The palace woke before the sun, its endless corridors stirring with footsteps and whispers. Servants carried brass lanterns through shadowed halls, preparing for the day's court. The scent of fresh bread, spiced meats, and honey drifted faintly from the kitchens.
Aleerah moved quietly through the gardens at dawn, her veil fluttering against the soft wind. She came here each morning, when the palace was half-asleep, to steal a breath of freedom. Dew clung to the petals of roses, lilies bent beneath droplets like jewels, and the marble fountains murmured their secrets.
She bent to trace a white jasmine flower with her fingers, her chest easing with the delicate touch. Here, among the blossoms, she could almost pretend she was back in her father's courtyard, barefoot, unguarded.
Almost.
The crunch of boots against gravel broke her fragile peace.
She stiffened. The garden was forbidden to most this early. Only one man carried himself with such unhurried power, the silence of the earth bending to acknowledge him.
Sultan Azmir Khalid.
He appeared from behind a stone arch, his robe loose, his hair tied back with a golden clasp. He walked as though he had all the time in the world, yet his eyes, their storm-dark intensity fastened on her instantly.
Aleerah lowered her gaze, her hands folding before her. "My lord."
He said nothing at first. He simply watched her. The quiet stretched until the air itself grew heavy, until she felt her skin prickle under the weight of his stare.
Finally, his voice cut through the morning stillness. "You rise early."
"I–I wished to breathe the air before the palace stirs," she said softly.
His lips curved faintly, though not in amusement. "You seek freedom in flowers?"
The question pierced her. She hesitated, unsure if it was safe to answer truthfully. "They remind me of home."
He moved closer, the gravel crunching softly beneath his steps. When he stopped before her, his hand brushed one of the jasmine blossoms she had touched moments ago. He plucked it, twirling it slowly between his fingers.
"Home." He repeated the word as if it were foreign to him. Then he leaned forward slightly, offering the flower gently, but yet with a command in the gesture.
She accepted it with trembling hands, her eyes fixed on the white petals.
Azmir's gaze lingered on her. "When I first saw you, Aleerah, you looked at me as if you would rather burn than bow. Do you remember that?"
Her breath caught. The fire in her chest flickered, but she forced her voice to remain steady. "I was afraid, my lord."
"No." His voice sharpened. "It was not fear. It was defiance. And I…" His eyes narrowed, his tone darkening. "I crave it still."
Aleerah's heart pounded. He wants the fire Baba told me to kill.
He circled her slowly, like a hawk measuring its prey. "Do you think obedience pleases me?"
"I only wish to honor you," she whispered.
"Honor?" His laugh was low, humorless. "You honor me most when you do not yield."
Her fingers tightened around the flower until the stem bent.
Azmir stopped behind her. His voice lowered, close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath near her ear. "Do you think I married you for your obedience? I could summon a hundred women to bow at my feet. But none of them would look at me as you once did. None of them would dare."
Aleerah trembled, torn between her father's warning and the Sultan's command. If she submitted, he despised her. If she resisted, she risked provoking his wrath.
Her silence drew his frustration. He stepped before her again, his hand shooting out to grasp her wrist. Not painfully, but firmly, unyieldingly. He tilted her chin upward until her eyes met his.
"Where is it?" he demanded softly. "That fire in your eyes. Do you think you can hide it from me? Do you think I will allow you to bury it?"
Aleerah's lips parted, but no words came.
The Sultan studied her, his jaw hard.
At last, she whispered, "Perhaps the fire you saw was never real, my lord. Perhaps you imagined it."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. His thumb brushed along her jaw, his expression unreadable. Then his grip loosened, and he stepped back, his voice low, almost dangerous.
"No," he said. "I did not imagine it. It was there. And I will not allow you to bury it beneath meekness and fear. You are mine, Aleerah. And I will see that fire again, even if I must tear down every wall you build around it."
Her knees trembled, but she forced herself keep her head lowered, her voice barely above a whisper. "As my Sultan commands."
His face twisted, not with satisfaction, but with frustration, as though her obedience were salt upon a wound.
His eyes burned with something unspoken, anger, yes, but beneath it, a deeper hunger. Obsession.
"Do not mistake this, Aleerah. I can endure defiance, I can endure temper-but I will not endure your silence. That, I despise above all else."
He turned abruptly, his cloak sweeping behind him, as if to leave then, he paused, his back to her now.
"Do not mistake my patience for kindness," he said coldly. "I will not share my palace with a shadow of the woman I chose."
He walked away, leaving her alone with the echo of his voice and the thunder of her heartbeat.
Aleerah stood frozen, her pulse racing. She sank slowly onto the edge of the flower bed.
She had thought submission would protect her and her family. It must. If not her family will starve and be killed.
---
Later that day, during the noon court, she sat beside him on the dais, veiled and silent. The nobles bent low before Sultan Azmir Khalid, presenting petitions, disputes, and tributes. His voice was steady, commanding, never wavering. He was a ruler carved of iron.
But when his eyes flicked to her, when their gazes locked for the briefest instant, she the storm within him, restless and consuming.
She lowered her gaze quickly, but she knew.
This was not simply a marriage. This was not love.
But, it was tightening its grip around them both.