CHAPTER FOUR

I n the heart of the palace, nestled within stone walls that whispered of secrets, lay a spacious chamber illuminated by the soft glow of oil lamps. Tall, arched windows draped with navy blue curtains allowed slivers of moonlight to dance across the richly woven rugs cushioning the cold stone floor.

Two intricately carved beds stood on opposite ends of the room, their posts reaching toward the high ceiling, each draped with silken canopies that fluttered gently with the night’s breeze. Between these beds sat a grand wooden chest filled with treasures and toys, its surface scarred with marks of play and secret pacts.

Curled up on one of the beds lay a slumbering puppy, its fur a shiny coat of shadow. The animal slept soundly, undisturbed by dreams of chases and conquests.

Two figures huddled over a wooden board topped with worn pieces, their laughter echoing softly in the room. The elder, a handsome boy with a crown of dark waves, moved his piece confidently, a sparkle of triumph in his eyes. The younger, his features a mirror of his brother’s, was graceful in his defeat, his strategy crumbling under his brother’s practiced skill.

Their game was interrupted by a sharp knock, a sound that resonated with authority. The door swung open to reveal their father. His gaze, proud and searching, settled on the elder boy, who sat up straighter under the weight of his father’s attention.

“How have your studies progressed, my son?” the father inquired gently.

“I’ve mastered the latest strategies in warfare from General Harith. And my understanding of our kingdom’s history has deepened, especially our alliances and motivations.” He looked up at his father, hoping for his approval.

The father nodded, a rare smile tugging at his mouth. “And what of the art of leadership? Have you given thought to how you will wield the power that will one day be yours?”

The elder boy paused, considering his words carefully. “Leadership is not just about strength and command, but about wisdom and understanding. It’s about honoring our order.” His youthful voice carried a conviction beyond his years.

The father’s expression softened. “You have learned well. It is this blend of strength and wisdom that makes a true king.”

The younger boy, silent until now, watched with wistfulness. The elder son turned to him with an encouraging smile. “And what about you, brother? Have you not also excelled in your own studies and training?”

The father’s attention shifted, albeit briefly, acknowledging the younger son’s presence with a fleeting glance, but it was enough to stir a feeling of importance in the younger boy.

“Yes, Father! I’ve been practicing my swordsmanship and studying the ancient texts on governance,” the younger son added.

The father gave a curt nod. “Good. It’s important for both of you to be prepared for the future.”

As their father exited, the boys breathed freely, the weight of the future momentarily lifted. The elder boy turned to his brother, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You did well,” he praised, an encouraging smile warming his face. “Remember, we both have our paths to follow, but we’ll always be brothers.”

In the grand hall of Alzahra’s royal palace, beams of sunlight pierced the lofty windows, bathing the room with golden warmth. The scent of polished wood and lingering incense infused the air. Soft murmurs of a diverse crowd—farmers, artisans, and merchants—filled the large room.

Though most of the attendees were men, there were a fair number of women present as well. A few women wore the traditional niqab , a veil that concealed everything but their eyes, while others chose to cover only their hair, and some chose to not wear any covering at all.

Zarian, standing discreetly to the side, observed the gathering. It had been over a week since his arrival in Alzahra, and each day had revealed a new facet of Princess Layna’s personality. After her stilted apology, she had still remained cautious and distant. Throughout the week, she seemed busy with her royal duties, though Zarian had a sneaking suspicion she was avoiding him.

Nevertheless, it was clear at least some of her duties were genuine—today’s assembly was a testament to her dedication to her people. She personally hosted these monthly meetings, giving the citizens of Alzahra a platform to voice their concerns and ideas directly to their future queen.

His gaze was drawn to Princess Layna as she entered the hall. Dressed in a simple olive-green abaya, she moved with a commanding grace. Her long, dark hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and a simple banded crown sat on her head. Despite himself, Zarian noticed her brown eyes were lined with kohl today, appearing even larger than usual.

As Layna moved through the crowd, greeting her people with a genuine smile and kind words, Zarian admired her ease in interacting with them. Unlike other royals, she seemed humble and sincerely concerned about the well-being of her people.

She seemed like a good person.

A shard of guilt scraped at his conscience, but Zarian quickly silenced it.

“Good morning, citizens of Alzahra,” Layna greeted. “It’s heartening to see so many of you here today. Together, we can ensure Alzahra continues to thrive, even in these challenging times.”

The chatter gradually hushed as Layna spoke. All eyes focused on her, and it was evident she was deeply respected by her people.

On the raised dais, the large throne dwarfed Layna as she sat down. The assembly began, and a farmer in a sun-bleached tunic and weathered hat was the first to step forward, the lines on his face deepened with worry. “Your Majesty, I’m not exactly sure why, but the mirsham fruit crops are dwindling. We fear this will affect our livelihood.”

The mirsham fruit, resembling a small sun with its bright yellow skin, was a marvel of the Alzahran desert. It grew on the resilient Dhara tree, which had adapted to the harsh climate, drawing sustenance from underground water reserves.

The fruit also held medicinal properties, used by locals in revitalizing drinks and healing concoctions. During the sweltering summer months, mirsham juice, served with a dash of spices, was a traditional and popular refreshment.

Layna addressed the farmer by his name. “Khaleeb, I understand your concerns. The mirsham fruit is vital to Alzahra’s trade.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “Let us explore sustainable farming practices and see how Princess Soraya and the royal agronomists can assist. Alzahra’s prosperity is tied to your success.”

The farmer bowed deeply. “Thank you, Princess. Your support means everything.”

Next, a tall, lean merchant stepped forward. He bowed respectfully. “Your Majesty, recently I’ve spotted several unfamiliar figures near the city outskirts. Their cloaks are too heavy for our climate, and they conceal their faces. Their behavior is suspicious. They could be Zephyrians.”

Layna’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I appreciate your vigilance. We will look into this immediately. Alzahra’s security is our highest priority.”

She caught the eye of a palace guard at the back of the hall. He stepped forward, quickly jotting down details with a grave expression.

Layna thanked the merchant with a grateful smile. “We rely on the eyes and ears of our people. You have done a great service to Alzahra today.” The merchant straightened, his chest puffing with pride, and returned to his seat.

The meeting continued with Layna addressing a variety of issues, from market regulations to festival preparations. Each concern was met with empathy, intelligence, and a deep understanding of her people’s needs.

However, the atmosphere shifted when a foreigner approached. He stood out among the local Alzahrans with his attire—a long, dark coat over a fitted vest and slim trousers, distinctly Minhypan in style.

He was tall and imposing, with a stern countenance that seemed out of place in the congenial gathering. His black hair was neatly slicked back into a tight bun, revealing sharp, angular features. Shrewd gray eyes surveyed the room with an air of superiority.

Though his voice was thick with the Minhypan accent, a distinct edge of displeasure was apparent. “I am visiting Az-Zahra on business. I heard this kingdom to be bohat khoob , magnificent. Liken , it did not live up to its reputation,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. A murmur rippled through the hall, attendees exchanging glances, their expressions ranging from surprise to displeasure at his blunt assessment.

Layna bristled at his insult but maintained her composure. “I am here to listen and address any concerns you might have,” she stated firmly. Zarian caught a fleeting glimmer of anger in her eyes, but it vanished quickly.

“To start, the market district is completely jaahil . The stalls are poorly arranged, causing unnecessary congestion. Where is the orderly structure? We pride ourselves on this in Minhypas,” the man boasted.

Zarian scowled. The foreigner’s attitude grated on his nerves. His fingers flexed for his sword, but he clenched his fists tightly instead.

Layna listened attentively, her features schooled with practiced neutrality. “I appreciate your feedback. We value the organic growth of our markets, but I’ll certainly consider your suggestions for improvement.”

Undeterred, the foreigner continued, “ Aur , the public water fountains are not well maintained. In Minhypas, public amenities are a symbol of the city’s health. Here, they are nazar andaaz , or kaise— uh, neglected.”

“I’ll ensure our maintenance teams give them the attention they deserve,” Layna replied.

The Minhypan man grew increasingly agitated. “Upon my arrival, I was subjected to an excessive inspection at the city entrance. Bakwaas ! Such treatment for visitors— bohat unusual hai aur insulting bhi hai .”

“Given the current political climate, we’ve implemented heightened security measures at all entry points. It’s a necessary step to ensure the safety of Alzahra City and its visitors,” Layna explained calmly.

The man’s expression soured further. “I can understand the need for security, liken itni scrutiny seems too much. Aur ab , I find it hard to believe that an aurat , a woman,” he sneered, “will be able to address my concerns.”

At this last insult, Zarian, who had been simmering quietly, finally let his anger boil over. His jaw tightened, a familiar sense of duty stirring within him. Before Layna could respond, Zarian stepped forward angrily. “Such disrespect will not be tolerated,” he rebuked, eyes blazing with icy rage.

The Minhypan man’s eyes widened, and he stepped back hesitantly. Before he could protest, Zarian gestured to the palace guards and had the man escorted out of the hall.

Layna watched the scene unfold, lips pressed into a thin line and fingers drumming impatiently on her tightly crossed arms, though she remained silent.

The assembly continued, but the earlier warmth had evaporated. Attendees exchanged uneasy glances and shifted in their seats. Layna handled the remaining queries with grace, but the incident had clearly affected the mood in the hall.

Once the session concluded, Layna quickly sought out Zarian, her jaw clenched and fists tightening with each step. “Prince Zarian,” she snapped, fire burning in her eyes, “your actions were unacceptable. You undermined my authority and made me appear weak in front of my people.”

Zarian was taken aback. Despite being a full head shorter than him, Layna was somehow still intimidating with her blazing eyes and accusatory finger pointed at his chest. “Princess, I didn’t mean to offend you. I only intended to protect your honor,” he explained.

“That’s not your decision to make, nor is it your honor to protect! I’m perfectly capable of handling such situations myself. I don’t need your protection.”

Zarian was silent for several heartbeats as he carefully assessed the princess. He finally spoke, “I apologize. I overstepped. I’m not accustomed to princesses being such formidable figures. It won’t happen again.”

Layna observed him closely. Her eyes softened slightly at his apology, though he could still see her lingering frustration in her stiff posture. “Ensure that it doesn’t. As future queen, it’s crucial that I’m seen as a strong leader, not a defenseless damsel.”

Zarian nodded. “Understood, Princess.”

After her confrontation with Zarian, Layna retired to her chambers, seeking a moment of peace. Standing on her balcony, she gazed restlessly into the distance, her mind abuzz like the fluttering raithbees that frequented the palace gardens.

Her mind replayed the morning’s events, particularly the encounter with the Minhypan man. His condescension had ignited a scorching anger within her. She huffed, fingers absently tracing the grooves in the stone on the balcony railing.

Equally confounding was Zarian’s intervention. Her fury at him had been so intense, it felt like her blood was crackling in her veins. Now that the fire of her anger had dimmed, a small part of her felt flattered by his chivalry. It was a delicate balance, being a strong, independent leader while navigating the patriarchal undercurrents of royal diplomacy. Zarian’s actions, though outwardly protective, had highlighted this struggle.

She sighed, her frustration mingling with her conflicting feelings about the prince. There was an enigmatic quality about him that Layna couldn’t decipher. It both drew her to him, yet also put her on edge.

Around him, she often found herself angry, embarrassed, nervous, or a disorienting combination of all three. She felt like the vulnerable girl she once was, stuttering and uncertain, instead of the strong queen she needed to be.

Layna gazed past the palace gardens to the streets of Alzahra City. She needed to clear her head. A ride through the city seemed like the perfect escape.

The princess changed into her riding gear and headed to the palace stables. The gentle nickering of horses and the soft rustle of straw underfoot helped ground her runaway thoughts. With practiced motions, she brushed Qamar’s mane and secured the saddle.

The soft patter of footsteps invaded her sanctuary. Turning, her heart sank as she saw Zarian approaching, determination clear on his handsome face.

“Princess Layna,” he greeted, stopping in front of her. “I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to apologize again for earlier.”

Layna studied him for a moment before deciding he seemed genuinely remorseful. “Your apology is noted, Prince Zarian,” she replied coolly. “I would love to discuss further, but I’m about to take a ride through the city.”

Zarian’s eyes lit up. “May I join you? It’s been days since I’ve ridden Najoom. He’ll be eager to stretch his legs.”

Layna faltered for a moment. Memories of Nizam, sharp and unbidden, flooded her mind, stirring a sense of déjà vu so intense she nearly refused outright.

Yet, something in Zarian’s earnest gaze swayed her.

“Very well,” she said, still wary. “Would you prefer for guards to accompany us?”

“I think the two of us will manage just fine,” he quipped with a lazy grin. Layna turned quickly and finished saddling her horse.

Unlike her white mare, Zarian’s mount, Najoom, was an enormous stallion, with a lustrous ebony coat that absorbed the sunlight, giving him an almost otherworldly appearance. The stallion angrily pawed at the ground, his eyes flashing. The stablehands were reluctant to approach him, yet Zarian saddled him with ease, his movements calm and assured.

Mounted on their steeds, they set off, leaving the palace behind. As they ventured deeper into the city, merchants called out, advertising their wares from stalls brimming with spices and trinkets. Children darted through alleyways, laughter ringing out as they played. The scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling street food wafted through the air.

As they trotted along the cobbled streets, Layna remained mostly silent. She occasionally gestured toward an ancient building or monument, providing brief explanations. The historical sites, usually a source of pride, were mentioned almost mechanically, her mind replaying memories she wished to forget.

Zarian watched her quietly, refraining from his usual teasing remarks.

They neared the busy heart of the markets and decided to continue exploring on foot. As they navigated the crowded lanes, a stray dog approached, its mottled brown fur scruffy and unkempt. Ribs visible beneath its thin coat, the dog tentatively wagged its tail.

Zarian paused, bending down to extend a hand. With a gentleness that seemed at odds with his warrior’s stature, he stroked the dog’s fur, whispering words of comfort. The dog leaned into his touch, its initial apprehension melting away under Zarian’s soothing voice.

After a moment, Zarian stood and walked to a nearby vendor, exchanging a few coins for a piece of meat. He returned to the dog, his approach slow and deliberate. Crouching beside the stray, he offered the meat with an outstretched hand. The dog, after a hesitant sniff, quickly devoured the food.

Layna watched him, an unexpected warmth spreading through her chest. The simple act of kindness tugged at her heartstrings. For a brief moment, she saw a glimpse of the gentle man beneath his royal title.

Reluctantly, Zarian stood and watched the stray scamper away. He returned to stand next to Layna, but his usual charming smile seemed a bit forced.

As they walked back to the horses, Layna’s foot snagged on a raised cobblestone. She stumbled, bracing herself for the harsh impact of the ground.

But the fall never came.

Swiftly, Zarian caught her by the waist and helped her right herself. They were barely a breath apart, her body tense from the sudden jolt, and her heart pounding not just from the near fall. With wide eyes, Layna looked up at him, her breath catching at his proximity, her palms pressed firmly against his muscled chest.

She quickly composed herself, stepping back as a deep flush spread across her cheeks. “Thank you,” Layna mumbled, avoiding his gaze. The proud princess briskly walked ahead, hoping to reach Qamar as quickly as possible.

They mounted their horses and set off again. As the sun began its descent, Layna led them past the markets toward the outskirts of the city. They followed a tranquil, winding path, surrounded by the quieter, rustic beauty of the capital.

The path took them through narrow lanes bordered by old stone walls, where the city’s noise faded into a serene hush. The peacefulness was a welcome respite. They dismounted, allowing their horses to graze, as they watched the sun set on the dunes.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Layna remarked softly, her gaze fixed on the sprawling desert. “Alzahra has many faces beyond the majesty of the palace.”

Zarian nodded, his eyes catching the fading glimmers of light as he gazed at her. “It certainly is. And I find each new facet intriguing.” He turned to watch the sunset, jaw tightly clenched, an unreadable emotion passing through his eyes.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, they rode back to the palace in comfortable silence.

Back at the stables, Zarian swung down from Najoom and extended his hand to assist Layna. Ignoring his outstretched hand, Layna gracefully dismounted on her own. Facing him, she quipped, “Formidable princess, remember?”

Zarian raised an eyebrow, his lips curling in an easy smile. “Formidable, indeed. Next time, I think I’ll let you test the ground’s embrace,” he teased with a quick wink. Laughing, he led his horse away, leaving Layna sputtering in shock.