The golden light of late afternoon bathed the palace's vast galleries, caressing the ochre walls and alabaster columns. The air was filled with the sweet scent of jasmine mingled with the warm aroma of freshly baked bread. A quiet bustle animated the corridors: tonight, a banquet would be held in honor of the new trade alliances concluded between Assad, lord of the palace, and several influential regional clans.
The kitchens, usually silent, now pulsed with restrained fever.
Meats simmered slowly, pastries were arranged with meticulous care, and candied fruits sparkled in engraved silver bowls.
Each dish was a promise of power—both a political offering and a culinary delight.
Among the servants, Nahia moved with the grace of a shadow.
Dressed in an immaculate linen tunic and hidden beneath a light veil, she carried trays without a word. Her gaze remained lowered, her gestures precise, nearly invisible.
She seemed to merge with the palace walls.
But with every step, she felt Lina circling her like a viper ready to strike.
Lina whispered cutting remarks, brushed against her on purpose, smiled too sweetly to be sincere.
"Careful," she murmured with venom, "you might drop something important..."
Nahia merely lowered her head and moved with greater care, refusing to offer Lina the satisfaction of a reaction.
But her heart beat a little faster with every silent attack.
Since arriving at the palace, few had offered Nahia anything beyond indifference—or at times, contempt.
And yet, tonight, a kind gaze found her.
Yasmina, Assad's younger sister, seated near a column, watched the scene with a glint of amusement. She caught Lina's antics and, when her eyes met Nahia's, she gave a discreet wink.
A tiny gesture—but to Nahia, it was a star in a moonless night.
Twilight stretched slowly across the palace, dressing the halls in purple and gold.
Guests arrived, adorned in embroidered fabrics and glittering jewels, their voices weaving a tapestry of murmurs and muffled laughter.
Finally, Assad entered, clad in a dark blue tunic with modest embroidery.
He needed no ornaments to command respect—his presence alone quieted the room.
At his side walked Laila, his mother—straight as authority itself—and Yasmina, radiant with youth and wit.
Under his orders, the new servants—including Nahia—were tasked with managing the service: a silent test of discipline.
Nahia carried out her duties, still veiled, but something had changed.
She could feel it.
Eyes lingered on her.
On her way of moving. Of being present without being noticed.
Invisible… and yet, somehow, captivating.
At the head table, the conversation turned more personal.
"Assad," said Emir, one of his oldest allies, "isn't it time you thought about securing your lineage? You are a respected leader. But you remain alone."
A knowing silence followed.
Others nodded.
Laila, amused, cast a knowing glance at her son.
Assad, unreadable, took a sip of wine before replying:
"The time will come."
But Emir pressed on:
"If you're looking for a wife worthy of you, my daughter would be honored to bear your name."
A murmur spread across the table.
Assad gave a polite but distant smile.
"I thank you. Your daughter is no doubt remarkable.
But I believe destiny will guide me... when the time is right."
Yasmina chuckled behind her fan.
Laila sighed.
And Lina... boiled inside.
This banquet was supposed to be her moment. Her chance to shine.
But tonight, everything was slipping away.
She had a plan.
When Nahia passed between two tables with her fruit tray, she would hook her veil on a small, discreet sculpture. One wrong step… and the veil would fall.
And everything she was hiding… would be exposed.
Humiliation. Shame.
Maybe even dismissal.
The moment came.
Nahia advanced, tray in hand, focused.
With a near-invisible flick, Lina snagged the veil.
No one noticed.
No one—except Yasmina.
But it was too late.
A soft tear.
The veil slid slowly.
And there, before the entire assembly, Nahia's hair spilled out like a cascade of black silk, long and luminous, with blue-tinged reflections.
A murmur spread through the hall.
Conversations stopped.
The world seemed suspended in that single breath.
Nahia froze, panic surging through her.
Her breath caught, hands trembling as she tried to cover her hair.
And then…
Assad rose.
His gaze swept the hall like a blade.
He had seen everything.
He understood.
Silently, he removed the vest of his tunic and, with steady steps, walked toward her.
He stopped in front of Nahia and, with an infinitely gentle gesture, placed the cloth over her head—shielding her like a protector.
A hush swept through the crowd.
Then—a sharp slap.
Yasmina had struck Lina.
"How dare you?!" she shouted. "Viper! You wanted to humiliate her in front of everyone?!"
Lina stepped back, pale, mumbling inaudible protests. But Yasmina didn't wait.
"Guards! Take her out of the palace! Now!"
Two guards stepped forward and seized Lina, escorting her roughly toward the exit.
Some guests turned away. Others smiled, satisfied.
Assad made a gesture. The musicians resumed playing, as if nothing had happened.
But nothing… would ever be the same.
Laila, still silent, observed.
In her son's eyes, she saw a new disturbance.
And when she watched Yasmina take Nahia's hand and offer her a knowing smile, she understood.
The woman who would stir her son's heart may not have been born into silk.
But in a single moment, she had silenced the room…
And, unknowingly, had stepped into the path of destiny.