next morning
She felt it , yes her child was gone
And that man wasn't done he just couldn't get enough
Rashad stood beside her bed, pushing her arm roughly.
"It's time."
Tears welled in Gaida's eyes before he even finished speaking.
She screamed, "No!" and slapped her own face in disbelief and grief.
And then she remembered the deal — the one Rashad forced upon her after the first time he used her.
A vile contract disguised as "service to the crown prince."
Rule one: After every time I'm done with you, my wife will step in, spit on you, and rename you.
Rule two: If you get pregnant, you'll claim it was one of the other slaves. That child won't be mine.
Rule three: You'll give birth in secret. And if — by chance — the child looks like me and not you, I'll let him live. And you'll be spared.
Break the rules, even once? You get fifty to a hundred lashes.
Break them again? The number only goes up.
Gaida had followed every rule. She had never once disobeyed.
And yet… she got the full hundred lashes.
Rashad dragged her from the bed while Jawhara watched with a quiet smile.
The more Gaida cried, the more they seemed to enjoy it.
"It's time to meet your new master."
Yes — her new master. The rich merchant, a friend of Hatem.
Master Sewar, friend to Crown Prince Hatem, had known him for years.
T---
> They had first met in a sanctuary — one of the sacred shrines scattered across the vast desert kingdom, remnants of a time long before kings and crowns.
Ancient texts spoke of these places as the last living veins of the old world — where the voice of the divine, the Godese, still whispered through wind and stone. Each sanctuary was built atop a sliver of holy wood said to have been buried deep in the earth before the Great Typhoon — a storm so powerful it drowned the world and reset time.
When the waters finally receded, only the land surrounding these sanctuaries remained green and alive. Everything else had turned to desert. It was as if the sanctuaries had been chosen to survive — oases not just of water, but of memory and power.
Rashad had just finished dragging her out when Gaida's body gave in — she fainted the moment her bare feet touched the hot sand.
Jawhara approached her slowly, her steps graceful, almost playful. With that same serene smile she always wore, she nudged Gaida's side with her foot.
"She's out cold," she muttered, amused.
She turned to Rashad, about to say what she'd been thinking all along —
"I told you so. Why didn't you just kill her?"
Her lips curled, the words resting on her tongue.
"Now someone will have to bury her in broad daylight," she added silently in her mind, annoyed at the inconvenience.
But before the words left her mouth, a sharp, unmistakable cry broke the silence.
The child.
The only man they'd brought with them — a trusted servant — stood a few steps away, cradling the baby awkwardly in his arms.
The sound sliced through the quiet like a blade.
Everything had been done in secrecy — no slaves, no guards — just the three of them and that one man. No witnesses. No rumors. No trace.
Or so they thought.
Suddenly, every eye shifted toward a single sound far off in the distance.
A young man, no older than twenty, sat astride a lone horse, framed by the dying light of the desert horizon.
He appeared unremarkable—his height, his build, even the color of his eyes seemed to melt into the dusty landscape like any other nomad.
But his voice carried something unsettling—quiet, steady, yet edged with authority beyond his years.
"Good afternoon, my prince and princess," he intoned, each word deliberate, heavy with meaning.
"Excuse my intrusion, but what lies there... belongs to me."
He motioned slowly toward the still form of Gaida, collapsed on the ground