Prologue

Layla looked in the mirror, brushing her long obsidian hair. Her violet eyes

flickered with emotion, remembering something long lost. She sighed and put her

brush down. Looking out her window spotted her friend Abil.

Layla had been wondering about him for a while now. Ever since he had joined

her father's army she had scarcely seen him at all. But of course that is how her

father had planned it. He didn't want Layla to be in the company of some

commoner. He had higher aspirations for her. Ever since Khurshid, his only male heir

had died, he had begun planning to marry her off to some powerful king in Egypt.

Layla sighed again. It was becoming normal occurrence nowadays. She couldn't

help it. She had met the king her father wished to marry her off to. Some king, she

thought. Over stuffed, pompous, popinjay, she deliberated, her anger increasing.

I'll never marry that pig! But she knew she had to. She sighed again.

Hanif, the captain of the royal defense force, and her pseudo-father, didn't like

the Egyptian either. Since her father was never there when she was an infant, and she

had had no nanny, Hanif had taken it upon himself to acquire the position of her

caretaker. Hanif had always been there when Layla needed him, unlike her unruly

father whom had decided to, once again, miss one of her birthdays.

Someone knocked on her door. " Come in." Layla said quietly, her voice barely

audible through the oak door. Her maid, Rim, toddled in. " Might Milady fancy

getting ready for the ball tonight? For it is in honor of Milady's fifteenth birthday,"

she requested timidly, "Would Milady wish for me to assist her in getting ready?"

"No thank you Rim. I desire to get prepared on my own tonight." Layla replied.

Rim bowed and walked out of the room.

Layla walked over and opened her closet doors. Inside rested her birthday dress.

It was magnificent. The garment was made out of the finest silk, dyed a shimmering

silver color, with tiny diamonds sewn into the torso.

She lifted the dress up over her head and pulled it down, enveloping her slender

body in its soft folds. Layla twirled in the mirror. Budur has really out done herself

this time, she thought, admiring the handiwork her reflection.

Layla re-brushed her hair and brought it up in a loose bun, stray locks falling into

her face. She stood up strait, facing the mirror. She held herself up majestically,

unbefitting of the princess who would soon become another woman of a pharaoh's

harem. I am ready, she reflected wistfully.