Ok, sorry... I'm taking a bit to speed up the story, I just hate it when people just jump straight into the action without no rising action! Anywho, hope you enjoy! Review if ya like, that way know if you guys are enjoying it :)

Ilada'Jefiv: Thanks for your constant reviews :D It makes me feel better that people are enjoying it! Also, I see where you're coming from, if I knew a little bit more about how people talked back then, I would definitely change the dialogue. But sadly, I don't know too much :( and another thing, the rogues are a rough group of people, and usually from other areas because they're nomadic, so their dialogue might be a little be more diverse. All in all, I appreciate the comments :)

Gaignun Girl: Thanks for the support! Glad to see you're liking it so far, I hope I can keep you interested until the end!

Everyone else: You get my thanks as well! (waves)

Honest Mistake

Her head felt sore and ached from within, it was as if someone had just rung a cathedral bell next to her ear. Her color-changing wrist was gradually getting worse; looking at it, she could easily think up an excuse, but the other injuries she wasn't too confident about. She pulled the grey sleeve of her burka over the purple flesh, forcing her energy towards something more meaningful.

Her long legs carried her bruised body towards the outskirts of the garden perimeter, once there, she could climb back into her room, hoping to stay unnoticed. It had been the time of day for her to read and study (something her father heavily encouraged), the time of day she usually escaped if possible. The young girl presumed her safety once the tall, iron fencing came into view. She knew she would remain undiscovered, that is, until she spotted an empty space where the crates and scaffolding had once stood.

A light gasp escaped her mouth while she stood frozen in time, with a rather dismayed expression. Had perhaps her father realized she was missing? Sure, he could order some servants to move the scaffolding, but would he? No, of course not; she would deny it until he was looking her in the eyes. The scaffolding was removed because its purpose was no longer useful, someone had obviously noticed someone from the outside could use it to get it, right? She thought to herself, biting her lip as if it would make this image return back to the way she had wanted it to look. But unfortunately, the crates were still not there and the wooden scaffolding was no where in sight.

Still, there was no way of gaining access now, unless she were to enter through the front of the palace, which would result in an uproar. That thought had her groaning with discontent. "Could this day get any worse?" she managed to say out loud, hoping that the heavens would somehow answer.

When she received no verbal reply, she put her bruised hand on her hip and leaned her weight to one side. But then, as if the heavens did answer her inquiry, she remembered that the day could have been much worse, if it hadn't been for that heroic man risking his life to save hers. His masculine, heavenly image still burned in her thoughts in a demeaning way. He had undoubtedly recognized her, the way his facial features converted and the way his eyes lit up from within the shadows. She was rather infatuated…

She shook her head from side to side, nearly smacking herself for getting so caught up. It's over, don't think about it anymore. The afternoon was growing old and the sun was getting rather heavy, the way it began to fall towards the horizon.

The only prominent option was to enter through the front since there seemed to be no other alternative; that meant she would have to pass guards, who of which would question her entry or recognize her immediately. She probably wouldn't even reach the vast foyer without being seized by one of the city guard. Her disobedient play would soon come to an end, that she knew of.

She moved quickly once she realized the time of day, knowing all to well what was to come, but she continued to day dream as she passed up blurred images of arid scenery.

A few moments later, she found herself standing stiff in front of those all too familiar gates. The four guards all bared similar expressions and dark brown uniforms; all of them had those probing eyes that gleamed with a hint of severe dominance. She shifted uneasily, not knowing when to make a move or something close to an attempt. Thankfully, she had time to ponder, for her outfit blended her in with the small crowd of the wealthy and the guards had yet to notice her suspicious stare. Alright, there's obviously no other way to get in and time is definitely not on my side, I need to make my move. Her hands balled into nervous fists at her sides and her nose wrinkled with dismal; her legs began moving her feet forward with impulsion. She could only hope it didn't look as strained as she felt it had.

One of the guard's eyes averted from space and onto her, she could immediately feel his watchfulness. A lump gradually grew in her throat as she strived passed the first set of sentries, hoping to appear as casual as possible. Her eyes clenched shut under her charcoal veil; she could instantaneously feel a small trace of serenity behind the lids.

When no words or other gawky feelings fell upon her, she guessed she was safe and opened her eyes, revealing the front of the palace she called home. A feeling of success enveloped momentarily, but was cut-short once a strong hand seized her damaged wrist with extreme swiftness. The binding grip cause a small shriek of agony to release from within her core. Her eyes widened and locked onto the owner of the devil's grasp.

"Shoofi mafi al anesah? (What's the matter, miss?)" The accented voice rumbled from the opened mouth of the nearest guard. His face was rough and slightly covered by the growing stubble on his tanned skin. The other sentries turned their attention towards the light commotion, but still stood professionally stiff.

Her mouth parted to reply, but no words came out, only small, hoarse noises of surprise. He obviously noticed her growing horror, for he released her and stepped back. "Shoo? (what?)" She finally gained her senses.

"May I enter?" She asked with hesitation, hoping the guard knew some English.

"La,(no)" Was he flat reply. He stared at her with little emotion, eyes glancing from her to the gate as if gesturing for her to leave.

"Alessa!" Came a shout from the top of the steps leading up to the main front entry. Simultaneously, the guards and the young girl peered up with curious eyes; her eyes were the widest of them all.

There, standing at the top of the sanded steps, was Farah, the girl's personal servant. In other words, she was specifically hired to care for the girl and practically raise her.

Farah's hand immediately balled into fists and were placed on her hips; a set of patrolling guards filed out of the palace past the stocky woman, she couldn't help but notice how Farah appeared more intimidating than the guards. Farah was a broad women, although not very tall. Her hands were strong and her Israeli traits were bluntly distinct. Even though the stern woman could prove to be quite frightening under the right circumstances, her face was still soft and welcoming.

"Young lady, where have you been??" Came a shout out of Farah's widened mouth. Instantly, the four guards gawked at her with perplexity, neither one knowing what was occurring.

Alessa could find no words or answers, she only stood frozen, just like how she had on several occasions beforehand. Farah gestured her wide arm through the hot air, motioning her to come. It was a thick gesture, mirroring her authority. Alessa lagged no longer, she immediately ran up the steeps, lifting the ends of her burka up slightly, attempting to prevent the cloth to be snagged by the anything capable of doing so. She sped up, almost like a prance, once Farah continued to wave her arm in an irritated manner.

"Where have you been? I nearly died when I noticed you were missing!" She repeated, returning her fists to the sides of her hips. Alessa couldn't look her in the face, her attention fell to the ground and a feeling of a childish guilt rushed over her.

"The city," She replied meekly.

"The city? And why's that?"

Alessa was once again met with no answer for the inquiry. She ran her tongue over her teeth while she pondered. Unable to think up anything, she merely shrugged.

"Don't you give me that, those crates weren't moved for no reason." Farah leaned forward, cocking her head in attempts to look into the girl's face. Those words caused her head to bolt up.

"So you did find out? That's why the crates were gone,"

Farah confirmed with a thick 'mm hmm' and continued to stare daggers into Alessa. "Here, let's discuss this inside with your mother,"

"No!" Alessa pleaded, "I've done nothing wrong!" Farah shook her head and seized Alessa's injured wrist and began tugging her along towards the towering doors of the palace. "No, that hurts my wrist, Farah."

She noticed Alessa's desperation and turned to face her and to see the wrist for herself. Once her eyes fell upon the injury, she immediately let go and brought her hands to her face.

"Oh dear, my apologies!" Alessa rubbed her wrist with apprehension and waited for more words to spill out of the energetic woman's mouth. "And how'd that happen?"

"I fell,"

"I bet you did, come on now, your mother's worried."

Alessa sighed to herself, in hopes of numbing the growing stress that the day has burdened her with.

This day sure had gone well, on a sarcastic note, and to think it wasn't even near over. That thought had Alessa rubbing her arms with a rather displeased expression plastered on her face.

Shortly after entering and following Farah, they stood in the large kitchen, where lanterns hung lazily from the ceiling and where an immediate feeling of life somehow managed to materialize. Then, of course, Alessa's eyes noticed a familiar stare, a stare so great that it was both warming and demoralizing. That face, was that of her mother's.

Once you got the mother and daughter next to each other, a shocking resemblance occurred. So often had Alessa received comments referring to that. Alessa was slightly shorter and not quite as womanly, and her mother bared the image of a proud mother and wife, who housed a great feeling of dignity within. Age was taking over the graceful woman's face, but it was nothing to stunt her beauty.

As she neared, her mother gave her a small smile that, although small, it still held an abundant amount of emotions.

"Here's your daughter, Marlena." Farah addressed, stepping aside; her Arabian dialect was still present in her voice.

Alessa's mother nodded in agreement, "Alessa."

"Mother," Alessa began, but quickly lost the motivation.

"Alessa, you had us worried, what went through your mind?" Her mother questioned taking a small step forward.

"I just--I don't know, mother, I just didn't feel like reading,"

"You know you must though, it educates you."

"Yes, I know, mother," Alessa looked up at her mother as she pulled the veil of grey away from her daughter's face. The scarf loosened along with the hood, allowing her face to be in full display.

"You look distressed, is something wrong?"

Farah abruptly stepped into the conversation, "there sure is, the poor dear twisted her wrist when falling." Alessa cringed; she didn't want to reveal to them what had really occurred. Especially the part that included her assault and her handsome hero.

"Oh?" Marlena's eyebrow arched. "Did that happen while you were out?"

Alessa nodded in agreement, pursing her full lips. Her mother gently lifted her wrist up before her face to inspect it. While she was doing this, a sudden movement caught her eye.

"Ha, Alessa's in trouble!" Came a raspy voice. The voice belonged to her brother, who had eagerly popped up from behind a counter just to laugh.

Alessa sneered, "shut it, Ciro."

Her brother laughed another hoarse, but cute, snicker from his safe position. "How was your adventure?"

She stuck out her tongue just to receive another boisterous chuckle from her brother.

"Ciro, you best hold your tongue if you value your freedom," Farah roared, sending the young teen into submission.

"Fine, fine," He added in before darting out from the room; Alessa couldn't hold back a smile, her brother had always been good at getting the last word in, even if it was just some strange noise.

Marlena shook her head and brought her daughter's hand back down to her side. "It looks bad, it's getting swollen," her mother's eyes narrowed. "How that happen?"

"I fell, remember?" Alessa proclaimed, sending sounds of piddle through her words. Her mother only nodded, as if seeming to not believe the story or perhaps, knowing there was more too it. Alessa thanked the heavens once Farah entered the conversation again.

"Time is short, and your father's birthday is starting frighteningly soon, we best hurry along and get you ready!"

"Yes, good idea," her mother added in. "And I'll talk to you about your punishment after tonight." Those last words had Alessa fearing the worse. Sure, her punishments were not nearly as bad as others, such as being beaten or unusually punished in anyway.

Farah began dragging her along once again, minding her wrist and minding herself. Sometimes, the woman was worried she appeared scary towards the children, in some ways, that's what she wanted; she smiled at the thought.

Farah's hands worked their way through Alessa's amber-like curls, pulling them tightly into an untied ponytail. The way the hair sat had the golden strands falling down like a fountain, framing her heart-shaped face. While she pulled the hair back, striving to reach perfection, she noticed more and more bruises around the girl's shoulders and arms.

"Alessa," Farah began, "are you sure you just fell? You've got some more marks and bruises back here."

"Yes, I fell and landed on my wrist," she replied, then she realized it needed more detail. "I did tumble a bit, I probably hit a few things."

Farah gave a huff and reached for a nearby brush with her free-hand; her eyes still watched the girl with a motherly glaze.

"If that's what you say, I'll believe you, just know that I'm aware of reality." Shortly after, she began humming a pleasant tone, a tone that Alessa had heard since she was toddling.

Her fingers tapped impatiently on her crossed legs while she absorbed the tranquility of the music with eagerness. She didn't know whether or not to reveal the full story, she had told Farah many secrets before, but for some reason, this time seemed different. Perhaps it was because she felt guilty; this feeling of guilt wasn't like the rest, it was bitter and somewhat lustful. She hated it.

Farah lay the brush back down after streaming it through the river of yellow and reached for a crimson hair tie that sat like a slumbering snake.

When her hair reached completion, she instantly started inspecting the work, confirming the culminating work. "Does it feel alright?" Alessa could fell Farah's wide aura move back.

"Yes," Alessa answered, still in a daze. "It feels fine; does it look fine, though?" The lovely girl turned in the chair to face her beloved servant.

Farah smiled, "It flawlessly fits the occasion." The smile and those words sent reassurance through Alessa, allowing relief to spill over her. "Now to pull out even more of your beauty."

Farah pulled back and strode heavily away; Alessa turned in the chair even further to watch her disappear behind a wall. Strands of her yellow hair framed her face daintily, she was feeling rather pretty.

The stocky woman returned, with small cases of make-ups, usually only used by the rich for special events. During this time, the various creams and paints were usually hard to remove and sometimes would result in a rash, so they weren't used to often. But as Farah began applying the make- up to her fair face, the blues of her eyes emerged greatly and the color of her lips brightened.

Alessa finally felt the need for closure and decided she could tell Farah her tale, as long as she kept it a secret, much like the stories before.

"Farah," she said.

"Mm hmm?" The woman almost seemed to know what was coming: a confession.

"I need to admit something, but I'll only tell you as long as you tell no one, especially my father."

Farah paused momentarily to think about it, but quickly nodded shortly after. "Your secrets are forever kept with me."

That made her feel better, at least now she could get that devastating incident off her chest. "I did happen to hurt my wrist because I fell, but I only fell because…" She trailed off; the recollections of the horrific event had left her trembling. "Because I was attacked while I was out,"

Instantly, Farah's lower lip bulged outward and she straightened her posture to place her hand on her hip once again. "You were attacked? By who!? Who in their right mind attacked you?"

"Well," her eyes flashed over to the corner of the room, Farah's growing anger was mentally suffocating. "It was a mad man, I happened to go down a side road in the rich part of town, that's where I ran into him."

"How'd you manage to get away?"

"I-" Alessa peered up with distress, she didn't want to reveal the part about her hero for some reason. She felt as if she wanted to keep it personal and if she told someone of that man, maybe he would no longer be a part of her. "I just kicked and squirmed until I was able to run to an exit."

"Oh, you poor thing," Farah hugged her tightly, bringing her head into her chest. Alessa felt slightly appalled, but mostly comforted by this gesture.

Tears rushed to her eyes and choking sobs took over her in a rain of sorrow. It had been a traumatizing event for her and the thought of possible death was overwhelming for a young woman such as her. Growing up in royalty would guarantee better living and a more humane lifestyle, but it didn't promise safety and peace.

The gates were obviously simple to climb, the way he effortlessly scaled his way to the top and flew over the side like a bird of prey, made it seem as if the fencing was set-up for assassins. He removed himself away from the iron and clay fencing of the palace garden and closer towards entry.

The day was retiring into slumber, a splash of bright pinks and blues smoothly coated the Arabian sky like paint on a palette. The temperature was falling victim to the drastically changing weather of the Palestine area. His breathe, although not fully visible, seemed to be materializing as he jogged along the stoned path.

An opening permitting light to escape beyond its drapes, hovered above the garden in a coordinated way. His eyes fixed upon this balcony as he pondered whether or not someone would walk out onto the landing. When no one came into view, his hazel-hued eyes pulled away and fell upon the scenery before him.

He moved out from the garden by climbing up another set of fencing, where on the other side he was met with a shadowy form he could not at first identify.

Once focusing, a darkened pool of blood formed around the figure, which had actually been one of the palace guards. His lifeless form and violent stab and slash wounds confirmed the cause of his crude death. Fate had not favored him and he was met with the blade of a man who's intentions were beyond humane.

Altaïr determined the progress of the rogues' had always been one more step ahead of him, which was an aggravating though, but he did not fret and only moved onward. If he was lucky, an opened window might be accessible or maybe the rogues' were impatient enough to kill their way through a back entryway. Which, undoubtedly, the young man was and had been lucky, for he was able to reach an open-shuttered window with much ease.

:O The story's finally gaining some momentum!