Only the Stars Can Know

Three

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A/N: Wow, I guess being on night shift has it’s advantages. We’ll see how long this lasts! Please, please, please review this! Just let me know that it doesn’t (or does) suck completely!

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Once more she woke, just a small opening of her eyes before the soft rolling of the horse steps across the sand lulled her to sleep once more. Twice she woke again and caught a glimpse of sand dunes, then small mountains before coming fully back to her senses. Her body still ached and sand had caked its self on the corner of her eyes, but she had felt better than she had in months. The sun was setting across the horizon and off in the far distance she could vaguely make out the outline of a tent.

“Is that where you live?” she asked shifting around in the saddle to look upon him as he held her to his chest. His face was hidden in the deep cowl of his cloak that protected him from the cruel sun’s kiss, but those demonic eyes burned as bright as before.

His body made a huffing movement, as if he was laughing at her. “No Princess, that is just our next stop. An old wise man lives there.”

She lifted her arms and shoved his chest, “Let go,” she demanded, trying to use her authority against this peasant, this killer who had touch her with such ease.

He laughed outright this time, “If I do that, Princess, you would fall and probably break another bone. I haven’t spent days patching you up only for you to break your neck.”

“That’s an order!” she hissed, trying to sound threatening when she didn’t feel the least bit dangerous.

He shook his head and didn’t say anything else, he only loosened his hold that he had on her and continued to plod the horse along at its easy pace.

It was far past sunset when they reached the entrance on the large tent and even before her savior could announce their presence a voice called from within.

“I see that you have found the Princess. Her father will be most pleased.”

The man opened the tent, pulling the thick cloth wide to let her enter first. The inside of the tent was grand indeed. Lush rugs and carpeting covered the floor in tick folds, bending colors to the various candles lit throughout the inner room. Shelves decorated each wall and jars of all different shapes and sizes littered them reflecting off the red-orange light. She felt small and insignificant standing in all the richness in her tattered, torn cloths. She pulled her blanket tighter around her and stood straight, trying to look as regal as possible.

“She needs medicine and a place to completely rest. Her body has been beaten severely.” He spoke as if she was not there, “The Princess will not make the journey to her kingdom, or the Necromancer’s alive.”

The old man stood, his back to the two of them and slowly walked over to one of his many shelves. He slowly scanned it, his fingers brushing over the different shapes before he carefully selected a few and returned to once more to his sitting place.

The man that rescued her lightly touched her back, urging her to go forward before walking to the nest of pillows and settling himself down across from the old man. She took a deep breath and carefully stepped her way to the two men, trying to keep an eye on both of them at the same time. She didn’t trust either one of them. As she found out over the years, just because someone appears to be old and slow moving doesn’t make them any less dangerous.

“The Necromancer that you seek is quite feisty indeed,” the wise man was saying, “Are you sure that you want to do this, my Prince?”

She thought her eyes would bug from her head as the old man addressed her savior. The younger of the two nodded before pushing back the hood of his worn brown cloak. It was the first time that she had fully seen his face. He had none of the boyish features that Aladdin possessed, his jaw was strong and his small goatee gave him the appearance of being older than she first thought him to be. His eyes sown brighter against his sun darkened skin than they did under the cowl of his cloak, a feat that she thought was impossible to make. There was a scar that traveled half way on the side and ran across his left eyebrow creating a small gap that some how completely fit the way the rest of him looked.

To the old man’s words he gave no comment, just stared at him hard as if he could see right through his soul.

He sighed, his voice a rasp in his throat, “As before I have never been able to stray you from your quests. Even if they will coast you your life.” Then he gave another wave of his hand as he prepared some powder, grinding different amounts of the substance that gathered inside of the jars. “You may rest here until the Princess is fully healed,” he seemed to think for a moment before adding, “Shall I contact your father and let him know that his son is well.”

He nodded his hair brushing against his slightly unshaven face, “Yes, please.”

The old man bowed his head, “Of course, My Prince.”

He stood and waked to her, offering his hand in a kind gesture to help her to her feet. She was grateful, yet she could bring herself to touch him. Instead she stared up at him with surprised dark eyes, “You can’t be a Prince.”

He laughed out right at her, his chuckled sliding against her skin. She suppressed a shiver, refusing to let his deep voice affect her so. “And why is that Princess?” he asked, his hand still reached out to her.

She opened her mouth and thought of all the cruel, harsh words that she could speak as to why he couldn’t be a prince, but none of them left her erratic thoughts. “Who are you?” she finally asked, settling on the basics before anything else erupted.

He laughed again and this time it caught her off guard, goose pimples sliding across her flesh. His laughter died shortly and he simply just looked to her, “I am the Prince of Persia,” he stated, as if it where every day knowledge.

She swallowed thickly, “I am... that far from my own land?” She dreaded the answer but her heart would not rest unless she found the truth.

He nodded, his strange blue eyes burning with sympathy, “Please Princess, you must rest.”

She hung her head and she knew, she was farther than she could have ever imagined yet she could not take her first steps home until she recovered, she could feel her body slowly weakening and she knew she was becoming gravely ill. She could not take the first steps to her wellness because those steps included her reaching out and taking his hand. That was something that she couldn’t bring herself to do, even if it meant she was that much closer to her home. She couldn’t take him up on his offer to help because she refused to believe herself that weak, and every act that he had done since her rescue just weakened her more. Made her self loathing all the more powerful.

She shook her head violently at him, pleading with him to leave her in her pitiful misery. Instead, his arms wrapped around her and he lifted her once again as if she was the most fragile and lightest thing in the entire seven deserts. She loathed the touch of his arms around her, carrying her as if she were just a little babe. She whimpered and buried her face into the thick leather armor that covered his chest, hiding her tears of shame from him.

His hold tighten on her, not enough to hurt but enough to secure her to him, “If you need strength, Princess,” he whispered into her hair, “Than let your hold take some of mine.”

It was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her and she hated herself for gripping him harder, trying to take all his calmness and power into her. She hated herself for loving the comfort that this merciless killer was giving to her.

TBC...