Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

Azeem’s first marriage.

A day that Malik paused his forever schedule to attend.

This day was nearly two hundred years coming. TWO HUNDRED.

It was so very late, but hey, better late than never, right?

In that time, he’d at least matured into a great man, becoming the best right hand anyone could have asked for.

One with a simple request that was finally going to be fulfilled.

Because, yes, Malik would finally meet the one his subordinate bragged so much to him about.

But, before that, the wedding.

It was a thin, bright thing amid the smog of years.

Music played, and wives, husbands, children, and nobles bowed.

There were protests far outside the Holy Palace, screaming for a man’s death, and there were loud whoops inside, screaming for the same man’s life, the Twelve Moons hanging over the city, judging both.

One true, the other fake, but still so very beautiful.

After the last bow, under that same sky, Azeem and Badroulbadour knelt before Malik.

No one else was around them, as he had the guards clear them out, leaving only three of them in this colorful garden.

His two subjects looked up at him, while he looked down at one.

Badroulbadour was her name…

Quite a long one.

She was pale, way paler than anyone he’d seen before, almost as if the Shams hadn’t touched her once in her life. Her face was narrow, the eyes as thin as slits that made them look different than most.

Her dress was white in a way that hurt to look at: a simple gown that fell in clean lines and sleeves that hid delicate hands.

When anyone thought of a princess, she easily could’ve come to mind, discounting the eyes, of course.

“It’s an honor to kneel before you, my Lord.”

Though thick with a western accent, her voice was pretty as well.

“My name is Badroulbadour.”

Azeem had a type, alright.

“Full moon of full moons… what is your true name?”

She raised a brow, surprised, while Azeem nodded at her, the pride he held for his Lord exuding from his face, barely a step away from just screaming it out loud.

“Yueh Hua. Moonflower. As you’ve already noticed, I… I come from the Far West, my Lord. I first came here as a representative of our town alongside my father… as eye candy, I’m sure, and I…”

She glanced at Azeem.

“I attracted the sweetest of eyes.”

He smiled at her as she turned back to face her Lord once more.

“Nearly everyone in the Holy City struggled to pronounce my name correctly, so we decided to officially change it. Badroulbadour is a popular name for princesses in southern stories. I liked the sound of it, and it spoke of full moons… It was perfect for me, almost like it was Fate.”

Malik nodded, such a story reminding him of Ali Baba.

Though his was more because he faced racism, ‘stumbled’ into treasure, and almost needed the change to keep his life safe and make his caravan a success… the source was the same.

“Yueh Hua, is it?”

The girl nodded her head.

“Yes, my Lord.”

Azeem’s smile widened further, his face now bragging about his wife to his Lord rather than the opposite.

Noticing that, Yueh Hua giggled.

“My husband’s spoken of you for years. I’m really glad to have finally met you.”

This time it was Malik’s turn to show surprise, though his wasn’t picked up by either, nearly, or rather, almost entirely unnoticeable, making it obvious that he hadn’t heard such words in a long, long while.

“You do know me, correct?”

Matching her husband’s smile, she nodded once more.

“Yes, and I know what you’re fighting for. It’s only unfortunate that things played out in such a way. I only hope that one day, your name is cleared, my Lord.”

Holding that same look, Malik turned to Azeem, who somehow brightened even further.

“Told you she’s the one~!”

His golden eyes then returned to Yueh Hua.

“Is that so?”

Another lamp lit before him.

“Yes!”

…

…

…”

“…”

“…”

“…Yes, huh?”

Malik, in a narrow room, lit only by a single lantern, was on his knees.

His hands, slick with blood, held Badroulbadour’s pale, broken body to his chest.

Her dress was stained with the same blood; her slit eyes dull, her breath entirely gone.

He stared down at her for a long time, and during that time, only his uneven breath could be heard, a just-broken metronome.

Until finally, at a time unmentioned later, footsteps joined in, cracking the corridor outside, its pace alone conveying absolute panic, belonging to a man who knew he was running toward the worst thing he could imagine.

They belonged to Azeem.

He burst in, tears streaking down his face.

His cloak was ragged, with obvious traces of blood coloring it.

His steps paused the very moment he saw her.

For a second, he was alive with hope.

His Lord embraced his wife.

But the sight…

It folded him small.

He dropped to his knees, one hand pushing his hair away from his face.

“W-W-Why?”

His voice repeatedly broke with that word alone.

“WHY?!”

It repeated, only much louder.

“…”

Malik calmly looked at him and, of course, said nothing.

Yet, he wasn’t so cruel; standing up, he stepped back, giving his right hand what he needed.

Azeem crawled forward, almost like a rabid animal, and brought her into his embrace.

His tears fell on her cold face as he looked back at his Lord.

“Please.”

He begged.

“…Tell me she was Corrupted. I’ll believe you. Tell me there was a trap. You didn’t kill her; someone else—Hashashins—got to her, right? You tried to defend her but failed. Yes, yes, I’m sure that’s what happened. ANYTHING. Give me a reason, my Lord. I’ll believe anything; just give me SOMETHING.”

His words hit the walls, shattering into echoes.

Or was it the walls themselves that shattered?

At this point, neither of them could say.

Perhaps one could, but rather preferred to stay silent.

“MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALIIIIIIIKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!”

A throat-tearing cry, louder than Azeem’s body seemed able to hold, rumbled the room, his rage manifest, no longer able to hold it back, unconsciously saying his Lord’s name, further causing the space around them to destabilize.

But Malik didn’t allow anything to happen, trapping the Aether before it could join Azeem in his loss, immediately forcing it to settle around them.

Noticing nothing of what had just happened, Azeem collapsed forward, clutching at her lifeless hand, pressing it against his forehead as his shoulders heaved repeatedly.

“SAY SOMETHING!”

His voice was strangled by spit and sobs.

“A WORD! A LIE! I’LL TAKE A LIE, PLEASE—PLEASE—”

His nails dug into her, leaving dark streaks of blood.

“WHY?! WHY HER?!”

Letting her hand fall, he slammed his fists against his own chest, again and again, as though punishing himself for not stopping it.

“SHE LOVED YOU! SHE LOVED YOU MORE THAN SHE EVER SHOULD HAVE—AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

His words broke into coughing, then into another scream, animal-like, ripping its way out of his stomach until his whole body shook with it.

Malik stood there, still as stone.

His face, his body, everything about him remained untouched by the chaos drowning the room.

“Please…”

Yet this tragedy wasn’t done with him.

“My Lord.”

Azeem, with Badroulbadour stuck to him, clawed his way closer to Malik’s feet, dragging himself on his elbows.

“Please.”

His forehead hit the marble at his Lord’s boots.

“Tell me she spat on you. Tell me she cursed your name. Tell me she raised a blade… tell me—TELL ME. T-Tell me she deserved it. Tell me you… you had no choice. I’ll believe it. Anything. I’ll believe it all. I’ll swallow it whole. Just—”

His voice split open into another scream.

“JUST SAY IT!”

“…”

But silence.

Only the lantern’s weak flame responded.

Malik’s flame stood as strong as the first day Azeem saw him.

Not even now, with his very last loyalist begging him, did it stutter.

“…D-D-Damn, haaa… ha…”

At last, Azeem’s all collapsed into nothing, his body shaking with hoarse sobs.

For a long time, he stayed there, forehead pressed to the floor at Malik’s feet, shuddering.

Then, slowly, with arms that barely obeyed him, he gathered Badroulbadour’s body like a child, cradling her against him, a thing too fragile for the world.

His knees buckled when he tried to stand, but he forced himself upright, trembling under her weight, much like Malik once did, carrying his little flower.

When his eyes met Malik’s one last time… there was no plea left.

That, he exhausted, only hatred remained, burning through the wet blur of his tears.

A betrayal he had never thought he could give to the man who was ONCE his Lord and teacher.

He staggered backward, step by step, never breaking that glare, before finally turning.

Moments later, the door creaked, then shut, and Malik stood alone, staring at the empty space they left behind, hearing the echo of an awful clatter that followed Azeem’s footsteps down the corridor.

Once he was sure Azeem was gone, Malik straightened his clothes and moved deeper into the room.

He stopped by a dining table drowning in scrolls, with a dead man lying folded behind it.

Casually, he crouched, fingers hovering above the corpse, and said:

“She was using you.”

It was a numb statement.

One he never wished to be true but was.

“That man…”

He lit his fingers.

“…was never her father.”

Ivory fire shot out and wrapped the body until it was gone.

“You can’t know this…”

The flames died beneath him, and he stood still.

“It’ll destroy you.”

He clutched and unclutched his hand.

“It’s unfortunate, skipping the plan forward, but…”

He barely felt anything from it.

“I had to do it.”

Malik looked at the kitchen.

“Didn’t I?”

Clack…

Something there, on the cupboards, had shifted.

Malik blinked his eyes and saw two pink ones glowing in the dark.

They belonged to Sinbad, who was perched on a shelf, feathers ruffled, looking… angry.

“Yes… Yes, you did, Elder Brother.”

Malik listened to the echo of those words.

For they had brought an end to a most tragic story.

A story that Sinbad repeatedly asked to change its ending, yet…

Its author was adamant, believing this to be his best Path.

One that’d end with him being alone…

No one would mourn him.

That was his goal.

“BUT YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO KILL HER.”

Something that Sinbad entirely disagreed with.

“You really didn’t…”

In this moment, that was all he could say.

It was the only thing that could be said.

For it belonged to this story.

A story that never began.

Source: .com, updated by novlove.com