Nahia awoke before dawn.
The palace still slept, muffled in the silence of the waking morning.
Beneath the door, a folded note.
Her heart quickened for no clear reason—perhaps instinct.
She picked it up, her fingers still numb from sleep.
> "Meet me beneath the fig tree at sunrise. Come quietly."
Signed simply: Y.
For a moment, she hesitated.
She knew no one here whose name began with Y. No one, except…
A spark. A quiet laugh. An honest gaze beneath a dark veil.
Princess Yasmina.
They had crossed paths the day before, by the hidden lake in the forgotten garden.
A suspended moment. An exchange barely blooming, yet already etched in memory.
So, without further thought, Nahia had risen.
She wrapped her shoulders, veiled her head, and left her room on silent feet.
The fig tree awaited her, immense and calm.
And beneath its branches—Yasmina.
— "You came…" she said, a smile of near relief at the corner of her lips.
— "You called me," Nahia replied softly.
Without another word, Yasmina extended her hand.
Nahia hesitated for a second. Then took it.
They walked together, hand in hand, like two children fleeing a world too heavy.
The garden opened to them in quiet complicity.
The lake, calm and smooth as a mirror, welcomed them just like the day before.
But this time, there was no rush.
Yasmina took off her sandals and sat by the water, bare feet in the cool grass.
Nahia followed her lead.
Between them, a woven basket: ripe figs, warm bread, a flask of sweet tea.
They shared everything. Crumb by crumb. Sip by sip.
— "I love this place…" Yasmina murmured, eyes lost in the morning's reflection.
— "Me too. It feels like it's out of time."
A silence. But not a heavy one.
A soft silence that said: I see you.
— "Sometimes, I wish I could vanish here. Stop being a princess. Stop being anything."
— "And if you could choose? Who would you be?"
Yasmina smiled sadly.
— "Someone free. And you?"
Nahia lowered her gaze. The memories still stung under her skin.
— "Someone accepted."
The silence returned, but this time, it bound their hearts.
Yasmina reached out. Her fingers brushed Nahia's.
A simple gesture, yet full of a warmth the young girl hadn't felt in years.
— "You can come back tomorrow. If you want to."
Nahia nodded, a shy smile on her lips.
They stayed there, legs crossed, sharing the dried figs Yasmina had brought.
They spoke for a long time.
Yasmina talked about her dreams of forbidden travel, her secret late-night readings of ancient tales, her longing to be more than a princess.
Nahia, hesitant at first, eventually confided her secret love for books and medicinal herbs.
Yasmina listened as one listens to a precious secret.
For the first time, Nahia felt that her differences were not a burden.
Her eyes—an improbable mix of green and blue—were no longer a curse.
Here, they were beautiful.
Here, she didn't need to hide.
As they clumsily wove flower crowns beneath the grand willow's branches, Nahia felt light, almost carefree.
She rarely laughed, but with Yasmina, her laughter escaped her without warning—pure and quiet like drops of dew.
What they didn't know was that this corner of paradise—this hidden sanctuary—was not as secret as they thought.
For months now, it had also been the silent refuge of Assad.
A place he came to, far from the weight of his responsibilities, to find a semblance of peace in solitude.
He knew every stone along the path, every rustle of the willows.
He often came at dawn or dusk, when shadows softened the edges of the world.
---
Elsewhere, in a livelier wing of the palace…
Assad, eyes dark, strode through the corridors with purpose.
He had noticed his sister's absence.
Yasmina, usually easy to find, had slipped away before the palace even stirred.
He gave a questioning look to a passing young servant, but she shook her head, embarrassed.
No one knew where she was.
Assad narrowed his eyes.
He didn't like not knowing.
And above all, he didn't like the thought of Yasmina spending time with someone… without his knowledge.
His instincts—sharpened by court intrigues and invisible plots—flared into alert.