Chapter 45
Zaynah wakes me early in the morning, accompanying me to the hot spring. She washes my hair while I scrub my body, and then we’re back in my bedroom. She looks at my reflection in the mirror with weary eyes while she plaits my hair. Six braids that join together in the back to become one that she then twists into a bun.
“I am sorry you have no head wrap for today,” she speaks sadly.
“I have a solution for that.”
She looks at the dress lying on my bed. “What might that be?”
A knock comes at the door and I grin. “That.”
She arches her brow before walking over to open the door. Maryam hands her the gown from Najla, looking over to me. She smiles and nods.
“Wear it well,” she states before she leaves.
“This is beautiful.” Zaynah breathes as she looks it over. Her eyes reach the top, and she nods. “I see what you meant now. Very smart, Your Highness.”
“Will you ever call me, Ameera?”
“Maybe when you’re queen,” she jokes. “Come, let’s get you into this gown. Or do you want to put the paint on first?”
The different color paints she speaks of sit on my vanity. The custom in Nur is for the bride and groom to both paint their entire faces black, with the colors of Nur stroked under their eyes and down their cheeks. It is meant to show the tracks of the tears they will shed in happiness and love for one another. When they are alone after the ceremony and feast, they remove the paint from each other’s faces, symbolizing a washing away of the past and all that was before, and starting anew in their lives with their spouse.
“After,” I tell her, standing up.
I step over to where Zaynah is and she drags my gown up my body, the white material sliding along my skin. She moves aside the fabric at my back and begins to do the buttons. I glance towards the mirror to look at the way Najla has brought my drawing to life. Thick azure stripes go across the chest, much like the way scarlet stripes are on our soldiers’ jackets, sewn together in the middle with white buttons. An azure belt wraps around the waist and the dress bellows out until it drapes across the floor at the bottom. Before Zaynah can finish buttoning it, she brings the headpiece that attaches to the dress over my head. It covers my neck, ears, and hair, leaving only the circle of my face out. Only then can she finish doing the buttons.
Then she lets the fabric at my back fall, the cape attached to my gown. It flares out at the bottom, making it easy to see that the inside of the cape is colored azure as well. I nod at myself in the mirror. Not a warrior’s gown this time, but a soldier’s. Heading into a battle I hope I can win. Still wearing what I choose to because, what Azar wants doesn’t matter, and if I have any say in it, it never will.
Then I sit at the vanity, and Zaynah begins painting my face. The paint is cold against my skin, my cheeks starting to dry by the time her careful strokes begin on my forehead. She reaches the brush to the forest green but I still her hand.
“The blue.” I instruct her.
Her eyebrows scrunch, but she does as I tell her, jotting the brush into the azure blue paint before bringing it to my face. I watch in the mirror as the blue strokes spread until they are covering both my cheeks. She paints some over my eyes as well, making the look more dramatic, more severe. I love it.
“This one too, if you agree.” She suggests, pointing towards a soft pink, almost rose gold color. “It will pair nicely with the blue.”
I nod, and she paints four strokes, two at each of the corners of my eye. And she’s right. It looks amazing. I take a deep breath looking myself over, trying to prepare myself for all that’s to come.
“You look glorious.” Zaynah smiles.
“Thank you. I have something for you as well.”
I walk over to the armoire and take out a dress that was delivered earlier. Burgundy with gold designs on it. The gold swirls are smaller on the top, getting larger as they trail until they cover the bottom of the dress. Her mouth drops open as she takes it from me.
“I can’t take this, Your Highness.” She marvels.
“You can’t take a gift from your fiancé?” I smile.
Her eyes snap to mine. “Hud?”
“He had it made for you and gave it to me last night for you to wear today.”
“He’s the sweetest.”
“He is. Now go put it on. I can put my own jewelry on.”
“I’m going to assume you’re not wearing what Azar had sent up this morning.”
“Not a chance. I have something else in mind.”
Her smile fades. “I do hope your plan works Your Highness. You dare much and if the plan should fall through, I fear for how King Azar will make you pay for it.”
“You and me both, Zaynah. But I must appear like I have the strength I wish I felt. How can others believe it if I do not?”
“I will return shortly.”
She leaves the room and I put on my silver bracelet, something else Maryam procured for me. A azure blue stone sits in the middle of it. My necklace is much the same, a silver chain, long enough to reach my navel, with an azure blue stone hanging from the end of it. Of everyone I am sure my father will know the significance of it, especially since he realized who summoned Hamza from a rose of the same color. But what can he do? As he said, I’m Azar’s problem now.
As I place my crown atop my hood, Zaynah returns, looking utterly gorgeous in her dress, her curls resting on her shoulders, and her eyes lit up. A guard knocks on my door a few minutes later and begins to escort us down the hall. I have to clench my hands at my sides not to twist them around each other as my nerves build. My heart beats so fast and hard, I can feel it rattling in my chest, making my breaths shorter and harder.
And right along with my heartbeat now is my magic. Always present, always ready. It feels strange to have it constantly there when before I had to call it forth. When I awoke and felt it burning within, I had to remind myself of what Widad did last night, that I had full use of my powers now. And I can only hope they serve me well should I need them.
The guard stops when we reach the throne room. Zaynah and I have to walk a few more steps to become even with him. From what was explained to me, my father will be on his throne, Azar will be to the left of it, at the bottom of the steps, and Arwa will stand in between him and where I will come to be when I reach the end of the aisle.
The council and nobles will stand along the aisle, watching me, watching the ceremony, watching the invisible chains be placed upon my wrists and ankles. Zaynah stands beside me while we wait for the guards to open the doors from the inside. She gently links her hand with mine, giving it a squeeze.
“Everything will go as planned, Ameera,” she whispers.
I nod, too afraid to speak and let my voice betray what I really feel inside. Because under this soldier’s gown, I tremble with fear. My stomach feels like I might vomit at any moment, thoughts of what will happen tonight if the plan doesn’t work racing through my mind. I’ll be alone, with Azar, and I have no doubt whatsoever that he would enjoy every minute of making me suffer for every slight and snide remark. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, but they snap open when I hear the doors being opened.
I immediately look past everyone and lock eyes with Azar. Even from here, I can see his nostrils flare as he looks over my outfit. But then that anger is replaced with a grim smile. I swallow as I take my first step forward. There is utter silence as I walk down the dark yellow carpet that’s been placed over the tiles. It would’ve matched the dress my father had made perfectly, but clashes with my gown.
Walking down the aisle, I cannot help but marvel at the beauty of the room. Dark yellow fabric hangs from the rafters, coming down in dizzying displays, forest green designs sewn into the bottoms of them. There are alternating scarlet and burnt orange ribbons tied to the seats in each row for the attendees. Behind my father’s throne is a dark yellow tapestry with forest green fabric crisscrossing on it. The room is beautiful. If only the man at the end of the aisle didn’t cast a dark cloud over every bit of beauty in this room.
I walk past the nobles and the council in the front row, my eyes only going to Maryam’s for a moment. But even in that second, the rage is clear in her eyes. A mother’s rage when her daughter is being wronged. I give her a small smile, a reminder of things to come, and take the last few steps. Then I’m turning to face Azar.