The corridors swallowed Aleerah as she returned to her chambers, her steps soft against the polished marble floors. Every mosaic on the walls, every carved arch above her, seemed alive, watching her with a scrutiny as sharp as the Sultan's eyes. The palace was not a home, it was a cage wrapped in gold.
Her father's warning echoed through her mind: Submit. Obey. Survive.
She repeated it silently as though it were a prayer, but it did not soothe her. She had promised him, yet her chest burned with unease. To submit was simple enough in body, but what of her heart? Could she extinguish the fire inside her, the one that refused to die even in this gilded prison?
By the time she reached her chambers, her hands were trembling. She dismissed her maid with a weak smile and closed the heavy doors behind her. Alone, she sank onto the edge of her bed. The silken sheets whispered against her fingers, soft as water, but their comfort was foreign, suffocating.
She buried her face in her hands. Do not provoke him. Do not resist him. Be obedient.
The latch of the door clicked.
Aleerah jolted upright, her breath catching. The air shifted before she even saw him, the power in his presence filling the room like a storm breaking over the horizon.
Sultan Azmir Khalid stepped inside.
He wore no crown, no cloak, only a simple black robe that clung to the breadth of his shoulders, the midnight fabric embroidered faintly with gold at the edges. His hair was unbound, falling to his shoulders, his eyes sharper than a blade and just as dangerous.
Aleerah rose quickly, her head bowed, her hands clasped before her. "My lord."
Azmir closed the door behind him, the sound reverberating through the chamber like a verdict. His gaze swept over her with a hunger so raw she felt the weight of it against her skin.
"Why do you look at the floor?" he asked, his voice deep, low, unhurried.
Aleerah swallowed hard. "It is proper for a wife to lower her gaze before her husband."
A silence stretched, tense, dangerous.
Then he moved, slow, deliberate steps until he stood so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He reached out, a single finger lifting her chin until her eyes met his. His touch was deceptively gentle, but the command behind it was absolute.
"I did not choose you to look at the floor, Aleerah," he said. His eyes burned into hers. "When I first saw you, your gaze defied me. There was fire in it. Now…" He studied her face, his jaw tightening. "…now I see only obedience. Submission. Like any other woman in my harem."
The word struck her. Any other woman. She had thought herself chosen, different. But perhaps she was not.
"I only wish to please you, my lord," she whispered.
Something flickered in his expression, anger, disappointment, perhaps disgust. His hand fell from her chin as though her words had soured the air.
"To please me?" His voice sharpened. "Do you think I am a man who desires obedience? Any servant can obey. I did not choose you to bow. I chose you because your spirit defied the world itself. And now…" His lip curled slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Now you cower."
Aleerah's chest tightened. He wants the fire. He wants the very thing Baba told me to extinguish.
Her father's words thundered in her memory. Submit. Obey. Survive. But here, before the Sultan, submission seemed to disgust him.
She lowered her eyes again, forcing her voice steady. "I am your wife, my lord. I am yours in whatever way you command me."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Azmir's eyes studied her, dark and unrelenting. Then, with a sharp motion, he turned from her, pacing to the window that overlooked the palace gardens. The moonlight bathed his figure in silver, his profile a carving of strength and authority.
He spoke without looking at her. "Do you know what I see when I look at you, Aleerah?"
Her voice barely carried. "What, my lord?"
"I see a woman hiding behind duty. I see fear where there should be fire. I see obedience where there should be challenge." He turned his head slightly, his gaze cutting through the shadows to pierce her. "Do not think you can survive here by giving me what I have not asked for."
Her knees weakened beneath her. She sank slowly to the edge of the bed, her breath shallow.
What does he want from me?
Her father's warning told her to yield, to become nothing more than shadow. But the Sultan's eyes told her the opposite—that shadow repelled him. He wanted flame.
And yet flame could consume her.
When Azmir turned back to her, his steps were swift, purposeful. He stopped before her once again, his hand pressing against the bedpost beside her head. The closeness of him swallowed her whole, the scent of oud and iron, the warmth of his breath brushing against her cheek.
"Do you fear me, Aleerah?" he asked softly.
Her lips trembled. "Yes."
Her heart pounded so violently she thought he might hear it.
He lingered there, his gaze locked with hers, until she could not breathe. Then, suddenly, he stepped back. The absence of his closeness left her trembling.
"I do not want you to fear me. You are my wife," he said, his tone final, cold as steel. "Do not insult me by behaving as though you are less than a servant."
She was stricken where she stood. Uncertain how to behave.
"Where is the fire in your eyes? " Azmir Khalid asked, his eyes narrowing taking her chin in his hands.
Disgust flared in his eyes as he let her chin go, stepping back as though the very air between them was tainted.
Aleerah lowered her gaze again, her stomach churning.
"Do not give me obedience alone, Aleerah," he said, voice sharp with command. "Obedience without soul is an insult."
With that, he turned and left, the heavy doors closing behind him with a thundering finality.
Aleerah sat frozen, her body rigid, her breath shallow.
Her father's voice whispered in her ears louder this time; Submit. Obey. Survive.
But the Sultan's voice burned louder: Do not kill the fire. Do not cower. Do not become like the others.
Tears blurred her vision as she pressed her palms against her face. The path before her split into two roads– obedience that earned his contempt, or defiance that might provoke his wrath.
Either way, she was caught in the storm she sees in his eyes, with no escape in sight.