The evening was in full swing in the grand hall of the palace.
The dim lights cast golden reflections on the laughing faces, while an enchanting music floated through the air, soft as a whispered secret. The scent of refined dishes rose from the buffets, intoxicating, irresistible.
But Nahia did not linger.
The light veil covering her face hid more than her modesty: it protected her secret.
Her eyes scanned the room without ever resting. She moved slowly, her silver tray held like a shield. Every gesture was controlled, every step deliberate. She must not tremble. Not attract attention.
And yet… she felt it.
He was there.
Assad.
The Sheikh.
He stood tall, impassive, at the center of the room. He observed the crowd with a distant eye, as if he did not belong to this world of splendor and frivolity. But Nahia knew.
She felt his gaze.
Cold. Cutting.
Every time their eyes met, a dull burn spread through her chest. That look laid her bare, exposing all her weaknesses. As if he read her… as if he knew.
She straightened, tightened her grip on the tray. Her veil protected her. At least, she convinced herself of that.
But it was only fabric.
A veil did not hide her heterochromatic eyes. The detail that betrayed her, that she fled from, that she feared. The detail that made her an anomaly.
The tray trembled, barely. Just enough to betray the tension inside her.
Then, everything tipped.
A guest reached too suddenly for a glass.
The tray wobbled.
A goblet rose in the air, ready to shatter on the floor.
The world stopped.
Nahia's breath caught.
But before she could react, a hand shot out. Quick. Controlled.
The glass was caught.
Assad.
The Sheikh.
He was there.
Their eyes met.
A second.
An eternity.
His features were frozen. His gaze icy. No mockery, no anger.
Just… raw intensity. Fire beneath ice.
All eyes turned to them.
Nahia immediately dropped her gaze.
She hid behind her veil.
The Sheikh set the glass back on the tray with almost unreal precision.
His fingers brushed hers.
A tiny contact.
But she felt it in her skin. An electric shock.
Her heart raced. Too fast. Too loud.
"Be more careful," he murmured.
His voice was calm. Deep.
But every word sounded like a warning. A promise of consequences.
And yet…
In that tone, there was something else. A tension. A turmoil. Perhaps even… a doubt.
She forced herself not to tremble. To breathe.
"Thank you, Your Highness," she replied, almost inaudibly.
He did not answer. He looked at her again.
For a long time. Too long.
Then, he turned away.
As if she was nothing.
As if he had already forgotten her.
But she knew it was not the case. She had felt something.
It was no accident.
He had seen her.
Truly seen her.
She stepped away, heart pounding, thoughts in turmoil.
Why had he intervened?
Why her?
She did not understand.
But one thing was certain: he would not forget her.
And she could no longer ignore him.
---
Silence had fallen over the palace, dense and muffled, like a blanket laid on too fragile a breath.
In the wing reserved for staff, the darkness was soft, peaceful in appearance. An open window let in a warm breeze, barely stirring the pale curtains hanging loose.
On the small bed she shared with her sister, Nahia lay still.
Amaya slept beside her, deeply, her hand resting on Nahia's belly like an invisible thread tying them together. Her slow, steady breathing rocked the night, reassuring.
But Nahia found no comfort.
Her eyes fixed on the ceiling, without really seeing it.
Everything in her was tense. Present, yet elsewhere.
Her heart still beat to the rhythm of the evening.
Not for what she had seen, but for what she had felt.
Assad.
He had spoken only a few words. He had placed that glass on her tray with icy precision.
But his gaze… that gaze, she would never forget.
She had felt it even before their eyes met. A pressure on her skin, a shiver beneath her veil. Like an invisible blade.
And then that contact, so brief, almost nothing. His fingers brushing hers.
But it was enough.
She knew she was no longer anonymous in his eyes.
Since their first meeting — the day she crossed the threshold of his office to warn him of danger — she had done everything to disappear. To blend into the shadows. To be just another silhouette among many.
But he had recognized her. And he looked at her.
Not as a man watches a servant.
No.
He scrutinized her like one tries to understand a riddle. As if he perceived what she struggled to hide.
Her heterochromatic eyes.
Her fear.
Her difference.
She clenched her teeth, chasing away the burning rising in her throat. She must not think about it. She must not feel.
And yet… she could not silence that turmoil. That shiver, not of fear, but of instinct. As if something had been triggered, and there would be no turning back.
Amaya murmured in her sleep and snuggled closer. Nahia absentmindedly stroked her hair, trying to draw a semblance of comfort from the familiar gesture.
But her mind was elsewhere.
He had seen her.
And she had felt it.
It was no accident. Not a coincidence.
Something was taking shape.
A thin, invisible line had just been drawn between her and the Sheikh.
And even though she did not yet understand what it meant…
She knew one thing:
This was only the beginning.