As the Prince sharpened his gleaming sword, whispering words to the princess beside him, Farah clung to his muscular chest, feeling his warmth and comfort. She set the Dagger of Time on the sturdy wooden table beside them, a lethal weapon of fortune and malice. She had used it very few times, and when she did she felt the oddest feeling; the Prince didn't seem to feel the same since he used it with such ease and skill. Perhaps it was her lack of skill?
Sighing, Farah's gentle fingers ran down his scarred, bare chest, their dark eyes reflecting the waning moonlight from the crescent medallion above. The stars above shone brightly, a dark blanket of glittering jewels, and Farah discontinued her fragile touching.
Aren't you glad we met each other? Farah asked him, her eyes like pools of tranquil water. How did you manage to get this dagger?
The Prince remembered what had occured before he turned back time, but Farah did not recall anything. Her memory was completely vacant of any memory, of any remembrance of those terrifying demons that once stalked the palace halls in search for flesh. He remembered them well; their powerful stench of garbage and the way sand sprayed from them in profuse showers.
It was time for them to move on with life. It was too dangerous living where the Vizier once lived; the Prince feared those creatures might return, even though he found it impossible. He was growing weaker by the day, his muscles slowly becoming fat on his arms and his normal speed decreasing. Oh, how he wished he could fight something, something worth fighting and killing.
He took pride in killing those beasts. Or did he even kill them? The prophecy of the sands of time was a complicated and confusing one, with so many twists and turns it made the Prince's head ache whenever he thought of it.
Farah washed her tan hands in the water basin at the window, splashing the fresh, cold liquid onto the stone windowsill. She hummed a peaceful tune, and the Prince wished she would stop and let him think. He had been thinking too much lately; so much, in fact, that he didn't think about anything but the sands of time and the Vizier.
Thinking too much about Farah, and how they had made love the night before. Oh, it was a wonderful night indeed, enriched with lust and pleasure. But that moment was past that day, and the night was becoming a new day as the hourglass's sand slid into a heap at the bottom of the container.
The Prince was still having dreams, apart from thinking like a madman. Dreams of faraway places and of unspeakable evil, and a reoccuring dream about a dark palace on an island. In that palace his dreams had shown him a cloaked woman who called herself an Just before he woke up his nightmare revealed a shocking creature, its wide jaw lined with bloody jagged teeth and claws that were about to rip his flesh from his bones. The Prince was standing feat away from the shadowy monstrosity, about to engage in battle, when Farah had woken him up.
She always seemed to get in the way of things, especially when it came to the Prince's fascinating dreams. He had adapted a passion for writing, and when doing his new favorite hobby he would pen those twisted nightmares in a journal he kept safely hidden in one of the royal bed chambers of the palace.
Aren't you a bit... tired of this palace, Farah? We've been here for a few months now, the Prince told her, his voice loud and firm as it usually was.
Tired of the palace I grew up in with my father? Of course not! This scenery has become a part of me, and I will never let it go, she explained, her voice dreamy and light. Would you like to move on? You know you certainly can.I'd love to, Farah, but I don't want to leave you here alone, the Prince said, hurrying to her and pulling her into a tight embrace. They had been clinging to each other quite a lot recently, and they did it on a daily basis. I guess I have no choice, he whispered in her ear softly. I've been going insane living here.
Suddenly an old man stumbled into the room, clutching a wooden walking stick in front of him as he scrabbled through the door. His black cloak's hood was hung over his face, casting the man's face in complete darkness.
Your fate has been written! he gasped, falling on the stone floor. You will die, Prince! You will die!The Prince could see blood streaming down the walking stick and spraying from under the hood. He pulled the man's hood away and gasped, watching as the radiant crimson liquid streamed down the forehead and from the eyelids of the old man's ruined, wrinkled face. His eyes were bloodshot, with blood seeping from the lids, and the wrinkles on his face were all contorted in terror.
What happened? the Prince asked, moving the old man to the rocking chair against the wall.
There was no answer. The old man had died, leaving a scroll of parchment lying on the floor at his feet.
The Prince unrolled it, surveying it with focused and intent eyes. He read the words that were stained in blood on the paper aloud: Your fate has been written. You shall die.
Farah pulled him into his arms, horrified by the entrance of the old man, the blood, the pain, the letter. I'm worried. What if someone is after you? she said in panic.
And the memories of his dreams flooded into his mind, the creature with the snapping jaw and the palace. The Empress... of Time.
I'm doing to defy it, he finally managed to say to Farah, almost in a soft whisper.
What are you talking about?I'm doing to defy fate, he said, even if it means I am murdered in the process.
Farah gave him a tender kiss on the cheek, even though she hardly knew him, yet something deep inside her said she loved this man. He had, somehow, saved her life.
Those thoughts of the snapping creature haunted the Prince as he climbed onto the boat from the Indian harbor, glancing back at the shadowed figure of Farah standing in the tower of the palace. He waved to her, replied with a wave back, and soon the ship had set sail.