[AMAL POV]
The Alexandria caravan was a magnificent sight—forty camels laden with silks and spices, their bells chiming softly in the pre-dawn darkness. The merchants moved with practiced efficiency, checking loads and adjusting harnesses while their guards stood watch at the edges of the camp.
Ghada and I approached on foot, leading the two horses Kassim had provided. We wore the simple brown robes of traveling merchants, our faces veiled against the desert wind. Our documents identified us as sisters from a village two days' ride to the north, seeking passage to the coastal markets.
"You're certain about this?" Ghada whispered as we neared the caravan leader's tent.
"Too late for doubts now," I replied, though my heart was hammering against my ribs.
Hamid ibn Rashid was a weathered man with kind eyes and a shrewd smile. He examined our documents carefully, his fingers tracing the official seals I had forged with such care.
"The roads are dangerous for two women traveling alone," he said finally. "You're wise to seek protection."
"We can pay well for the privilege," I replied, producing a small pouch of coins—enough to ensure his cooperation without arousing suspicion.
"Very well. Stay close to the main group, speak to no one unless spoken to, and follow my commands without question. The desert forgives no mistakes."
Within an hour, we were moving. The palace shrank behind us as we joined the long line of camels and horses heading east toward the mountain passes. For the first time in six years, I was beyond the reach of the palace walls.
"We did it," Ghada breathed, her eyes bright with wonder as she looked back at the distant towers. "We actually did it."
I felt it too—a lightness in my chest, as if invisible chains had suddenly fallen away. The morning sun painted the desert in shades of gold and amber, and the wind carried the scent of freedom.
"The hardest part is over," I said, allowing myself a smile. "By tonight, we'll be in the mountain passes. By tomorrow, we'll be beyond the Prince's reach entirely."
"And then?"
"Then we find a new life. A real life."
How is this real? Is this a dream? Am I still in the cell asleep? Could this be me finally going insane?
No... I can feel the wind...
We rode in comfortable silence, savoring the rhythmic sway of our horses and the vast openness of the landscape. I had forgotten what it felt like to see the horizon without walls blocking my view, to breathe air that didn't carry the weight of constant surveillance.
For three hours, we traveled with the caravan along the ancient trade route. The merchants chatted among themselves, sharing news from distant cities and gossip about market prices. Some of the guards nodded respectfully as we passed, their eyes lingering on our horses with professional appreciation.
"Fine animals," one of them commented. "Arabian stock?"
"A gift from my late husband," I replied, the lie coming easily. "He always said good horses were worth more than gold."
"Wise man." He barked a laugh.
As the sun climbed higher, the landscape began to change. The flat desert gave way to rolling hills dotted with scrub brush and stunted trees. In the distance, I could see the purple outline of the mountains where the caravan would rest for the night.
"Look," Ghada said, pointing ahead. "The pass."
The mountain pass was a narrow gap between two towering peaks, barely wide enough for the caravan to travel single file. Ancient stones marked the boundaries between kingdoms, and I felt a thrill of anticipation as we approached them.
"Once we cross those markers," I said, "we'll be in foreign territory. The Prince's authority ends at the border."
"How much further?"
"Perhaps an hour."
But as we began the gentle climb toward the pass, I noticed something that made my blood run cold. The lead camels had stopped, their drivers pointing and shouting. From my position in the middle of the caravan, I couldn't see what had caused the commotion, but I could hear the sharp commands of the guards as they moved to defensive positions.
"What's happening?" Ghada asked.
"I don't know. Stay calm."
Then I saw them—riders in the distinctive blue and silver of the palace guard, emerging from concealment among the rocks. They had been waiting for us, positioned perfectly to block the pass.
"No," I whispered. "No, this can't be happening."
But even as I spoke, more riders appeared on the hills around us. We were surrounded, trapped in a bowl of stone with nowhere to run.
"Amal." Ghada's voice was tight with fear. "What do we do?"
Before I could answer, the riders began to close in. The merchants were shouting, their guards drawing weapons, but it was clear they were outnumbered three to one. This wasn't a robbery—it was a carefully planned military operation.
And then I saw him.
Prince Faisal rode at the center of the formation, his armor glinting in the sunlight. He looked calm, almost bored, as if this were nothing more than a routine patrol. When his eyes found mine across the chaos of the trapped caravan, he smiled.
"Citizens of the caravan," he called out, his voice carrying easily in the mountain air. "You have nothing to fear. We seek only two fugitives who have committed crimes against the crown."
Hamid ibn Rashid urged his horse forward, his face red with indignation. "Your Highness, we are peaceful merchants traveling under royal protection. We have done nothing wrong."
"Indeed you have not," the Prince replied smoothly. "But you have been deceived. Among your number are two women who have stolen from the royal treasury and violated their oaths of service. Surrender them, and the rest of you may continue your journey unharmed."
I felt the eyes of the entire caravan turning toward us. Some of the merchants looked confused, others frightened. But the guards were already moving, their hands resting on their weapons.
"Run," I whispered to Ghada. "When I give the signal, break for the rocks."
"We can't outrun mounted guards."
"We have to try."
The Prince was speaking again, his voice carrying the authority of absolute power. "The fugitives are two women, approximately twenty-seven years of age, traveling on Arabian horses. They carry forged documents and stolen gold. I call upon the merchants to surrender them immediately."
"Your Highness," Hamid called out, "we have no knowledge of any theft. These women paid honestly for passage and presented proper documents."
"Forged documents," the Prince corrected. "Created using stolen royal seals."
He urged his horse forward, and the circle of guards tightened around the caravan. I could see there was no escape—the rocks were too far, the guards too numerous.
"Amal of the house of service," the Prince called out, "I know you can hear me. Show yourself, and your companion will be treated with mercy."
Ghada grabbed my arm. "Don't. You know what his mercy looks like."
But I also knew what his anger looked like. And I could see in his posture, in the set of his shoulders, that he was already furious.
"I'm sorry," I said to Hamid. "We never meant to bring this upon you."
"Amal, don't—"
But I was already urging my horse forward, pushing through the confused merchants toward the center of the circle. Behind me, I heard Ghada curse and follow.
The Prince waited as we approached, his expression unreadable. Only when we were close enough to see the cold fury in his eyes did he speak.
"Did you really think you could outrun me?" he asked conversationally. "Did you imagine I wouldn't know the moment you left the palace? The moment you spoke to the stable master? The moment you forged my seal?"
"Your Highness—"
"I hate predictable girls, Amal. And you have been disappointingly predictable." He gestured to his guards. "Seize them."
The guards moved forward, but something in their positioning told me they expected us to run. This was a game to them, a hunt. They wanted us to bolt so they could chase us down.
I looked at Ghada, and she nodded. We had discussed this possibility, planned for it. If we were caught, we would not go quietly. Like animals.
"Now!" I shouted.
We wheeled our horses around and drove them toward the narrowest gap in the circle, where two guards sat their mounts with casual confidence. They weren't expecting a desperate charge, and we broke through before they could react.
Behind us, I heard the Prince's voice rise in anger. "After them! I want them alive!"
The sound of hoofbeats thundered across the rocky ground as the guards gave chase. Our horses were fast, bred for endurance, but we were carrying riders and the guards had fresh mounts. Slowly, inexorably, they began to close the distance.
"The rocks!" Ghada shouted, pointing to a tumble of boulders ahead. "If we can reach them—"
But even as she spoke, I saw riders emerging from our left, cutting off our escape route. We were being herded, driven like animals toward a killing ground.
"This way!" I turned my horse toward a narrow ravine that cut between two hills. It looked treacherous, but it was our only chance.
We plunged into the ravine, our horses scrambling over loose stones and weathered roots. Behind us, the guards hesitated—the passage was too narrow for safe riding, too dangerous for a cavalry charge.
For a moment, I thought we might make it. The ravine twisted and turned, offering concealment from our pursuers. If we could reach the other end, we might be able to lose ourselves in the maze of gullies and dry creek beds that scarred the mountainside.
But as we rounded a bend, I saw them waiting for us.
Prince Faisal sat his horse in the center of the passage, flanked by a dozen guards. They had anticipated our route, positioned themselves perfectly to intercept us. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
"Clever," the Prince said as we pulled our horses to a stop. "But not clever enough."
I looked around desperately, searching for any possible escape. The ravine walls were too steep to climb, the guards too numerous to fight. We were trapped as surely as if we were back in the palace dungeons.
"Dismount," the Prince commanded.
We slid from our horses, my legs shaking with exhaustion and fear. The guards closed in around us, their weapons drawn but not yet threatening.
"Now," the Prince said, dismounting as well, "we come to the interesting part."
He walked toward us slowly, his boots crunching on the loose gravel. In his hand, he carried a curved sword—the same blade he had used to fight the rebels in the burning hall years ago.
"You see, Amal, I had hoped you would be wiser than this. I had hoped that three years of loyal service would teach you the value of your position. But instead, you chose to throw it all away for a moment of pointless rebellion."
"It wasn't pointless," I said, finding my voice. "We would have been free."
"Free?" He laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Free to do what? To starve in some foreign city? To sell your bodies for bread? To die forgotten in a gutter?"
"Free to choose our own path."
"There is no path for people like you except the one I provide. You are nothing without the palace, nothing without my protection. This little adventure has proven that."
He was standing close now, close enough that I could smell the leather of his armor, the oil on his sword. His eyes were cold, calculating.
"But I am not without mercy," he continued. "I will give you one last chance to demonstrate your loyalty."
"What do you want?"
"I want you to kneel. I want you to beg for my forgiveness. I want you to promise that you will never again attempt to leave my service."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then your friend dies."
At his gesture, two guards grabbed Ghada's arms, forcing her to her knees. A third pressed a blade to her throat.
"The choice is yours, Amal. Your freedom, or her life."
I looked at Ghada, saw the fear in her eyes, the resignation. She knew as well as I did that the Prince's mercy was a lie. Even if I surrendered, even if I groveled and begged, he would kill her anyway. And then he would make me watch as he decided my fate.
"Don't," Ghada said quietly. "Don't give him the satisfaction."
"I can save you," I said desperately. "I can—"
"No." Her voice was firm, stronger than I had heard it in years. "You can't save me. But you can still save yourself."
"Ghada—"
"Run, Amal. When the moment comes, run. Don't look back. Don't let our suffering be meaningless."
The Prince's expression darkened. "How touching. The laundry girl has found her courage at last."
"More courage than you'll ever have," Ghada replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. "You need armies and walls and dungeons to feel strong. But we chose to be free, even knowing the cost. That's something you'll never understand."
"Big words from someone about to die."
"Death is just another kind of freedom. You can take our lives, but you'll never own our souls."
The Prince's face went white with rage. "You dare—"
"I dare to tell you the truth. You're not a ruler, you're a parasite. You feed on the fear and suffering of others because you have nothing else to offer. And when you die, you'll be forgotten, while we'll be remembered as the ones who refused to kneel."
The scene unfolding before me struck something deep and raw — it reminded me of Halima. The memory came like a wound reopening, sudden and tender. Before I could stop them, my tears slipped free, soaking the edge of my veil, the fabric clinging damply to my cheek like a quiet grief I couldn't hide.
"Ghada, stop," I pleaded. "You're making it worse."
"How could it be worse?" She laughed, a sound that was somehow both bitter and free. "He was always going to kill us. At least this way, I get to tell him what I really think first."
The Prince raised his sword, his hand trembling with fury. "You want to die a martyr? So be it."
"No!" I lunged forward, but the guards held me back.
"I told you to run," Ghada said, her voice gentle now. "Remember me, Amal. Remember all of us. And when you're free, truly free, live the life we never could."
The Prince's blade flashed in the sunlight.
I screamed as Ghada's head rolled across the rocky ground, her blood spreading in a dark pool among the stones. The guards released me, and I fell to my knees beside her body, my hands shaking as I reached out to touch her face.
"This is what defiance brings," the Prince said, cleaning his blade on a cloth. "This is what happens to those who forget their place."
I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. The world had narrowed to the sight of Ghada's lifeless eyes, the smell of blood and death, the crushing weight of absolute loss.
"Now," the Prince said, sheathing his sword, "you have a choice to make. You can join her in death, or you can return to your duties and never speak of this again."
I looked up at him, this man who had shaped my life for six years, who had promised freedom and delivered slavery, who had just murdered my dearest friend for the crime of wanting something better.
"I choose neither," I said quietly.
And then I ran.
The guards were not expecting it—they thought I was broken, crushed by Ghada's death. But her sacrifice had not been meaningless. It had bought me the one thing I needed most: a single moment of inattention.
I sprinted toward the ravine wall, my hands finding purchase on the rocky surface. Behind me, I heard the Prince's roar of rage, the clatter of armor as the guards scrambled to follow.
"Stop her! Don't let her escape!"
"Ya Allah, You who split the sea and raised the sky—I am hollow and bleeding and tired. Raise me from this sorrow..."
An arrow whistled past my ear as I climbed, my fingers bleeding on the sharp stone. Another struck the rock beside my head, sending chips flying. But I didn't stop, didn't look back.
Ghada's voice echoed in my mind: Run. Don't look back.
I reached the top of the ravine and kept running, my feet carrying me across the broken landscape toward the distant mountains. Behind me, I could hear the pursuit—horses, men, the Prince's voice raised in furious commands.
But I was free now in a way I had never been before. Free of the palace, free of duty, free of the illusion that mercy existed in the hearts of those who held power.
I was alone, wounded, hunted. But I was alive.
And somewhere in the vast wilderness ahead, I would find what Ghada had died believing in: a life worth living, a future worth the price we had paid.
The sun was setting as I finally stopped to rest, my body trembling with exhaustion. Behind me, the sounds of pursuit had faded. The Prince's men were cavalry, useless in the rocky terrain I had chosen.
I am free?
But as I sat among the stones, watching the last light fade from the sky, I felt the weight of what that freedom had cost. Halima, Amina, Najwa, lost to the darkness. Ghada, sacrificed for my escape. How many others would pay the price for my choices?
At first, it was just a tremble in my shoulders. A breath that caught and wouldn't release. I pressed my fist against my mouth to stop the sound — the instinct still there, as if a guard might appear from the rocks and beat the sob back into my chest.
But there was no one. No chains. No collars. No eyes watching from the dark.
And so I broke.
I cried.
Not the soft, noble kind of crying. Not the single tear slipping down the cheek of a brave girl who'd survived.
I cried like a wounded animal.
I cried with a sound that tore itself from the pit of my stomach — a guttural, gasping howl that scraped my throat raw. My face contorted, snot and spit and heaving sobs, my body folding in on itself like it couldn't bear the weight of being alive. My cries echoed against the rocks, each one louder, more unhinged than the last.
I cried for every hope Halima had in silence.
For the way Amina's fingers shook when she braided my hair.
For Sabria's whispering prayers, forgotten by everyone but me.
For Najwa's bitterness — her laughter that died too young.
For Ghada's blood beneath my feet.
I cried because I had survived.
Because they hadn't.
Because survival wasn't the victory I thought it would be. Not like this.
The desert took my screams and scattered them to the wind.
And when the sobs finally choked themselves quiet, when my voice was gone and my chest was hollow, I lay curled against the stones, my hands pressed to my face, body shaking like the earth beneath a storm.
I stayed like that until the stars opened their cold eyes above me.
And only then, in that awful, aching silence, did I begin to breathe again.
Not as the girl who had once belonged to a palace.
But as the woman who had burned her way out of it.