Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 204: Nine Years Late

Faqir felt much the same.

With the past playing out like some cruel joke, all he could do was watch it happen.

Watch as these bastards—these war-hungry bastards—sat in that tent, throwing words around like they weren't deciding the fate of thousands. Like they weren't pulling the trigger on an entire fucking generation.

His nails dug into his palms, but he didn't feel it. Couldn't feel it over the slow, burning rage creeping up his spine.

This was it.

This.

This was the moment.

The moment the call for soldiers rang out.

This was the moment that sent his father marching into war, desperate for protection, desperate for something that could keep the family safe.

This was the moment that led to his father's death.

Malik helped make it happen.

The hall blurred at the edges.

Faqir didn't even realize he was breathing harder, that his shoulders were rising and falling too fast. Someone said something beside him, but it barely registered. It was just noise. Useless noise.

All he could see was that damn tent.

All he could hear was Nasir's voice, laughing, boasting, sealing a thousand fates with a fucking grin.

His father had died for this.

His father had died for them.

And he would never—never—forgive it.

***

{Inside The Projection}

The tent had finally quieted down.

All of the noise had settled into murmurs, the occasional chuckle, the slow hum of conversation that came after a storm of excitement.

Malik sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

It was strange, really.

Hours ago, he wasn't even a part of this mess.

Now? He was the tip of the spear.

"Stranger."

He turned.

Safira stood there, looking like she had something on her mind.

He gave her a nod.

"I... Thank you for this."

Her eyes widened slightly, caught off guard.

"For what?"

"For... you know."

He gestured vaguely.

"Making my being at this meeting a thing."

"Oh."

She looked away, then back at him, and—was she nervous?

No, that didn't make sense. Safira wasn't the nervous type. But then—

"I, um—"

She started, hesitated, and then fell silent.

Malik raised a brow.

"Yeah?"

She opened her mouth, then quickly shook her head.

"Nothing. Never mind."

Right. That was weird. But whatever. If she didn't want to say it, he wasn't going to push.

He just nodded and left it at that.

But before he could take a step, Duban's arm swung around his shoulders.

"Come on, let's go."

Malik shrugged him off.

"Where?"

"Your new home."

Duban pulled him outside the tent and began leading him through the base.

"So..."

He gave Malik the look.

"You married?"

Malik blinked.

"What?"

"I asked if you're married."

Malik narrowed his eyes.

"Why?"

Duban chuckled, shaking his head.

"Because Safira was looking at you like she's actually interested, and that's rare. Like, really rare."

Malik raised a brow.

"And?"

Duban scoffed.

"And? Brother, do you have any idea how many men have tried to win her over? Hundreds. And I mean actual, respectable warriors, Noble houses, people with wealth, status, power. She turned down all of them. Didn't even blink. And then you show up, and suddenly, she looks like she wants to say something but can't? That's new."

Malik frowned, looking away.

"People marry this early?"

Duban nodded.

"Yeah. Most families marry off their kids from ten years and up."

Malik gave him a look... A different one.

"Ten?"

Duban shrugged.

"It's just how it is. Safira joined our family ten years ago, so she's, what, nineteen now? She's late to marry. Nine years late. It's only a matter of time before it happens. And if it's you, well…"

He grinned.

"I wouldn't see anyone complaining."

Malik exhaled, shaking his head.

"Nineteen is too young."

Duban snorted.

"Maybe to you."

Malik ignored all that he said about Safira and finally answered the question:

"No. I'm not married."

Duban seemed to find that surprising.

"Not even a temporary marriage?"

"Temporary? That's a thing?"

"Yeah, you'd marry a girl with a divorce date established."

"...Seriously?"

Malik's voice raised an octave while Duban casually nodded.

"Yep. A lot of our men do it when we're out on expeditions. You know how it is... it's hard to control our lust and all that."

He didn't.

Malik didn't know 'how it is.'

Not one bit.

His lust was nearly nonexistent.

Death did a lot to a man.

A LOT.

"Aha."

But he gave a slow nod anyway, acting like he did.

It would've seemed weird that a man his age wasn't interested in such things, and he didn't want to put ideas into anybody's head.

"So... it's a more formal way to fuck around? Like, respectful prostitution kind of deal?"

Shaking his head, Duban countered:

"I wouldn't say prostitution. It's tough for a woman to get coin, especially if she's unmarried, so she's way better off doing something like this instead of throwing her life away in city dens. She not only gets security for a while, as well as substantial coin, but she also relieves her lust. Not only men get the urge, you know."

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Malik rolled his eyes at those words.

"You talk a lot. You married?"

Duban puffed out his chest.

"Of course! Dad forced me to marry after I returned. Now, I've finally got a kid on the way!"

He grinned wider and nudged him.

"Better catch up with me~! You can't have your junior surpass you with anything; otherwise, he'd tease you to death."

Malik shrugged him off a second time.

"I've got no one."

"Then go ahead with her!"

Malik sighed, looking off into the distance.

"You're so wrong."

Duban tilted his head.

"About what?"

Malik shook his head.

"About her... about me. But it doesn't matter."

It really didn't.

For a moment, Duban thought to press further, to pry into whatever truth lay hidden beneath those words, but something in Malik's expression warned him against it.

It wasn't anger. It wasn't pain.

It was acceptance.

A kind of acceptance that came only when there was nothing left to fight for.

Not anymore.

Their story was over.