Winner of the 'Readers Choice Award' in Historical Fiction.
Winner of the 'Readers Choice Award' in Spiritual Category.
Winner of Best Muslim Readers' Choice Awards: Prince of Knights
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Arabs are well known for their culture, Po...
Read every word of this chapter. I worked very hard to brim it with feelings. I want you guys to feel what they are feeling. I had to watch many intense, sad, and romantic scenes to write this.
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~*There's a field somewhere beyond all doubt and wrongdoing. I'll meet you there." – Rumi~*
Raghad pushed aside the flap of the tent and froze for a while. There Faris sat by the right side with his head bowed. Raghad took a single step forward, uncaring of the male Tabib who tended someone else's wound on the other side of the tent. As she took another step inside, some members of the wind followed her in while others stay by the door.
The world before her perished. Her teary eyes only recognized Faris. The man she once loathed, but now she could not breathe without. Her legs shook as she walked further in the tent in slow steps. And when the thread of her heart lifted his head Raghad's legs wobbled. His inky eyes landed directly on her, and they slightly went wide.
Raghad inhaled a shaky breath and kept walking, gazing at him as if he were the first drop of rain on parched land. So lost in her thoughts, she did not take note of how Faris dismissed someone with his hand or how his gaze for a few seconds moved to his right.
A few steps closer, her left hand grasped her scarf, and the action caused it to loosen, slide back, and rest at the crown of her head. Upon the sight of her hair, Faris's hawk-like eyes recognized the scarf, here he bit the side of his bottom lip.
Knight of knights sat straight despite his wounds when those big-brown eyes took in his form. He watched, entranced as Raghad gazed at his injuries, his face, and his eyes. He knew she was not aware of her surroundings, was not aware of how her loosened scarf displayed her throat, or how her glossy hair gleamed under the light of the lanterns.
Raghad felt her heart pick its rhythm. Suddenly, the bride felt as if she was seeing Faris for the first time, yet he was always there in her veins. As she walked up to him, with every step, he became more alluring in her eyes.
Her eyes then dropped to his bare chest, and she silently gasped. Deep wounds decorated the side of Faris's chest, and blood coated the clothe wrapped around the middle of his chest. At the sight of his blood, Raghad felt a burning sensation at her belly as if she was bleeding. Subconsciously, her hand went to her abdomen as if to stop the pain that they were feeling. A single drop of tear trickled down her left eye when she stood two steps away from Faris.
Raghad looked down at him, lost. His eyelashes were so thick that she for the first time in their married life; thought that he might have put kohl on them. His orbs were so dark; she was sure he looted the darkness from the night sky. Was he always this enchanting?
There was blood on his face, blood in his hair, and blood on his hands. She peered at Faris for a prolonged while, suddenly, too overwhelmed to take the final steps and reach him. The knight tilted his head to the side; in doing so, his hair brushed against his bare shoulder. Faris gazed back at Raghad with such ardent intensity that the thin walls around her kindled and crumbled down.
