Here's something new. I love Prince of Persia the movie. Some of the inspiration comes from that. But it is an entirely different plot! I swear. I'd love your reviews!

She stared at him in amazement. How could one man be so foolish? He just accused her of being selfish, a spoiled princess. He knew nothing. She was a ruler, one who scarified everything for the good of this world.

The Seven would need her counsel soon, and she wouldn't be there to give it to them, all because of an insolent mortal. His mistakes would wipe out the entire human race, albeit she wasn't sure if she really wanted to stop them. There was no way he would listen to her and hear her reasons. If only she could find the sword and be rid of this world once more. She spun around and stared at him, words forming in her mind.

"Do you know what it is like Prince? Having to be a slave to something greater than you and having to stop time from unraveling itself? No. You know nothing of life. You know nothing of me. There is no way you could know what true sacrifice is like. I do. Think before you speak insults that are beyond your knowledge. You are nothing but a weak man with an even weaker heart." Her words were like ice when they reached his ears. She really did hate him, but he just wanted to know why.

"Tell me then, oh wise princess, what you know that makes you so superior." When they left his mouth, he knew that what he said would cut her deep. Why couldn't he tell her what he was feeling?

She heard the words, but she didn't want to comprehend them. He was mocking her and asking her what pain she goes through every day. How disgusting. She could tell him an explanation of millenia spent alone and suffering under time's weight, but Alexander would never understand. The only life he was used to was one spent surrounded by women and family and wars made by petty humans.

What she decided to tell him would've surprised even the most knowledged of the Guardians. Leyla had enough of the eloquent dancing of answers. He had a right to know. Why not tell him? After all, her heir was named in the heavens and she had no lover in the skies. He could kill her, and no one would notice.

"I am the Time Keeper. I am the Guardian of Time. Yes, what you are trying to kill is standing before you. Your entire quest was in vain, because the one you are hunting is with you, destroying your plans for her own murder. Kill me just as your father did mine, put me out of my misery. I saw the man you call father and king stand over my father's body, while the greatest guarden the times have seen was gasping for life. Your king didn't account for one thing. Even the Keepers can have children. Tell your precious king that. Do what you were sent to do. Kill me. Be done with it, you vile, despicable human!" Leyla spit the words, hoping he would comply. She was done with it all. With him, with time, with life.

"Make your father proud. Do the act of disgusting violence that you need to do to achieve your crown, disgusting Persian. You are not worthy of your namesake. He was a great ruler. Alexander was respected by all. He even had mine, and for that I stood on his counsel. But this… revolting," she said and gestured to him.

For a moment, he just stared at her. What did she say? "Yes. You keep reappearing it seems, but you become more disgusting each age. Somehow I keep seeing you every lifetime. I respected you as Cyrus, and I honored you as Alijad, but I didn't care much for the rest, apart from Alexander and the teacher of Alexandria." She said this as calmly as if she were talking of the weather, but the anger in her tone was laced with a lethal hate.

Then she threw another curve ball. She let her hair fall forward and exposed her long, tan neck. He was close enough he could see the delicate lines that covered her body. The body that was driving him crazy.

"Do it, Persian," she said quietly, but with an undertone that would cut diamond.

"I will, Guardian." He sounded just as furious as Leyla.

Then the sword fell upon her neck with a single swift blow—a blow meant to end her life.

"Alexander, you were victorious once again my young prince. It is rare such victories come so close at hand to the other. Indeed prince, you are quite deserving of your namesake. Alexander the Great can scarce compare to the likes of you and your father," crowed the drunken advisor. Arman was not the greatest of advisors when he was drunk, but if the truth were to be told, he wasn't a good advisor on any account, drunk or sober.

"It was a victory that won't be soon forgotten. All the ages will remember the victories of Alexander son of Caspar!" Alexander hollered over the crowds amassed in the hall. Cheers rose up to great him.

Within the giant room of southern marble, the feast was raging. The women swooned at the sound of his cry. He had more than his fair share of wine, but couldn't help but want to disappear.

Caspar hit his son on the back. Although he was in his later years, Caspar was a king of much strength and force. He was not known for his brilliance or compassion, he was known for his ability to leave bodies behind on the battle field in great numbers. Caspar was an evil ruler if there ever was one, but toward his son he was a different man.

Alexander couldn't help but wish for escape. The women were as numerous as the exotic birds that his father loved to keep in the palace, and the food was rich like the coffers from which it came. The victory over the Eastern Kingdom and the islands of Minaris had been no small feat, and this celebration was in honor of the great achievement which doubled the kingdom's size. But there was something missing.

The Persian Empire was vast, and with the recent victories, almost united all of the lands. With the southern islands and the Eastern Kingdom conquered by Alexander, it was the most greatly feared, not to mention the richest and grandest, in the universe.

But to those whom they conquered, it was quite the worst of empires. The defeated were shown nothing but cattle and camel herds, and many of the Persians considered them less than dirt. The men took advantage of the women in the kingdoms of the places they conquered, and eventually when their beauty became old, they were brought to Persia's cities as slaves and objects to be used for the soldiers' enjoyment. In the best scenario, they were made wives to the nobles.

It was this scenario that was soon to place this very day after Prince Alexander's most noble conquers. There was a single woman that was brought to Persia directly after the battle, a strange occurance in these lands. This woman was supposed to become Alexander's wife. He was waiting to see what the commotion was about, because he was no stranger to the females of Persia, and if this beauty was supposed to shock even him, then it must be the most beautiful woman in the world.

Really, it is not suprising how many women Alexander managed to coerce considering our prince's appearance and confident demeanor. He looked more than the typical Persian prince in his twenties. Hard training in the sparing courts left his body fit and taut, and his skin was tan and smooth. Even his dark curls fell into his face in such a way the women couldn't resist, but his face left everyone staring. Strong black eyes, full lips and high cheekbones gave the women's eyes something to chase after.

However, he was more than entrigued by the tales of a gracious beauty from the South island of Minaris than the women that were flocking around him, lusting after his looks. Of the two southern islands, Saman and Minaris, the Minaris was home to more religious cults and temples than one could imagine, and it was home to the most beautiful priestesses in the world. The rumor was that the lady was a high priestess of enormous power.

The men had just finished feasting on the great dishes of food spread in golden platters along the tables. There were vegetables and exotic meats from high within the mountains, and it was enough to make even the strongest of men weak with hunger. Bones were left clean on plates, an obvious sign to begin the night's entertainment.

"Farbod are you present?" Arman called out over the crowds. Everyone began talking in quiet hurried whispers. Women had looks on their faces that seemed deadly, and the men were barely masking their excitement. "Bring her out, will you?" Time seemed paused, and all breathing was held in a brief moment of anticipation.

Moments passed, slowly one after the other, and no sound was uttered from behind the great doors. Then, from behind the great golden doors, there was a thud, a choked holler, and then silence once more. Some were standing up, moving toward the doors, but there was no need. A burst of air flung the doors open, causing the men to fly back onto the floor, and the air in the room began to hold a dangerous electricity.

Then she walked out into the light from the dark doorway. Her face was cloaked, as was everything, apart from her hands and feet. She walked forward toward Alexander in an obvious rage. Those who cared to look out of the door toward the corridor saw the greatest brute fighter lying on the ground, unconscious. Gazes looked at this mystery with fear and awe.

The cloaked figure walked up to Arman, Alexander and Caspar, stopping mere inches from the table. Then she shocked them all. A rope of golden chain fell onto the table, knocking over bowls and plates. The king stood up enraged, but froze when he heard a voice from beneath the cloak.

"I am not one to be trifled with. Chains are not objects that will bind me easily, and you would do well to remember what is polite when you have female guests within your palace," she said. "There are certain lines which are not meant to be crossed." Her voice was calm and melodious, but there was an undercurrent in it so powerful even the king had to stare in awe.

Light bounced all around in the room, coming from the few candles that were not blown out during her entrance. No one moved except the figure that was standing in their presence. Everyone in the space was wondering what was beneath her layers of cream-colored clothes, but no one moved to touch her. She was circling the table like a caged lion.

Alexander then made a bold move. He stepped forward and his hand began to push back the creamy cloth that covered her body, but in an instant, her hand was there locking his in place with a suprising strength.

"Do not test me, Prince." She looked up into the dark eyes of the prince that stood before her. He noticed two things that were instantaneous the moment she touched him. The current that traveled through his body like fire and the thin gossamer lines of dark ink that trailed from the corners of her eyes into the depths of the cloth. Her eyes were the brown of the dark Parand marble that lined the floors of the palace, and her skin comparable to the bronze statues.

Then the apalling happened. Arman took a sword from the nearest soldier and sliced down her cloak. It slid down her legs and pooled in a great pile of ivory-colored fabric at her feet. She was finally exposed. Her exposed midriff was tan and taut, and although not overly muscular, it was clear she was used to work. Gasps erupted from the audience who had, until now, remained as silent as the dead.

Alexander quickly determined her as the most beautiful creature he had even seen. She was deadly, but he could sense something greater than her vicious anger, directed toward him and his advisors.

Her eyes flashed in a deadly light, and Alexander couldn't help but stare at her. Dark midnight curls trailed down her back, laced with golden threads laid with diamonds and opals.

"What is your name, woman?" Arman demanded. She flared, turning viciously and slapping him across the face. A perfect red imprint of her hand was already forming on his face. Guards at once sprang into action and leaped toward her, swords drawn and pointed at her neck.

Members of the audience began calling out in hollers and screams, and some catcalls were mixed in with the angry cries. The women were looking at each other in amazement. Who was this woman to think she could hit the high advisor?

Caspar raised a hand, and all the movement stopped. The soldiers froze in their tracks, and the girl turned to stare at Caspar.

"I apologize for his behavior. I am King Caspar and this is Prince Alexander," Caspar said in a velvet voice, but it had no effect on her. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and sent him a glare fit to kill.

"I am perfectly aware of who you are. You are the barbarians that just ruined forever my island, assulted my priestesses and ransacked my temple. And you," she said stepping toward Alexander," are the barbarian that stole my sword and insulted my dieties in front of the altar. You are scare fit to breathe. Pity that the gods don't do away with you. It would save us all a great deal of misfortune."

"Why the harsh words, priestess?" Alexander stared at her with a mixture of shock and annoyance. How dare she come in his palace, insult him in front of his court and disrespect his father.

"Do you want to know why, Alexander?" She said his name as if it were not fit to be uttered aloud. He just stared at her, waiting for her to continue. Her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper and she stepped so close she was almost touching him. "I do not have time for godless barbarians like you who concern themselves only in where their next female will come from, and do not care how your vanquishes effect those who are destroyed in battle."

He backhanded her across the face so hard that she saw stars. Blood from her lip was pooling on the ground, but he was relieved that she didn't move to get back up. Instead, something much worse began to happen.

No one could see her face, but her murderous expression could easily be guessed at. Uneasiness spread like wildfire as the winds began shifting. Candles flickered and eventually went out, encasing the hall in darkness. A chilling cold accompanied the darkness that seemed to press down on everyone.

"What is this?" Caspar shouted over the din that erupted in the hall. "Be silent and still, all of you!" Things quieted, but rustling and whispers were still apparent in the room.

"Priestess, I am done with kind formalities. You will tell me your name, or your head will be the price." The king spoke to the priestess whom all suspected on the floor, but when she spoke her voice was much farther away.

"My name is Leyla, and that is all you need to know, mortals," came the chilling whisper. Then the hall grew light once again, all the flames relit. Everything looked as it was before with the golden plates empty, servants in the background staring, and the eyes all bewildered in awe.

"I want her found!" Arman cried, but no one moved. Where the princess lay there was a single remnant. There was no cloak, but all that remained was a single piece of jewelry, a necklace filled with Persian garnets, opals and diamonds. The ornament was from the city of Maheen, and all the people in the great hall knew of the necklace's origins.

It was the missing queen's wedding gift.