Aleerah had barely risen when her maid Amina burst into the chamber, breathless, her face pale.
"My lady, the council drums have sounded. His Majesty is gathering the viziers and generals. The northern frontier is getting hotter."
Aleerah stilled, her fingers tightening around the prayer beads she had been clutching since the restless night.
"War," Amina whispered, as though saying it louder might summon something more dreadful.
Aleerah's breath faltered. She had grown up hearing tales of Marazid, the desert kingdom whose horsemen could vanish into the sands and kings had clashed with Almirith for generations. She knew their ambition, their cruelty. And now they were stirring again.
---
The war council chamber roared with voices when Sultan Azmir Khalid entered, his black cloak sweeping the floor like a shadow. The room fell into silence with a single glance from him.
General Rashid, scarred from a dozen campaigns, spoke first. "Your Majesty, Marazid has crossed into the oasis towns near the border. Their horsemen pillage, their banners fly openly. This is no raid, it is the beginning of conquest."
Azmir's jaw tightened. He stepped to the great map etched upon the table, his fingers pressing against the contested lands.
"They believe Almirith weakened. They believe marriage has softened me. They will learn otherwise."
Murmurs rippled but was silenced when his voice rose again, colder this time.
"Send word to every province. Call the armies. Within a fortnight, our banners will ride north."
His viziers bowed, though unease clung to the chamber. War was costly and bloody. But no one dared question him.
---
That evening, Aleerah walked through the gardens, her veil trailing, her heart knotted tight. She heard the distant clash of steel as soldiers drilled late into the night. She saw the servants rushing with messages, their faces drawn with worry.
The palace had become a hive of urgency.
Yet in her chambers, she remained untouched, unseen.
She pressed her palms together, whispering prayers into the jasmine-scented air. But her mind wandered to the man she had been bound to, who has drifted further from her with each passing day.
The Sultan who had claimed her with words but withheld himself in silence.
What would war make of him? Would it burn away what little tenderness might have been waiting beneath his fire? Or would it return him to her bloodied, hardened, untouchable forever?
---
High above, on the ramparts, Azmir gazed into the dark horizon. The desert stretched endless with its sands silvered by moonlight. Somewhere beyond that line, Marazid's armies are gathered.
But even as he planned their destruction, another battle gnawed at him, one he could not name before his generals.
He thought of Aleerah.
Her silence. Her lowered eyes. The distance he himself had carved between them, all in the name of restraint.
Now, with war at his gates, he wondered if he had already lost her before he had ever truly held her.
He was named the The conqueror of nations but he now felt, for the first time, like a man standing on the edge of defeat.
---
The Palace walls breathed with secrets, its corridors carried whispers, but for Aleerah, each day seemed to lengthen, each night colder than the one before. The Sultan had left her chambers untouched, his absence stretching more than four weeks, and though her attendants reassured her that the Sultan was occupied with state matters, her heart told her otherwise.
She was unwanted.
Aleerah sat in her chamber garden, a place filled with jasmine and pale roses, though the flowers gave her no peace. She plucked a petal and watched it drift down to the marble floor. She wondered whether she too would be cast aside once her novelty faded.
"My lady," Amina whispered, approaching with a bow. "There will be a gathering this afternoon. The noblewomen of the court are invited. Her Highness, the aunt of the Sultan, has made certain your presence is expected."
Aleerah stilled, the words chilling her blood. "Expected?"
"Yes." Amina lowered her gaze, clearly hesitant. "The aunt wishes… to introduce you among them."
Aleerah's lips parted, then closed. She knew what that meant. A trial, thinly veiled as hospitality. The noblewomen, daughters and wives of generals, viziers, governors would judge her like a hawk judges a hare.
For a long moment, Aleerah stared at the fountain bubbling at the garden's center. Then she rose, spine straightening with quiet resolve. "Then we will not give them a cause to mock at. Bring me the green silk veil. The one embroidered with pearls."
---
The chamber of the gathering was grand, its vaulted ceiling painted with constellations, its carpets thick and perfumed with oud and musk. Laughter floated in the air, edged with cruelty, as jeweled women reclined on cushions, their anklets chiming with every movement.
At the head of it all sat Sharifah Zuleikha, the Sultan's aunt. She did not rise when Aleerah entered but gestured lazily to a seat opposite her.
"Ah," Zuleikha drawled, her lips curved in that same cold smile. "Our guest of honor."
Aleerah bowed, her movements precise, practiced. "Your Highness."
Dozens of eyes tracked her as she settled onto the cushion, her veil shimmering in the lamplight. The room fell into a hush, the kind that felt more dangerous than laughter.
One woman, a governor's daughter with lips painted crimson, leaned toward another and murmured just loud enough for Aleerah to hear. "Such fine silk on one who plucked olives with her hands not long ago."
A ripple of amusement spread among the women. Aleerah's heart pounded, but she kept her gaze steady.
She will not show them how striking their words are, Aleerah thought as she folded her hands in her lap.
Another voice, honeyed and venomous, followed. "Tell us, Lady Aleerah, do you know the ways of noble courts? Or will you need teaching?"
Aleerah met their eyes in silence, unwilling to rise to the bait. But, it seems silence only emboldened them.
Zuleikha sipped her tea and spoke with calculated slowness. "My nephew is a man of passions. His favor burns brightly, but such fires… they consume quickly. We women here have seen it before. Women raised to heights, only to fall when his gaze strays." She tilted her head, her dark eyes gleaming. "What makes you think you will endure longer than they?"
The question landed sharp on Aleerah making her throat tightened and her palms turned damp beneath her veil.
For a moment, she thought of lying. Of claiming that she did not care for endurance, that she was content with whatever the Sultan bestowed. But then her father's face rose in her mind, his tired eyes, the desperate plea in his voice the day he gave her hand away. Survive, my daughter. Live.
She drew in a slow breath. "Because I am his wife," she said, her voice was steady even though her heart trembled within her chest. "Not a passing flame. A wife is bound not by desire alone, but by covenant, by Allah's decree."
A flicker of surprise crossed Zuleikha's face. Then disdain quickly smothered it.
The women laughed again, this time sharper. One whispered, "So the peasant girl knows scripture. How quaint."
Aleerah pressed her nails into her palms beneath the silk, anchoring herself. She would not cry. Not in front of these vultures .
---
The gathering dragged on, filled with sly questions and mocking remarks. When at last Aleerah was permitted to rise, she bowed again, her face a mask of calm.
But once beyond the chamber doors, her breath shattered. She leaned against a cold marble pillar, chest rising and falling with suppressed sobs.
Amina rushed to her side, eyes wide with worry. "My lady-"
Aleerah shook her head. "Not here," she whispered. "Not where they can see."
Their footsteps was the only echo in the corridor as they walked away.