaf mirrors his expression, those eyes suddenly alight in the sun as she nods.

"You're right. You were destined for this life, so God raised you in ranks for it, no matter if you weren't born with the privilege. Nonetheless, today you're commander of the entire Al Andalusian fleet. Then does the privilege of those born among the royals benefit them over you?" Now the light in her eyes soften. "If given a chance to live a different life, who but myself can live my life the best? I'll still be Rahaf bint Motassem— daughter of the Khalifa. Do you think all affairs we're given a choice in, or do you think some affairs are a decree of God?"

Furat tips his head. "God knows the best."

"Indeed." She smiles. "Then He cannot be mistaken. He gave us the lives we could live the best. Then it's up to us to live them the best."

Furat listens to her, but he doesn't reply. He doesn't wish to carry this conversation with her. Advice is always easier to give than follow. But the one who has suffered can only know the pain that is caused and the patience it requires to endure it. He would rather have heard her saying that she wishes for a different life, but she has no reason to when she's placed above all. One can listen to their enemies, but one cannot relate.

"What is the condition you asked me to agree to before we came here?" he asks her.

She glances behind them to her guards. They're maintaining a distance, but not so much where they're out of earshot. Though she doesn't seem to mind.

"It is a question I wish to ask you. I hope you answer it with the truth."

Intrigued, Furat can only nod.

"You told me you needed a place to stay when you arrived in Al Mariyya. You stayed at a brothel, and I believe you when you say it wasn't with any ill intentions."

Rahaf stops walking. He does so too. They face each other.

"Ameer Furat." Her tone turns serious and demanding now, and she fixes his eyes. "Had my brother not returned to Qurtuba unannounced and had Kanan not received the news, would he have stayed with you at the brothel too, since I know he was with you?"

Furat takes a deep breath. Rahaf doesn't break the eye contact. If anything, it only intensifies with every second as she waits for his reply. But he doesn't try to escape her stare. Why shall he? He doesn't owe this woman anything, neither to Kanan. There is no harm to him whether he chooses to lie or tell the truth. But he can answer with what may benefit him in this situation.

His mind replays his conversation with Rouzbeh. Kanan is too much of a coward to kill her when the time comes, and too greedy that he might use her to claim the throne for himself. Furat doesn't expect much benefit from him. He wants the woman gone and the throne to be his. Kanan can give him neither.

"Ameer Furat?" Rahaf calls for his attention when he doesn't respond.

"Yes," he tells her, taking another deep breath and filling his voice with feigned disappointment. "He was going to be there, Amira. But his messenger arrived and informed him of the caliph's return to the capital, so he had to leave."

If there is any hurt or shock she's experiencing, she doesn't let it show. Her eyes remain void of any emotions as she inquires further, "Can I know if he shared your noble intentions of only needing a place to stay, and by all misfortune couldn't find a better place?"

He resists the desire to laugh again. Even though her expressions don't give away anything, her words he senses have developed a harshness to them. Such a pleasure it is to him— to be able to float above chaos while watching it devour everything like a wildfire.

"My apologies, but how can I know of someone's intentions? It would've been better if you had inquired at the brothel before burning it down," he suggests naively.

"Why, did you introduce yourselves by your names and designations to them, sayyidi?" Rahaf retorts ironically, those eyes that were alight moments ago now gone cold. "The vizier of the caliph and the admiral of Al Andalus needed a place to stay, so Al Mariyya offered them a brothel because there was no better place than that in the whole city for the noblemen?"

He bites down on his lower lip not to grin, but despite his best efforts his lips stretch into one. He lowers his gaze from Rahaf to the ground between them.

"There are men in your kingdom, my Amira, for whom truly there would've been no better place than that." His eyes flick up to hers again. "If you believe your betrothed to be one of them, then what does it matter if I testify or deny?"

"A mere belief is not enough to hold him accountable," she argues.

"So you need my testimony for that?"

"I only need you to tell me what you know. I'll not ask you to testify before anyone else."

Furat considers her request. She tilts her head, seemingly impatient for an answer. Then a thought occurs to him and he decides to put it forth.

"Can I ask you a question too? Though it might be bold of me to ask such a question," he asks for her permission.

Rahaf furrows her brows. "You may ask."

He leans slightly forward, making sure only she hears what he's about to say.

"Do you not want to marry your betrothed?"

"Not if you tell me that night he was going to the brothel for more than needing a place to stay," she replies without hesitation.

He fights another grin, managing to control himself this time, as he whispers to her, "Then don't marry him, my Amira."

ADARA SITS BY the fireplace with a poetry book in her hand. The glow from the fire and the many candles illuminate the chamber for her. But nighttime has fallen and her mind cannot register the words her eyes are reading. She wants to lie down and dream. But more than that, she wants to sit with her husband and hear him speak. Though that sounds like a fantasy to her which doesn't come true often.

Her attention keeps drifting to Aswad sitting at the table a little away from her and studying the numerous papers before him. She wishes he would leave everything and come to her. No matter if he remains silent, Aswad isn't a man to carry lengthy conversations, but she'll be satisfied with it so long as she's in his company.

Lately, she has been feeling him drifting away. She doesn't know if it's his duty as the caliph occupying him or something else, but she misses him.

Something else? She lingers on the thought. If there was something else, someone else fascinating him, Marrar would've told her. The general is as much of a righthand man to her as he is to her husband. Adara dismisses the vain possibility.

"Is your book not interesting?" Aswad speaks up without looking up from the papers.

She shuts the book and puts it aside, eyes never once wavering from him. "Why do you ask?"

"You've been staring at me," he states.

"Am I not interesting enough?"

"Why would you say so?"

"You haven't once looked at me."

He finally lifts his eyes to hers. She smiles at him.

"Seven years of marriage, are you growing bored of me now?" she says to him.

"How does a man get bored of the woman to whom he owes his life?"

She exhales heavily and picks up the book again, flipping absentmindedly through its pages.

"Is this the only reason you are with me?" she asks.

"Not at all."

"Then don't mention it often. It brings back bitter memories."

She hears him drag back his chair as he stands up. Coming to where she's sitting, he joins her by the fireplace. Adara looks at him again. Seven years of marriage, the man before her has changed, and she knows not only in his looks that has matured into a twenty-nine year old than how he was when she had first met him. At twenty five, she wonders if he still sees her as beautiful as before.

"Tabrez came to me today. He told me something that has been bothering me," he tells her.

Adara puts away the book again, scooting closer to him. "What did he say?"

"Rahaf went to the city with Furat this morning."

"The admiral?"

Aswad hums in affirmation. "But what upsets me was that Furat told her when Kanan had received him in Al Mariyya, he had arranged for them a night at a brothel."

Adara lifts both eyebrows in surprise. She never liked the vizier, but she would never expect Kanan to be involved in something so petty, especially after being betrothed to the princess. He's son of a noble man from a noble family who has strong ties with the royal family. But if there's one thing she fears, that is the wrath of her husband and his severity in punishment which will not see the status of Kanan if he displeases him.

"You want me to speak to Rahaf about it?" she asks.

"If you get a chance. But I've already ordered Tabrez to collect information on Kanan."

His brown eyes burn like the fire in the fireplace. Adara can already see the rage and malcontent in them— a hell being prepared. She quickly reaches forward to caress his jaw, smiling at him.

"Do not worry yourself, my beloved," she tries to console him gently. "Everything will be fine."

He doesn't answer. And she knows nothing will be fine if Kanan is found guilty.

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