The scent of parchment and rose oil lingered in the air, an aroma Aneesa had come to love. Her father's shop, tucked into a quiet street near the edge of the market, was a refuge of whispered knowledge and faraway wonders. She moved between the crowded shelves with practiced ease, running her fingers along spines of Persian epics, Andalusian treatises on astronomy, and Egyptian scrolls on herbal remedies.
Outside, the bell above the door jingled it was a sound she barely registered anymore. But the silence that followed it was unnatural. The chatter stopped. Even her father's voice fell into a hushed reverence.
Aneesa glanced toward the front and came to a halt.
The woman who had entered was stoic, robed in fine purple silks stitched with gold, her face partially shadowed by a translucent veil. She did not belong to the crowd. She walked with the ease of someone who had never been questioned in her life. Behind her trailed two quiet attendants.
Aneesa bowed slightly, unsure why her heart had begun to race.
The woman's eyes were dark and piercing. "You are the daughter of this house?"
Her voice was devoid of emotion and unhurried.
"Yes, my lady," Aneesa answered softly with her eyes lowered.
"Ah," she murmured. "No wonder the shop has such character."
Before Aneesa could ask what she meant, her father appeared at the front of the shop, his expression changing immediately.
"Your Majesty," he said, bowing lower than Aneesa had ever seen him do.
Aneesa's throat tightened. The Malika**.
The queen herself.
"I trust our arrangements remain intact?" The Malika said, her tone more statement than question.
"Of course, your majesty," her father answered quickly. "Please...this way."
Anessa stepped aside as her father guided the Malika into a private room in the back, sliding the curtain closed behind them. The moment felt heavy, too quiet. Even the street outside seemed to hush.
She lingered near the curtain, the weight of curiosity pulling her feet in place.
"...She is young, but educated," her father's voice said softly beyond the veil. "And obedient."
The Malika's voice answered, quiet and precise. "She has potential. And potential must be cultivated."
Before Aneesa could step any closer, a firm hand grasped her arm and yanked her back.
"What do you think you're doing?" Safiya hissed. Her stepmother's voice was sharp as a blade. "You think your curiosity makes you clever?"
Aneesa blinked. "I didn't mean..."
"You thought your books would save you?" Safiya continued in a whisper. "You bring shame to us by making yourself too noticeable. Beauty without obedience is dangerous, too bad it is too late to save you." Safiya stared at Anessa with a devilish grin before grabbing her by her long curly hair and pulling her back towards the front of her father's shop. She dared not make a sound, and when Safiya released her, the incense no longer masked the unease coiling in her chest.
Aneesa returned to her post behind the counter, but her eyes kept flicking to the back curtain. Something had shifted. The Malika's gaze haunted her. Her father's tone disturbed her. And Safiya's words... felt too close to prophecy.
That evening, the shop closed immediately after The Malika departed. Curtains were drawn. The lanterns burned lower than usual, and her father confined himself to his study. Aneesa slipped from her room, quiet as breath, her steps soft on the cool stone floor as she crept toward her father's study.
The door was mostly closed, but not enough to hide the golden flicker of lamplight or the tension within.
Her father stood behind his desk, clutching a sheaf of papers. The stress bent his shoulders, his voice rough with exhaustion.
Safiya paced like a caged cat.
"I cannot just give her away, Safiya," he snapped, slamming his palm on the table.
"You heard what she said," Safiya countered. "The Malika doesn't waste time on merchants unless she sees value. She has made a generous offer. Refusing would be...unwise."
"This is not what I intended. He came for knowledge, for trade, not for..."
"He came for whatever he desires," she cut him off coldly. "If you would offer more than books, you could keep your debts at bay."
"He wants Aneesa," he whispered. "For what, she didn't say but I know what it means."
"You must break your oath," Safiya said coldly. "Or we'll lose everything. The shop is failing. You owe her nothing."
Her father sank into the chair.
"The shop is struggling," he confessed, voice worn. "The taxes, the tariffs, the drought..."
"And The Malika's generosity is the only lifeline left," Safiya said. "Aneesa is pretty, learned, and untouched. Do not pretend you didn't see this coming. What did you expect, that she would take over the shop as a shameful unmarried woman?"
"I swore I would protect her," he whispered. "I swore it to her mother."
"You have a new family now," Safiya said sharply. "One you must also protect."
A long silence followed. Then came the sound of a pen scratching across parchment.
"My hands are tied," he said, "May Allah forgive me."
Footsteps approached the door.
Aneesa's heart leapt as the handle turned with a click, but when the door opened, the hallway was empty.
Aneesa was already in her bed, covers drawn to her chin, eyes wide open in the dark.
She didn't understand everything she had heard, but she knew this much:
Something had been decided.
And whatever it was, it had everything to do with her.