Chapter 2: [1] AMNA

'بِسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ

DHAHAB KINDOM.

A M N A.

My palms are already turning red because of the intensity I used in scrubbing the floor-I'm starting to doubt if this floor is made only of mud or maybe Tahira's wickedness is part of why the black stain which coated the floor refuses to fade out. A loud intense sigh makes way from my mouth. I deflate the air accumulated in my cheek, causing the exposed tendrils of my hair which was sticking on my face to dangle.

"Are you tired?" Dalia's question jolts me out of my little mental rest.

I drop the sponge made from palm frond. It was already covered in red mud mixed with water. Gross. "Not really... I'm just annoyed... this black stain won't come off," I point at the stain which made a spiral design on the muddy floor "I don't even know what it is." I protrude my lower lip.

"Asf ya amna..." Dalia drops the linen she is about to sprawl on the cotton made mattress before taking light steps towards my direction, "sorry Amna, you look so tired..." She snakes her arm around my neck, "should I maybe help you, so you'll take a rest."

My eyes widen in its socket when I hear the 4-letter word 'R-e-s-t'- which I never get. Though the offer is unlike Dalia, I will still accept it wholeheartedly. "Yes please, my legs are numb already... I'm exhausted."

I look up into Dalia's eyes because she is a bit taller. She's biting hard on her lower lip. I part my lips to ask if her offer is still on, the next thing I know, she burst out into fits of laughter. I know she is up to no good.

"Your look is...," she releases another wave of laughter, "your look is priceless Amna." she finally breathes out.

I continue staring at her, not giving out any hint of emotion,

"Amna...Amna," she tugs on the brown hand sewn baggy shirt I am wearing, "Amna-"

Her last utterance of my name triggers the giggle I am holding down my chest. I turn to look at Dalia, and she has an apprehensive look on. "That's what you get for giving me an empty offer." I stick my tongue out.

"We are even now." she rolls her eyes. She crouches down close to where my folded knee lay. Her index finger strokes the black stain lightly. She brings the finger-on the stain a few seconds ago-close to her nose. Her eyes shut close while sniffing it. Dalia scrunch her nose repeatedly, her eyelids flutter open "this is henna..." she turns to me "I can see why you're struggling to clean it ever since. Let me get you something to neutralize the stain."

Dalia ambulates toward the wooden drawer close to Tahira's bed. The furnitures in every room in the palace is made of extravagant and expensive materials. The beds, drawers and door handles have gold-real gold-glued to them. One will make a fortune if it's sold, but no one will risk getting their hands chopped off. Dalia checks the third row, bringing out something like a glass bottle.

"What's that?" I point at the transparent bottle she is holding. The brown liquid inside coats every corner of the bottle as she approaches my position, she gently opens the cap before sprinkling a little of the content on the black stain.

"It will neutralize the stain," she fastens the cap, "try scrubbing it now." Dalia saunter towards the drawer.

"You're a genius, Dalia." I smile. Just two scrubs and the stain vanished completely. I can't believe I've been struggling with the stain when there's an easy remedy to it.

"I know... I know... let's get done quickly before Tahira returns." Dalia resumes sprawling the transparent linen on the bed.

"Okay." I dab the black clothing on the floor to absorb the water accumulated. Talk about the devil, not longer than 30 seconds after Dalia gave a warning about Tahira,

"...move from my way, move away." Tahira bellows sounds from a distance. She must be chastising the innocent kids who are playing near her chamber again. Since she didn't have a choice, but to accept that her chamber is situated close to the maid's quarters, she transfers all her aggression to us-the maids and some of our kids, not like I have one.

Tahira bint Mahmud: The first daughter of the chief commander of the Dhahab army. Her marriage to the crown prince of Dhahab kingdom-Zayd bin Tariq Al Hashim-does nothing, but adds to her immeasurable ego.

"I can't believe you two are still not done," Tahira yells, or more appropriately, she barked. She raises her shoulders up, releasing a loud humph before folding her hands over her chest. "What have you been doing?.." she flickers her finger from me to Dalia.

"Sorry princess, we are just about to leave." Dalia bends her head lightly in front Tahira before scampering out of the room. I take that as a cue for me to leave also, but I will not apologize to Tahira. We did nothing wrong apart from serving her dutifully. She is about the same age as I and Dalia because she's born with a silver spoon doesn't mean she can look down on us.

I quickly pack the iron bowl and cotton rag I used in drying the floor in my arms. I duck my head slightly-which I got a grunt in return-before ambulating out of the room.

****

"Walaykum Salam, Ana bi khayr Alhamdulillah." This is the 15th greeting I've replied to, and I haven't reached the palace's entrance. My legs are aching already. The palace is vast with numerous tall buildings made of fired bricks, the straw roof is arranged horizontally layer by layer to form a dome, the wooden doors made of gold handles.

It has 4 different gates leading to the 4 wings-the Western, eastern, northern and southern wings. It has fortresses, pavilions and gardens that have fountains mounted in them. It also has a huge perfectly architectured masjid.

I'm starting to believe the rumours going around that the Dhahab's palace was built for 200 years. This perfect architecture explains it.

I drap the cloak that was hanging over my shoulder around myself properly, knowing it will be colder before I got home.

We-The maids-are allowed a day off-meaning we won't spend the night in the maid's quarters for that day-in a week. Yawmul sabt-today- is my day off. I aggressively stick my hair back under the veil on my head. The softness of my hair makes it easy to escape out of my veil, especially on windy days like today.

I scamper out of the palace premises, I check the entrance for Dalia, but I can't sight her. The day is starting to get dark. I need to get back home before night falls. Maybe putting on two cloaks would have been a better idea because it's very chilly outside the palace premises.

Desert areas tend to be freezing when it's getting to night fall. I hug myself tightly, taking two slow steps, but I stop abruptly when layers of dust sprout out from the sandy desert floor like it is responding to a aggressive movement. The accumulated dust is obstructing my view, so I will have to wait until it disperses before proceeding with my journey.

I try to concentrate on the sound coming behind the cloud of dust. "clip-clop clip-clop," I hear. It sounds like the beating of a horse's hooves against the floor. The sound gets more prominent as the dust gets foggier. I lower my eyelids a little to catch a glimpse of the person approaching. A black horse penetrates the dust from afar, though I can't see properly, I can still decipher that it is a black horse with his rider on its back.

The dust finally disperses completely. The horse rider got down from the horse swiftly, he wore a cloak with a hood over his head. I-being the inquisitive person that I'm-wanted to catch a glimpse of the unknown horse rider, but I only got a view of his back-his very broad back. He uses his broad hand to bring his hood down, revealing his jet black coiled hair.

My eyes are still boring behind his head when he suddenly turns to my direction, catching me unawares.

I quickly duck my head down, but the features of his face my eyes caught for that miniscule three seconds will remain registered in my brain.

I can't believe I just saw prince Jawad, and he's exactly as described. His brown eyes, perfectly sculpted nose and lips, his thick black beard on the side of his cheek and on he's chin-he's handsome. I've never set my eyes on him for the past 5 years I started working in the palace. Rumours had it that he was on pilgrimage this year.

"salam alaykum," I remember my manners. I slowly raise my head when I hear no reply from him. His eyes linger on mine for split seconds.

"Walaykum salam." he replies. He ties the rope hanging on his horse's neck to the palm tree in front of the palace. He spares me a last glance. I watch as his back disappears into the palace. I wonder if the rumours about him having no scars are true as well. Dalia must hear of my today's encounter.

stop fantasizing about him Amna. I smack my forehead, finding my lost steps.

The town is already getting scanty as I walk towards my grandmother's house. No one wants night to befall them while still outside within Dhahab's vicinity. Dhahab is known for having very chilly and pitch-black nights. The nights are very dark that you will almost not recognize your pathways.

I sigh when I sight the crooked mud house with thatched roofing-my grandmother's house-from afar. My eyes instinctively fell to my foot, the life of the soft leather shoe I am wearing is almost out, and I won't want to walk bare-footed even though the house is already near. The thought of a black scorpion stinging my delicate foot makes me shriek in fear. Slowing my pace may be the only way out now.

I feel a bulky arm snake around my neck from behind. The arm presses tightly, suffocating me. I pinch and slap the arm, but the owner isn't budging. "Get... your... hands...off... me." it takes me all the strength left in my body to get those 5 words out of my throat.

The tightness around my throat loosens slowly. When the arm finally disappeared, I shut my eyes tightly, massaging the sharp pang I felt in my throat.

I turn my head angrily to the person at my back, and I am not surprised to see the massive man with stubbles on his cheek, well carved eyebrow and perfect face, but his soul is imperfect-Ayman bin Abdulrahman. Bile rise to my throat in disgust, knowing he touched me, and he isn't my Mahram.

"How dare you," I yell angrily. Sometimes I wish I have a thick voice, so whenever I yell, it will at least sound scary.

"You little feisty thing... you're just how I like my woman," he says without remorse.

"You know what..." I lower my voice "you're very despicable...ittaqullah Ayman."

"I like it when you call my name habibty. Can you say it again." he has a smug look on.

I gritt my teeth angrily. I know this is his aim-to have a conversation with me and rile me up. And I won't give that to him. I use my foot to raise a cloud of dust upward, I will be more than happy if it gets into his eyes. He surely didn't expect that action, but it serves him right. When I saw him coughing uncontrollably, I turn to my heels towards the house. I stand a chance of losing my only leather shoe I got from the thrift market all because of that spoilt rich brat. May Allah forgive him.

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