The night air in the palace was thick with incense and the low murmur of courtiers dispersing from council. When the doors to Aleerah's chamber swung open, the world seemed to take a pause.
Sultan Azmir Khalid entered with deliberate grace, the long sweep of his black robes brushing across the marble floor. His presence filled the room like a storm, each step heavy with restrained power.
Aleerah, who had been sitting quietly near the latticed window, rose to her feet. Her pulse hammered in her throat.
"You were summoned today," Azmir said without preamble. His voice was low, resonant, and dangerous. "By my aunt."
The mention of his aunt sent a shivers down her spine. She lowered her gaze quickly, hands twisting together. "Yes, my lord."
Azmir advanced until he stood in front of her. The faint scent of musk and steel clung to him, unsettling and intoxicating all at once. With a single finger, he lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his.
"And what poison did she pour into your ears?"
Aleerah's lips parted, but the words tangled in her throat. She tried to look away, but his gaze pinned her hard. "She… she only wished to remind me of my duties."
The Sultan's mouth curved into a cold, mirthless smile. "Lie to me again."
The softness in his tone was deceptive, for there was nothing soft in his eyes. She felt the weight of his temper simmering, waiting to break.
Her breath trembled. She wanted to hold her silence, but the storm in his face unraveled her courage. At last, the words spilled free.
"She said I did not belong here," she whispered, each word cutting her own tongue. "That when your fire fades, I will be discarded."
A beat of silence.
The chamber seemed to contract around them. Azmir's jaw tightened, his fists curling at his sides until the veins stood sharp against his skin.
"My aunt dares," he muttered, his voice low, almost a growl. "She dares to frighten my wife."
Aleerah flinched at the heat in his words. Panic stirred in her chest. "Please, my lord. Do not-"
But his gaze snapped back to her, dark and burning with a furious protectiveness. His anger was not at her, but at the audacity of anyone who questioned her place.
"You are mine," he said, each syllable heavy as stone, carved with blood and oath. "No one will speak against you and breathe freely. Not even she."
Her breath caught in her throat. His claim wrapped around her like chains that both sheltered and suffocated. She wanted to protest, to tell him that she feared his wrath more than she feared Zuleikha's venom, but the intensity in his eyes silenced her.
In that moment, Aleerah understood. She was not a bride. She was not even a queen. She was a possession, a chosen, untouchable one
The silence pressed thick between them. Only her shallow breaths and the faint rustle of his robe filled the air.
Azmir's expression shifted, hard fury giving way to something quieter, something more painful. His eyes narrowed in frustration at himself.
Why is she afraid of me?
The thought cut him deeper than a blade. He could command legions, bend enemies to their knees, yet he could not draw the fear from her eyes.
When he had first seen her, she had been fire, fierce even in poverty, her gaze striking against the weight of her father's plea even though she shook her head to consent marrying him. That fire had consumed him. But now, before him, she was folded in on herself, her flame dimmed.
And it was his fault.
He took a single step back, as though distance might ease the ache in his chest. His hands twitched with longing, to touch her, to draw her against him, to claim her lips and body as his own. But not like this.
Never like this.
So he turned, cloak whispering across the floor, leaving her with nothing but the echo of his retreat.
And for the first time in years, Sultan Azmir Khalid felt defeated by the quiet, unyielding war of the heart.
---
The night after he left her chamber stretched longer than any she had known.
Aleerah lay awake beneath the silken canopy, her hands pressed to her chest to steady the frantic rhythm of her heart. She told herself he would return, that the echo of his words, You are mine, meant he would not abandon her.
The days crept into weeks, and the weeks hardened into a month, and the door to her chamber remained closed.
He had not touched her. Not once since their marriage.
The servants whispered behind screens and in corridors. Some wondered if the Sultan regretted wedding a commoner. Others muttered that perhaps she was cursed, for what man, what ruler would leave a young bride untouched for so long?
They expected the linens to be changed, expected the blood of her maidenhood to be offered discreetly to the laundress. But the sheets remained white, untouched by the proof the court craved.
Each whisper cut her, though she smiled as though she could not hear.
Perhaps they are right.
Her father's voice haunted her in those quiet hours. Submit, my daughter. Do not draw his wrath. Endure, and You will be safe .
And she had tried. She had bowed her head. She had spoken with reverence. She had offered her silence where another woman might demand affection. Yet what had her endurance won her?
Loneliness.
Each dawn, the palace bloomed with life, the pounding of hooves in the courtyards, the laughter of women in distant halls, the clatter of armor as soldiers drilled below the ramparts. And each dawn, Aleerah wandered the marble corridors, her steps soft, her veil trailing like a ghost.
The palace grew colder with every sunrise.
Some nights, she pressed her palms against her lips to stifle sobs, lest her maid hear. Other nights, she lay very still, convincing herself that this must be his justice,that perhaps by withholding himself, he spared her some greater suffering.
But the doubt festered.
Does he despise me?
Does he regret binding himself to me?
Am I not worth even the heir he needs?
The thoughts gnawed at her, calling out tears from the depths of her heart.
---
Far from her chamber, in the war council hall, Sultan Azmir Khalid stood hunched over a map stretched across the table, though his eyes had not read its markings for some time. Around him, ministers spoke of borders and armies, of the growing unrest in Marazid across the northern desert, a rival realm whose hunger for Almirith's wealth was no secret.
Azmir heard none of it though. His mind, treacherous, returned always to the look in Aleerah's eyes that flicker due to fear and retreat.
Why had she dimmed her fire? Why did she fold herself small when he longed to see her blaze?
Why does she expects him to take whatever he wants without giving it to him?
He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened.
He had wanted her. From the moment her father, trembling and desperate, had begged for her protection, Azmir had wanted her. He had thought marriage would claim her fully, that she would understand she was not a burden but a treasure he would never relinquish.
And yet, every attempt to draw her near only deepened her distance.
Her fear was not the fear of courtly politics, nor of the aunt's poison. It was fear of him.
That truth lashed him harder than any enemy's sword.
Azmir turned from the council table, his cloak sweeping behind him. His generals straightened in alarm, but he waved them to be quiet as they leave.
He needed space. He needed silence.
More than that, he needed to master the war within himself before he shattered what fragile trust remained between them.
If I press, I will break her. If I break her, I will lose her fire forever.
The thought was unbearable.
So he had withdrew. He had buried himself in council sessions, in war plans, in the endless strategies against Marazid. He let her see nothing about him, not his hunger, not his torment, not the nights he paced his own chamber restless and sleepless.
When he longed for her most, he forced himself away.
At the edge of his self-restraint, standing alone on the balcony that overlooked the moonlit desert, he whispered into the wind:
"I will not take her in fear. I will not see her tremble when I touch her. Even if it kills me, I will wait. Even if she never knows what she does to me."
His words vanished into the night, but the ache remained.
Sultan Azmir Khalid, conqueror of armies, master of an empire, stood alone, defeated by the silence between himself and the woman he could not stop obsessing over.