The nights had become a predictable torture for Zaliyah.
The dream did not change. It was the same hallway, the same floors that felt cold and rough against his skin and the same faceless silhouette dragging him toward a precipice. He gasped awake, his chest heaving under a layer of cold sweat. He sat in the dark for a long time just listening to hum of the insects.
Why now? he wondered, pressing his palms to his eyes. What is my mind trying to scream at me that I have forgotten?
"Good morning, Your Highness," the maids whispered as they entered with the first light of dawn.
Zaliyah nodded, His mind was still racin with thoughts about the dream.
"The bath is prepared,The herbs have steeped for the full two hours."
