Awaking Arrow

Pain was the first thing that returned to me—a searing, burning agony that seemed to radiate from my chest through every nerve in my body. It felt as though molten metal had been poured into my lungs, making each breath a monumental effort that sent fresh waves of torment cascading through me.

The second thing was Hamza's cry—high, thin, and terrified. The sound cut through the haze of pain like a blade, and I forced my eyes open despite the way the light seemed to stab directly into my skull.

I was lying on the cold marble floor of the ceremonial hall, my beautiful silk gown now sodden with blood that spread across the golden threads. The arrow had struck just below my right shoulder, close enough to my heart that I could feel my pulse stuttering irregularly, but far enough away that death wasn't immediate.

Hamza was still in my arms, screaming with the full force of his tiny lungs, his face red with distress. But he was whole. Unharmed. The arrow that had been meant for him—or perhaps for both of us—had found only my flesh.

"Don't move," a voice commanded sharply, and I felt gentle but firm hands pressing against my shoulders. "The arrow is still lodged. Moving could drive it deeper."

I turned my head slightly, ignoring the spike of pain the movement caused, and saw the royal physician kneeling beside me. His face was pale with concentration and fear—treating a wounded princess in front of hundreds of witnesses was not a responsibility any man would welcome.

Around us, chaos reigned. The ceremonial hall had erupted into pandemonium the moment the arrow struck. Courtiers were screaming, some fleeing toward the exits while others pressed closer, morbid curiosity overcoming their fear. Guards were shouting orders, their voices barely audible over the general uproar.

But cutting through it all was another sound—Idris's voice, raised to a volume and pitch I had heard before. He was roaring commands with the fury of a man who had watched his wife and child nearly murdered before his eyes.

"Find him!" he bellowed, and the rage in his voice made the very walls seem to tremble. "Find the bastard who dared this! I want him brought to me alive—do you hear me? ALIVE!"

I caught a glimpse of him across the hall, and the sight made my breath catch despite the pain. His face was a mask of pure, murderous fury, his ceremonial robes splattered with my blood from when he had first rushed to my side. His dark eyes blazed with a violence that would have terrified me if it had been directed at anyone other than the person who had tried to kill me and Hamza.

"Search every balcony, every rooftop, every shadow!" he continued, his voice carrying to every corner of the vast space. "Check the servants, the guards, the nobles—I don't care who they are! Someone in this kingdom just tried to murder my wife and son, and by Allah, I will have their head!"

"My lord," one of the guard captains approached cautiously, his face pale with the enormity of the situation. "We've secured the immediate area, but the archer could be anywhere by now—"

"Then expand the search!" Idris snarled, whirling on the man with such sudden violence that the captain took an involuntary step backward. "Lock down the palace, the city, the entire kingdom if you have to! No one leaves, no one enters, no one so much as breathes without my permission until we find who did this!"

"Your Highness." The physician's voice was carefully respectful but firm. "Your Highness, I need to treat the princess immediately. The arrow must be removed, and she's losing blood."

At the mention of my condition, Idris was beside me in an instant, his rage transforming into anguished concern. He knelt on the marble floor without regard for his ceremonial robes, his hands hovering over me as if he wanted to touch me but was afraid of causing more harm. 

I did not recognize the man in front of me.

He looked like a child.

"Then work!" he ordered the physician, but his hand found mine, gripping tight.

The physician nodded and began laying out his instruments with urgent efficiency. He reached for a vial of dark liquid, his movements careful and precise. "Your Highness, I must sedate the princess for this procedure. The pain will be—"

"No," I gasped, trying to sit up despite the agony that shot through my chest. "I need to stay awake. I need to see—"

"My lady, please," the physician interrupted gently but firmly. "The arrow is lodged dangerously close to your lung. Any movement, any reflexive response to pain, could drive it deeper. You must be still, and that's impossible while conscious."

"I said no!" My voice came out sharper than intended, edged with panic. "Someone just tried to kill my son. I need to know what's happening. I need to—"

"Amal." Idris's voice was soft but firm. "You need to let him help you."

"You don't understand," I said desperately, my eyes darting between my husband and the physician. "Whoever did this is still out there. They could try again while I'm unconscious. They could—"

Idris caught the physician's eye over my head, and something passed between them—a look, a silent communication that made my blood run cold.

"No," I whispered, understanding immediately. "Idris, no. I need to stay awake. I need to protect—"

"I'm the protector," he said softly, his thumb gliding over my knuckles like a promise.

I saw him nod slightly to the physician, who immediately uncorked the vial. The bitter smell of the sedative filled the air.

"Please," I begged, looking into Idris's eyes. "Please don't do this. I can't—I can't be helpless right now."

Something broke in his expression, pain flashing across his features like a physical blow. But his grip on my hand remained firm.

"I'm here, Amal. Trust me." he whispered as the physician approached with the sedative.

"Idris..."

The bitter liquid touched my lips, and despite my struggles, despite my terror, the darkness rushed up to claim me.

"No..."

I woke to silence.

Not the chaotic din of the ceremonial hall, not the shouting of guards or the cries of frightened courtiers. Just... silence. A heavy, oppressive quiet that made my heart race before I was even fully conscious.

My chest ached with a deep, throbbing pain, but it was manageable now—wrapped tight in clean bandages that restricted my breathing but held the wound secure. I was in my own chambers, lying in the familiar softness of my own bed, afternoon light filtering through the silk curtains.

But where was—

"Hamza," I gasped, sitting up so quickly that stars exploded across my vision. "Where is Hamza?"

The silence stretched, no answering cry from my baby, no sound of his small movements or contented gurgling. My breath came in short, panicked bursts as I threw back the covers, ignoring the way the movement sent fire through my shoulder.

"HAMZA!" I screamed, my voice cracking with terror. "Where is my son? Where is—"

The chamber doors burst open and Mira rushed in, her face flushed with alarm. "My lady! You mustn't—"

"Where is he?" I demanded, grabbing her shoulders with hands that shook violently. "Where is my baby? Is he alive? Is he hurt? Ya Allah, what if they came back while I was sleeping? What if—"

"He's safe!" Mira said quickly, her hands covering mine. "Your Highness, he's safe. He's with Maryam in the nursery. He's perfectly unharmed."

I stared at her, my chest heaving, unable to fully process her words through the fog of panic that clouded my mind. "You're sure? You're absolutely certain?"

"I swear it on my life," Mira said solemnly. "I checked on him not an hour ago. He was sleeping peacefully, and Maryam hasn't left his side since the attack."

The relief hit me like a physical blow, making me sag against the pillows as tears began to stream down my cheeks. But even as the immediate terror receded, the anxiety remained—a constant, gnawing fear that made my skin crawl and my hands tremble.

I found myself biting my nails, a habit I'd abandoned in childhood, my teeth worrying at the edges until I tasted blood. When that wasn't enough, I began scratching at my arms, leaving red welts on my skin as if I could somehow claw the fear out of my body.

Mira noticed immediately, gently catching my hands to still their frantic movement. "My lady, please. You're hurting yourself."

"I can't—" I took a shuddering breath, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't stop thinking about it. About who would do this. About why."

Mira settled herself on the edge of the bed, her expression grave. "Tell me what you're thinking. Perhaps talking will help."

I laughed, but it came out bitter and broken. "What am I thinking? I'm thinking that someone in this palace, someone I see every day, someone I might even trust, just tried to murder my infant son. And they're still walking free.

"The guards are searching—"

"The guards won't find anything," I said with cold certainty. "Whoever did this is too smart to leave evidence lying around. This wasn't some random attack, Mira. This was planned. Calculated."

Mira's brow furrowed with concern. "Who do you suspect?"

I was quiet for a long moment, my fingers picking at the bandages wrapped around my chest. The truth was a poisonous thing, dangerous to speak aloud, but keeping it inside felt like swallowing acid.

"Faisal," I said finally, my voice barely audible. "The second prince. He's made no secret of wanting me dead."

Mira's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't immediately protest or dismiss my words. That was one thing I'd always appreciated about her—she listened before judging.

"He's been hostile since the day I arrived," I continued, my words coming faster now, spilling out like water through a broken dam. "No—since before that. Since the day I escaped him."

Mira's expression darkened with understanding. She knew the story, knew what Faisal had tried to make me into before Idris intervened. Everyone knew.

"He can't forgive the humiliation," I said, scratching at my arm again, leaving fresh red marks. "His precious ego was wounded when I ran from him, when I refused to be his... his plaything. And now I'm not just free of him—I'm above him. I'm the mother of the heir, the prince's beloved wife."

"You think he'd kill you out of spite?" Mira asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I think he's a sadist," I said flatly, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "I think he would take pleasure in destroying everything I've built, everyone I love. He'd kill me just to watch everything around me suffer. He'd kill Hamza just to see me scream."

But even as I said it, doubt crept into my voice. Because there was another possibility, one that made my blood run cold.

"Although," I whispered, my voice trembling, "the arrow... it seemed aimed more at Hamza than at me. I threw myself in front of it, but the trajectory was wrong for targeting me specifically."

Mira was quiet, waiting for me to work through my thoughts.

"If someone wanted to kill the heir directly," I continued, my nails finding purchase on my skin again, "it wouldn't be Faisal. It would be..."

"Prince Ali," Mira finished quietly.

I nodded, feeling sick. "You felt it too, right? The first prince. Hamza's birth pushed him so far from the throne he'll never reach it now. And at the naming ceremony..." I shuddered, remembering. "He made it clear how he felt about that. He practically threatened me in front of everyone."

Mira nodded. She was quiet for several minutes, her expression troubled. When she finally spoke, her voice was measured, careful. "Both princes had an opportunity today. They were both in the ceremonial hall, both could have arranged for an archer."

"That's what terrifies me," I said, my voice breaking. "I don't know which one it was, but I know it was one of them. And they're both still here, still walking freely through the palace, still able to—"

I couldn't finish the sentence. The thought of either prince having access to Hamza, having another chance to hurt him, made me feel physically ill.

"My lady," Mira said gently, "you need to tell Prince Idris about your suspicions."

I laughed bitterly. "Tell him what? That I think one of his brothers tried to murder our child? Based on what evidence? A feeling? A look?"

"Based on the fact that you know these men," Mira said firmly. "You understand their motivations. Your instincts matter."

"Do they?" I covered my face with my palms in shame. "Because right now, all my instincts are telling me to run. To take Hamza and flee this place before they can try again."

"And go where?" Mira asked practically. "This is your home now. Your son's birthright. Running won't solve anything. If anything, it'll only make Prince Idris search every corner of the kingdom... and possibly..."

I knew what she was hinting at, and it was making me more hopeless. 

"But staying here could also get us killed," I whispered, tears spilling down my cheeks again. "What if they try again tomorrow? What if next time, I'm not fast enough? What if—"

"Stop, Your Highness." Mira said firmly, catching my hands again before I could draw more blood. "You can't think like that. You'll drive yourself mad."

But I was already halfway there, I thought. Already lost in a maze of fear and suspicion that made every shadow seem threatening, every footstep in the corridor a potential danger.