The golden light of dusk bathed the palace in a soft, almost deceptive warmth. Behind the silent walls, the air was thick, as if frozen in anticipation. Since morning, the palace had lost its usual bustle. Even the servants seemed to walk more slowly, as though they knew a decisive moment was about to be sealed.
Assad had not left his office. His gaze lingered on the prayer rug neatly folded in a corner—a silent witness to his turmoil. He hadn't opened a single file, nor replied to any pending letters. He simply hadn't had the strength.
He had spent the day meditating on the words his father had entrusted to him the night before. Replaying their last conversation, hearing again the trembling yet firm voice of the man he had always seen as indestructible. There was no will to read, no official testament, only the weight of a wish spoken with the last strength of a father. And that was enough.
He now stood facing the tall windows of his office, hands clasped behind his back.
A guard knocked.
— "Your Highness... Lord Al-Rami is here. As you requested."
Assad nodded.
— "Let him in."
The door opened. Al-Rami appeared, dressed with elegance but sobriety, his expression grave but composed. He hadn't changed since their last meeting—same steady gaze, same firm handshake, same natural poise. He still carried the aura of the man who had built a commercial empire alongside Assad's father. He was more than an associate: a trusted friend, a brother-in-arms in business and in the silences of men.
— "Assad," he said, bowing slightly. "Your message surprised me. I hope your father—"
— "His condition is worsening," Assad interrupted. "He's to be evacuated soon. But he set one condition, one request he's determined I fulfill."
He pointed to the chair opposite him. Al-Rami sat down slowly, eyes filled with concern.
— "I'm listening."
Assad sat as well. A brief silence preceded his words, as if he weighed each syllable.
— "He wants me to marry."
Al-Rami frowned, trying to understand.
— "Is this an official demand?"
— "No. It's a final wish—a deep desire from a father facing the end. He wants me to marry your daughter, Zeyneb."
Al-Rami froze for a moment, as though the weight of the announcement had fallen onto his shoulders. Then he slowly raised his head, voice low.
— "It's true that your father promised, years ago, that Zeyneb would be your wife... but she's still young. She lives far from courtly intrigues and games. She knows little of this world."
— "Exactly," Assad replied, his voice filled with sincere gravity. "She was raised with restraint, wisdom, and fidelity. My father sees in her the stability, the balance this kingdom desperately needs. He believes she will be a pillar, a loyal ally. He entrusted me with this mission... because you—his lifelong friend, his loyal associate—are the one he chose for this bond."
Al-Rami studied Assad for a long time, searching his eyes for hesitation, doubt, or pretense.
— "And you, Assad? What do you truly think? This is your life too—not just a political alliance."
Assad held his gaze, but his expression darkened.
— "I no longer have the luxury to choose for love. What I can offer is honor, loyalty, and protection. An alliance forged in trust, not in fairytales or the naivety of passion.
It's a commitment. A duty to my father—and to this kingdom."
A silence fell, heavy with thought.
Al-Rami finally stood, slowly, and placed a firm hand on Assad's shoulder.
— "I respect your honesty. And the sacrifice you're accepting. Zeyneb deserves a worthy man, a righteous man. I trust you, Assad."
He paused, then continued more gently:
— "But know this—I will not make this decision alone. I will speak to Zeyneb, and I will listen to her. Her consent is what matters most."
Assad also rose, the weight of the moment still pressing on his shoulders.
— "Thank you, Al-Rami. Your wisdom and loyalty give me strength."
The two men exchanged a final look—two partners tied by a shared past and an uncertain future.
The door closed quietly behind Al-Rami.
In the silence that followed, Assad knew he had just laid the first stone of a future he had not dreamed of... but one he would build, stone by stone, until he made it his own.
---
Night was gently falling over Al-Rami's estate, and the hallways were bathed in soft light. Zeyneb sat in the inner courtyard, her fingers absentmindedly brushing the edge of a copper tray. Her father joined her silently, his face more solemn than usual.
— "Zeyneb," he murmured.
She turned toward him, attentive. He sat beside her, beneath the jasmine trellis.
— "Today, I was summoned by Sheikh Assad," he said. "He spoke to me about his father... who is gravely ill."
A heavy silence lingered before he continued.
— "Before leaving for treatment, the old sheikh made a final wish... He wants Assad to take a wife. And he named you."
Zeyneb said nothing. She waited, her eyes on the shadows climbing slowly up the walls.
Al-Rami drew a deep breath and continued, even softer:
— "And it is not just a request. But the honoring of a promise."
He folded his hands on his knees, as if drawing from distant memories.
— "Many years ago, I was a soldier—barely your age. It was not yet a time of peace. We were fighting rebels in the northern lands. Assad's father was not yet sheikh, but a prince. He led his men like a king, upright and unyielding. And that day... on the battlefield, while fighting a rebel leader, he did not see the one coming from behind him, sword raised."
He paused, his voice colored by vivid memories.
— "I ran. Without thinking. I raised my weapon before the other could strike. And I killed him."
Zeyneb finally looked at him, shaken by this glimpse into a past she never knew.
— 'He saved me,' he said that day. But in truth... it was he who changed me. He brought me to court, gave me a place. Not as a servant—no, as a brother-in-arms. Over the years, we became friends. Brothers, in our own way."
The silence in the courtyard had turned almost sacred.
— "Years after that war, when his wife was already expecting Assad, he told me: 'If one day you have a daughter, and my son is of age to wed, then I would wish to see them united. So that what we have built—our loyalty, our trust—may pass on through a home built on the same values.'
It wasn't a war promise, nor a debt. It was a hope, whispered to the future."
Zeyneb closed her eyes for a moment. The gentleness of that old promise still floated around her.
— "And today, Assad has rekindled that promise. He doesn't know everything—he's unaware of the details of what his father and I lived through.
He only knows that once, a word was given. A precious word, passed down by his ailing father.
So he came—not to claim what would be 'owed,' but to honor that ancient wish.
He asked for your hand, Zeyneb."
Al-Rami paused, then added softly:
— "But he was clear: he will never force you. He only wants it if you want it too."
— "And you... what do you think of him?" Zeyneb murmured.
— "Assad is not an easy man. He is a wounded man, burdened by the weight of a kingdom, of memories, of responsibilities. But he is a man of honor. He seeks neither ornament nor obedience. He spoke to me of respect, of loyalty. Of a home to build patiently."
Zeyneb rose slowly, circled the fountain, and stood for a moment, arms crossed.
— "I don't know that world, Father. I want to live far from their power, from their stares."
— "Exactly. That's why they chose you. Not for what you represent... but for who you are."
A long silence. Then she replied without turning:
— "I'm not a prize. Not a symbol of alliance. But if this marriage is built on respect... then I can consider his request."
A faint smile came to Al-Rami's lips. He stood and placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder.
— "You are a wise daughter. Whatever your answer is, I will honor it."
Zeyneb nodded gently.
— "I want to speak with him."
Al-Rami agreed.
— "You will. And you will decide. It will be your choice."
And in the garden's peaceful light, between memories and promises, Al-Rami's daughter began to write, too, her own destiny.