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and
a guard was not supposed to talk to his charge.
    Leena kept her gaze focused on the rippling
ocean below, letting the rolling waves and the sound of his voice
soothe her. If her father suspected Mikza, he would be locked up by
now—maybe dead already.
    "I met my match."
    He sucked in a pained breath, one so loud
she could hear it cut through his lungs, a knife in his chest.
"Already? So fast…"
    "I think my father suspects something. Not
you, but that my heart already belongs to another, that my dreams
lay outside of his hold."
    "But we've been careful."
    "Have we?" She asked, sparing a glance his
way. Mikza had unconsciously stepped closer, within a foot of her
body. She could feel the heat of his skin on her arm, a magnetic
pull teasing her to close the gap.
    He met her eyes, dark and downcast, before
stepping back into the light of the ballroom, across the invisible
barrier.
    "We're so close," he murmured, more to
himself.
    Leena cast one more glance over the edge,
down the steep cliffs, all the way to the crashing splashes of
water below. So close, but so far.
    "Let's go now," she whispered, turning
quickly around, saying goodbye to the night. "Let's leave before
the ball is over. Everyone is here. Everyone is occupied. No one
will know."
    Indecision stopped him. Leena could read it.
He was no longer sure what was best for her.
    "Mikza," she pleaded, "I am leaving,
tonight. With or without you, but I cannot stay. I refuse to be
married to that man."
    He nodded, not certain enough to bind it
with words, but that was all she needed.
    Taking the long route, Leena stepped between
the shadows, letting the light flicker over her, disappear, only to
illuminate her again. Mikza watched from behind as she finally
stepped back into the outskirts of the room. He followed from a
proper distance, the way a bodyguard should—emotionless,
detached—death with a sword to any who might mean her harm.
    Leena spared no glances toward the interior
of the room. There was no one she wished to see again. Prince
Haydar would be her only regret, that she could not save him, that
she was giving up on him.
    The halls were quiet, almost eerie, causing
goose bumps to rise on her skin. Unease curled her stomach,
quickened her pace, and she could not shake it. The emptiness
seemed to whisper in her ear, it is too calm, too easy.
    No one seemed to be around, even the guards
normally kept at the doors. Leena could not remember the last time
they had left their posts. Some of them she had actually wished to
see, friends, guards that had helped keep their secret, people she
wanted to thank and say a hasty goodbye to.
    When they reached her room, Leena stopped.
The royal quarters had never been so abandoned. Holding up her
hand, she signaled Mikza to halt, to not follow her inside. Just in
case someone watched, he needed to keep up appearances for as long
as possible.
    Heart in her throat, she turned the
knob.
    The door swung open.
    Leena broke.
    Everything she had, every hope, every ounce
of strength, every dream, seemed to rush from her body, leaving her
empty inside. A shell of a person.
    Their bag sat ripped apart on the bed,
empty, contents splayed across the ground. Their clothes, their
food, torn apart. Weapons broken to pieces. Jewels and coins
scattered.
    And behind it, her father stood with his
personal guard, waiting for her arrival.
    Hate coursed through her veins.
    Pure.
    Strong.
    The sort of loathing that built over time,
waiting for the right moment to take hold, waiting for this moment
when she had nothing but that one feeling to give her the strength
to carry on, to fight.
    "Father," she growled, muscles clenched.
    "Will you deny it now, Daughter?"
    Leena said nothing. Did not even move.
    "You do not know this, but every time you
attend a ball, I send my guards to search your room. You and your
unmarried sisters. I've seen it all before." He was calm, standing
straight and tall, soldiers at his back, all the power in his
hands. "You