Disclaimer: I do not own PoP. This is the last chapter I am saying this because it is getting VERY annoying!
Three months had passed. The Prince walked quietly through the camp. Night had fallen and soldiers were making their way back to their tents and settling in for the night. The day had been without a battle, but it had been hectic, since a siege was being planned. One month ago the Maharajah died and a new one had taken his place. The Persians took this opportunity to attack, though they still had to be careful since the new Maharajah was a skilled military man. Strategies had been planned for weeks now, but this morning had been especially hectic; the siege was planned for tomorrow. Everyone was tired and was happy to be headed for bed, but the Prince had been summoned by his father and could not rest quite yet.
The Maharajah was dead, the Prince thought as he walked through the desert sand, and he had no living sons. He had had two of them once, but they had died in battle. All that he had left was Farah. Then where had the new one come from?
She had to have married.
He had thought about this many times since he had learned of this new Maharajah, but every time he thought on it again it still shocked him.
Farah had married.
He could not believe it. She was married and once before he had thought of marrying her…
No. Not once before. It had been erased.
But he had thought it and he would have thought the same again if it was possible for his thoughts to have a purpose now.
He sighed. It did not matter. That was the way it should be. When he came home he would find a woman and marry her. She would become queen once he ruled Persia and everything would be fine.
But would it?
He had reached his father's tent and pulled back the entrance to it.
"Father?"
The tent was lit by several small oil lamps which flickered from the breeze that wafted inside. His father sat with his back to the doorway, rigid, as if in deep thought. His armor lay on a chair, as well as his weapons. The man looked older without them, not all the formidable man he appeared in battle.
"Yes son, I am here."
He turned around to face the Prince, his face grave and aged.
"You called me?" the Prince said timidly, unnerved by how elderly his father looked in the dim, flickering lights.
"Yes. It is about the siege."
The Prince nodded, though a knot formed in his stomach at the mention of the siege. He was not looking forward to this. Something inside of him resisted it.
"I did not mention this when speaking to the troops today, but there will be two groups in the siege, one that will attack, and another to infiltrate. Only my closest advisors know about this, and now you."
The Prince looked at him expectantly, knowing that he would have something to do with this.
"I," the king continued, "Will be leading the men into battle, the first group, and you will lead the second—"
"To infiltrate," the Prince interrupted.
"Yes," the king said, a small smile creeping across his face.
"And what will I be infiltrating?"
"The Maharajah's palace."
His heart quickened. "Wouldn't he be leading his own troops against ours?"
"It is supposed to be a surprise siege," the king explained, so he might be there with his advisors. If not, then take the palace from the inside."
"By force?"
"Of course." The King looked at him, slightly, surprised.
"But if the Maharajah is not there, then all that would be left is maids and servants." His throat quivered. He would not mention Farah.
But his father mentioned her for him. "And his wife," the king said. "You don't have to kill them, just capture them. But make sure you take his treasure. He inherited quite the treasure vault."
Capture the maids. And Farah. Capturing her might be the only way being with her could be possible…
No. He couldn't do that to her.
But he couldn't disobey his father….
He did not know what to do.
"There seems to be many things in the Maharajah's treasure vault, if the legends are true," the king said, looking at his son. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to bring them back to Persia?"
"Yes, it would," he said tentatively. It was all happening again, almost as if fate did not want him to erase his mistake. But this time, if he did get the dagger, he would not open the sands.
"What is wrong, son? You seem reluctant for this. Most princes strive for their father's to give them a responsibility like this."
"I'm fine father, just tired and…"
"And?"
"A little nervous."
The king laughed. "No need to be nervous," he said, placing his hand on the Prince's shoulder, "You are skilled enough for this. I have faith in you."
The Prince nodded. "Who is coming with me on the infiltration?"
"A few of the best men, my most trusted soldiers. Don't worry, they are very capable. You will give the orders though. Arash, one of my advisors, will be there to advise you if you need help. It shouldn't take long though, and it would be easy enough for you."
"Alright. Where should I meet?"
"Join the siege like you would without this. Arash will come and find you with the men. Don't tell anyone of this, it would cause a commotion."
"Yes, I know."
"Good. Now you can sleep, I can see that you are very tired." He smiled. "Don't worry, you will do fine. I have confidence in you."
"Thank You Father." He smiled feebly and left the tent.
His head was swimming. He would have to do this; there was no way out of it. He would have to try and succeed, and if he did…
If he did nothing will happen. It would be the same as before, only this time he will not open the sands.
But he could not do that to Farah.
But he had no choice….