Only the
Stars Can Know
Five
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A/N: Yeah, so this might actually be a really,
really looooooooong story... o.O so sorry! Not that anyone is reading this.
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When
she next opened her eyes she found herself still on her side, her body stiff
and sore as if she hadn’t tossed and turned in her sleep like she normally
did. She sighed and slowly stretched,
not taking her eyes off the man that still sat in the chair next to her bed
side. His unruly dark hair was still
uneven and tussled, liked it hadn’t been brushed or cut in a while, yet his
face was now clean of the small stubble that had formed save for the goatee
that lightly covered his chin.
The
sleeves of his dark blue shirt were pushed up to reveal the sun darkened forearms
and the collar unlaced exposing a small span of his chest. His shifted in his seat, turning on his side and
draping one leg over the arm of the chair his bare toes curling unconsciously
as he slowly turned a page in the thick book that was resting in his lap.
“Have
you been reading all this time?” she softly whispered, not wanting to break the
comfortable silence that cloaked the room in a wonderful warm blanket.
He
looked up at her from his book and gave her a radiant smile, one that erased
all the harsh lines from his face and softened his eyes giving him an almost
boyish appearance. “Of course not, Princess,
I told you a bedtime story earlier,” he whispered back at her as if he too were
afraid to break the silence.
She
felt her face grow hot at the attention that he gave her, “What was it about?”
He
held his smile, his eyes slightly twinkling with mischief, “Perhaps I will tell
you again some day,” he stated cryptically before turning his attention back to
his book.
She
frowned trying not to let herself feel ignored for the first time that they had
met. She took a deep breath and sat up,
no longer feeling the pain of her wounds yet her body still shook violently at
the effort of the one move. He was at
her side helping her even before she knew that he had moved from his spot, her entire
body jumping in fear when his hand lightly touched her back.
He
cleared his throat, as if he was embarrassed, “Sorry,” he gently mumbled.
She
waved her hand at him, “No need, you just have to make more noise so that I
know that you’re coming.”
He
turned to face her, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on her
arms to give her support if she needed it, “If you failed to remember the last
time I did that, I would be more than happy to remind you, Princess. I believe I almost scared you to death.”
She
broke his gaze and looked down at her hands resting in her lap, “You still do.”
He
also looked away, but offered her no words of comfort.
“What
is it like,” she softly said, her voice hoarse and low with shame, “To see the
world with eyes such as yours.”
It
took him a while to answer, as if the question bothered him and he was
searching deeply for his reply. “When I
was but a boy,” his voice was calm and soothing, its tenderness wrapping around
her in thick waves that almost made her shiver, “I had asked my father that
same question.”
She
waited for him to continue and when he didn’t she looked back to him only to
find him staring intensely at the cloth wall of the tent. His brow was wrinkled; his dark eyebrows formed
a line of concentration as if his still was finding a way to carefully phrase
the words that he next spoke.
“Though
I can never exactly recall the words that he spoke to answer my question, I
will remember their meaning for all of my days,” he continued, still speaking
low and husky. “How could I possibility
answer that question when I do not know how you, yourself sees the world around
you. Everybody looks to the earth with
different eyes, yet it is truly impossible described the way they see it,” he
added focusing once more on her as if to read her reaction.
She
hung her head, feeling like a fool, “What color are your father’s eyes?”
It
was then he smiled once again and touched the tips of his fingers lightly to
her chin causing her to look at him, “The same as yours, Princess.”
She
nodded and now understood that he wasn’t mocking her treating her like an
ignorant child, he was treating her like a princess. The notion brought an own smile to her face
and she closed her eyes taking a long moment to collect the whirlwind of her
thoughts before once more opening them and looking to him. “I think,” she said, trying to banish her
fear of him, “that I’m going to try to stand.”
“I
will be here to catch you if you fall,” he said, not taking his amazing blue
eyes off of her.
Her
face softened and she was most grateful that he had understood that she needed
to do this on her own, or at least try with all of her might and when she
couldn’t he would be there just as he said he would.
She
made it three steps before her legs, weak from her injuries and illness, gave
out on her and she tumbled into his arms.
S%S
“How
dare you mock me, you vile vermin?!?” he exclaimed, quickly tuning the page in
the book before she could see what it actually read.
She
reached for it, trying to grip the binding before he closed the book and held
it above his head, just out of her grasp.
“That’s not what it says!” she huffed.
He
gave her a stern look, the affect of it lost within his twinkling eyes, “Look
Princess, are you telling this story, or am I?”
“You
are.” She pouted, her arms crossing in front of her chest as she sat next to
him on her bed, their back resting comfortably on the vast mound of pillows.
He
nodded, his movement coming off as slightly snobbish and it was only at that
moment she believed him to be the Prince that he claimed to be. “Tell me about
He
slowly looked to her, his hand folding the book as if his joints were stiff and
sore. “You want to know about my
kingdom?” he asked, his eyes dark and hooded with pain
and guilt before becoming hard and emotionless orbs of the coldest ice.
She swallowed thickly around the lump that
suddenly placed itself in her throat almost causing a mild taste of bile. Her stomach turned and she wanted more than
anything to move away from his killing face.
“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely forcing her voice around her dried throat.
He
slowly reached up and lightly touched the scar that ran across his left
eyebrow, “My country is at war, Princess.
It has been for many years, perhaps which would not be a good bedtime
story.”
She
hung her head and once more cursed her ignorance of this man. War hardened hands placed them themselves on
each side of her face. Callused fingertips brushing the sides of her neck and rough thumbs
grazing cheeks, forcing her to look at him and to stare directly into his eyes
that seemed to peer into her very core.
“Do not ever look down from anyone, Princess,” he said to her, his voice
harsh with feeling and intensity, “Especially from a torn and troubled Prince
who even the Gods have turned their backs on.”
She
blinked and looked at him, truly and completely looked into the man that had
saved her life by taking the life of a hundred others. She saw in his eyes the rolling and turbulent
oceans of despair and loss, the fear of why he claimed he never slept lay
slightly on the horizon of the darkening sea.
Deep past the detached mask that he wore there was a beating heart and a
passionate soul that was slowly losing its magnificent glow. He was losing whatever inner battle that he
had waged war with and his spirit was tried.
“Why don’t you sleep, Prince?” she spoke, her voice just above a
whisper.
He
shook his head and lend close to her until his forehead was resting against
hers, “That is no bedtime story either, Princess.”
“You
are a mystery to me,” she closed her eyes, trying not to cry for him.
“Why
do you think that you are weak?” it was his turn to ask the questions, “Why do
you think that crying makes you weak?”
She
snorted at his words, trying to brush her feelings off, “Have you ever cried?”
He
smiled small and sad, “Once that I remember vividly. But even though I had shed tears once, I
believe that my heart had cried twice for the same reason.”
She
reached up and touched his face; afraid that he was going to flinch away from the
contact and when he didn’t she let her palm rest completely on his cheek. “Before,” she stopped; hesitant to remind
herself of that awful day when the skies shed its bloody tears. “When I was with... them,” she said instead
noticing that something in his eyes shifted and she knew that he knew she was
meant to say something entirely different.
“When I realized that the other women were being... what was happening
to them wasn’t happening to me yet I was still being tortured,” her bottom lip
began to tremble and her grip on his face tighten, her fingers digging in thick
dark hair as if that hold alone was the anchor for her troubled thoughts. “I cried,” she stated, “I cried every night
because somehow I knew they couldn’t. I
cried for them. I cried for the fact
that I was separated from the one I loved most and he wasn’t even there to
rescue me. I cried for my own pathetic
reason.” And she was crying now,
“Aladdin hates me now because I have wept like a spoiled child who couldn’t get
her way. He haunts my dreams, tells me
that he no longer can look upon me without shame and disappointment,” she hung
her head, letting her salty confession drip upon the blankets. “He could never love me knowing that I have
cried so many nights because... because...” she couldn’t bring herself to go
on, still hanging her head, her black hair a curtain around her shoulders to
hide from the pity she knew to be reflected in his bright blue eyes.
His
hands, rough hardened through war yet oh so gentle whenever he touched her,
wrapped around her small frame as he effortlessly lifted her and placed her in
his lap. She didn’t try to squirm away
or gasp at the sudden contact instead she gripped his shirt and held on for
dear life. He smoothed hair from her
face, hot and sweaty from crying, as he twisted and eased the both of them onto
the soft bed lying so that they were side by side. His arms encircled her back and he was
rubbing soothing small patterns trying his best to calm her aching heart.
“Any
man,” he stated, placing a small chaste kiss in her hair, just a small brush on
his lips, so light that she thought that she had imagined it. “Any man who claims that they love someone,”
he continued, his wonderful warm voice almost music to her ears, “Yet leaves
them just because of a few tears is no man at all. He becomes a coward who consistently runs
away from any emotion that is difficult.
Part of loving someone is standing by their side even at the hardest of
trials.”
She
sighed, trying to stop her sobs of despair as she laid there in the protective
circle of his arms. She tried to harden
her heart and put what had been done to her in the back of her mind, yet no
matter how much she struggled to do just that it always seemed to jump out at
her. She shifted and placed her head on
the silk pillow to look into his inhuman eyes.
Her hand reached up and involuntarily lightly ran across the scar that
nicked his eyebrow, “Have you no heart?” she softly whispered, not speaking to
the man resting next to her but speaking to the man that had been bathed in
blood on that one dreadful night.
His
eyes seemed to darken with some emotion that she couldn’t place, reading him
was like trying to decipher some of Jafar’s old books of spells. “I believe I have a heart Princess, but I
also believe that every time my blades destroy a human life, no matter how evil
and vile, that it stops beating for just a short while,” his voice was low and
bottomless, just like the color his eyes had become.
She
softly closed her eyes, no longer able to hold his intense gaze. She yawned quickly placed her hand in front
of her mouth out of politeness. Yet once
done she lightly touched his cheek once more, her thumb tracing small circles
across his skin as she felt the roughness of his slightly unshaven face. She smiled, just a tiny upturn of her lips as
his hands started to trace patterns on her back.
Within
the blissful embrace that she had become accustom to, she fell into a profound
slumber.
Her
love was not there waiting to torment her.
TBC...