The palace never slept. Even in the hours when the moon reigned and silence draped the halls, whispers moved like shadows, carrying rumors sharper than daggers. Aleerah had grown used to their weight, yet this evening, they pressed heavier than ever.
She sat by the latticed window of her chamber, the oil lamp at her side burning low. Amina dozed in the corner with her head tilted against the wall, while Aleerah's eyes chased the stars. Somewhere beyond those distant lights was her family, fighting debts, swallowing the shame that came with her name, enduring the cruelty of neighbors who mocked them for offering their daughter to the Sultan.
Her father's visit had eased her heart, but only for a breath. His words lingered: Submit, my daughter. Endure, so you may live. And yet she had seen the truth flicker in his eyes of weariness, fear, and the quiet desperation of a man holding his house together with the last threads of pride.
She pressed a hand to her chest. What if I fail them?
The door creaked.
Aleerah startled, rising quickly, but it was not Azmir who entered. A messenger bowed low, his armor glinting faintly in the lamplight.
"My lady," he said, his voice tight. "The Sultan requests your presence at the council chamber. At once."
Her heart stuttered. Azmir had not called for her in months–not since that night he left her in silence, retreating into the shadows of war and planning.
She wrapped her veil hastily and followed the soldier through the echoing corridors. The council chamber doors loomed like the gates of a fortress, heavy with carved oak and inlaid with brass.
Inside, the air vibrated with tension. Lords, generals, and viziers sat around the great crescent table, maps spread wide, candles bleeding wax onto the wood. Azmir stood at the head, a figure carved of midnight and fire. His black robes swept the floor, his presence a force that silenced every whisper.
When his gaze lifted and found her, Aleerah nearly faltered. His eyes were unreadable, yet something flickered there, something she had not seen in months.
"Come," he commanded softly.
She obeyed, stepping to his side. The weight of every eye in the chamber pressed down upon her shoulders.
One of the viziers, a thin man with a hawk-like face, rose and bowed. "Your Majesty, is it wise to summon the Queen Consort into matters of war? Forgive me, but the council–"
Azmir's hand cut the air, silencing him. "Do you question me, Lord Harun?"
The man paled, sinking back into his seat.
Azmir turned to Aleerah. His voice lowered, yet it carried enough for all to hear. "The council debates whether to send more men to the border of Khorasan. Our enemies stir there, and the desert tribes have sworn alliance with them. Blood will spill before the moon wanes again."
Aleerah's breath caught. She had heard the name Khorasan only in fearful murmurs—vast, merciless lands whose armies were said to fight with the ferocity of wolves.
"Why am I here, my lord?" she whispered.
His gaze lingered on her face, searching, as though her fear was a mirror to his own. Then, to the astonishment of the council, Azmir said:
"Because the court doubts you."
The chamber rippled with gasps. Aleerah's cheeks burned, her stomach twisting.
Azmir's voice hardened. "They whisper that you are unfit to be Queen. That you are weak. That you do not belong at my side." His hand gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened. "I summoned you here so they will look upon you and know: my choice does not waver."
Aleerah trembled, her pulse thundering in her ears. This was an exposure . Every noble eye dissected her, weighing her worth, her lineage, her very blood. She felt naked beneath their gaze.
And then, like poison creeping in, she heard another whisper echoing from the shadows of her memory: the village rumors about her uncle.
Her father had never spoken of it directly, but Aleerah had pieced together enough. When her father and younger brother traveled for months to seek work, they had left her and her mother in her uncle's care. A greedy, selfish man who had always looked at her not with love, but as though she were coin.
That was when he had gambled her away. Used her name, her future, as a bargaining chip to borrow gold from the Sultan of Khorasan –the very empire Azmir now prepared to face.
But the uncle had never repaid the debt. And so the whispers began: that one day, the Sultan of Khorasan would come to claim what was promised to him.
Her father had wept when he returned and learned the truth. It was then that he had given her into Azmir's hands out of desperation. Better to bind her to a just Sultan than to see her dragged into the enemy's harem as a payment for another man's greed.
Now, standing in this council chamber, Aleerah felt the weight of that buried secret like chains. If the war with Khorasan burned hotter, would that rumor resurface? Would the enemy demand her as the debt long owed?
She pressed her trembling fingers together, lowering her gaze.
"My Sultan," she managed, her voice low but steady. "If I shame you by standing here, then I will endure it. But know this–" her gaze swept the council, surprising even herself, "–I did not ask for this crown, nor do I cling to it. I remain here only because he wills it."
A silence followed, taut and brittle. The nobles shifted uncomfortably, their lips pressing thin.
For the first time in weeks, a shadow of a smile touched Azmir's mouth. He turned back to his council. "You see? Even without noble blood, she carries more strength than half this room."
The chamber fell into reluctant silence, and the matter of Khorasan returned to the table. Yet Aleerah's heart would not still. She stood at his side, the echo of her uncle's betrayal haunting her.
And she wondered if Azmir already knew.
---
The corridors had emptied, yet Aleerah's heart thundered as if the entire court still pressed against her. The whispers, the glances, the weight of months left alone… they boiled inside her chest. She could not keep it in any longer.
"My lord," she said, her voice almost breaking, "may I speak with you… alone?"
Azmir's eyes flicked to her, unreadable, then he extended his hand. His palm was steady, commanding, impossible to refuse. She placed hers in his, and though his grip was warm, it felt like fire caging her trembling fingers.
He led her swiftly to his chambers. The heavy door closed behind them with a resonant thud.
For a moment, neither spoke. His gaze locked onto hers, sharp and unflinching.
"Speak, Aleerah." His voice was quiet, but edged with command.
Her throat was dry, but she forced the words out before courage deserted her.
"Why?" The question tore from her, raw, accusing. "Why did you leave me for so long? Three months, Azmir. Three months of silence, of emptiness, while I–" Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard and tried again. "You made me believe you wanted me. That I mattered. But was I wrong all along?"
His jaw clenched. A storm flickered in his dark eyes, yet he said nothing.
Aleerah's hands balled at her sides. "Do you know what that absence did to me? To sit in this palace as nothing but a shadow, a wife in name only? To hear the whispers, the laughter, the rumors that I was never even yours to claim?" Her breath shook, her voice rising. "Why take me into your court today as though I was some treasure, when for months you left me to rot in silence?"
Azmir stepped closer, the air between them charged. His silence was louder than her cries.
She pressed her trembling hands against his chest, as if pushing away the weight of him. "Why did you make me think I was wanted, only to abandon me?" Her words were a whisper now, broken glass against her tongue. "Was I right all along. Was I just a pawn, a possession and nothing more?"
At that, his hand shot up,firm, cupping her face as though he held both her fury and her fragility in one grip. His eyes burned into hers.
"You think I left you because you meant nothing." His voice was low, ragged "But the truth, Aleerah, is that I left because you mean too much."
Her breath caught, confusion warring with pain. "Too much?"
His thumb brushed against her cheek, "Every time I look at you, I am reminded of the fire in me. A fire that does not burn steady, but devours. If I had stayed, if I had reached for you… I would have consumed you. And you are not meant to be consumed."
Her lips parted, but no words came.