The road to the Castilian encampment was long, winding through olive groves, abandoned villas, and ash-colored hills. Dust curled in spirals beneath the horse's hooves, and dry wind tugged at the edges of Jahima's tattered robe. The sun had begun to rise fully now, casting long shadows across the cracked earth and bathing the landscape in gold.
Jahima sat stiffly atop the stranger's horse, her spine straight, her jaw set. Every muscle ached from travel and tension. They had ridden into the morning. Her fingers clenched the worn leather saddle as if to ground herself, but her eyes never stopped moving. She was watching, calculating, measuring not just the terrain or the stranger beside her, but the weight of her choices. Her chances of survival. Her next move. Every breath she took was a quiet wager, every glance a gathering of possibilities.
"You never gave me your name," she said cautiously.
The man smiled beneath his hood, revealing the shadow of a scar along his cheek." Because names are for men who wish to be remembered."
"How annoying." Jahima scoffed as the spy chuckled
"Don't be so disappointed, all will be revealed soon."
"While that promise is intriguing, I am more stirred by my sudden need. Can we stop soon?"
"I can stop now." he slowed the horse to a halt and extended his hand to motion to the nearby brush.
"You think I won't?"
"I think," he said, glancing sideways at her, "you will do what needs to be done no matter what."
Jahima didn't answer and dismounted right away to relieve herself. The spy looked on in amusement.
"Are you not going to avert your eyes?" Jahima growled.
The man held up his hand as if to pacify her and turn the horse around.
"If you try to run, you will die," he warned.
Jahima rolled her eyes. There was only one person she feared, and Jahima calculated that even distance could not shield her from the consequences.
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Back in the Palace, the sun streamed through a lattice window, casting geometric shadows onto the wall. Aneesa awoke in the comfort of silk sheets, Tariq's arms wrapped firmly around her waist. Outside, she heard the movement of patrolling guards and the gentle sound of the palace fountains. She could not remember how she got back to her chambers, but her body remembered last night, although the events of the thrown room were strangely hazy. It was as if the images had simply vanished from her mind.
For a moment, she let herself believe they had stopped time.
But then there was a firm knock at her door.
Tariq stirred. "Ignore it," he murmured.
Another knock followed, this time louder.
Aneesa sat up, already pulling the sheet to her chest. "I don't believe that is a servant."
Tariq sighed, his face still buried in the sheets. "It's my mother."
With a heavy sigh, he willed himself out of bed, his body language edged with annoyance, but not surprise.
He opened the door, and his demeanor instantly changed.
"Father..."
"Get dressed and come with me at once. This is not a time to lie in the embrace of a woman."
"Yes, I'm sorry, Father."
"A King does not apologize," the Sultan said as an awkward pause settled between them. "Meet me in the throne room."
With that, the Sultan left, and Tariq closed the door, stunned.
"Are you ok?" Aneesa asked.
"Yes, I didn't expect my father to call on me himself," he replied, still in thought before returning to the present. He walked over and kissed her passionately.
"I will return as soon as I can," he said, dressing quickly and then leaving.
Soon after, a servant delivered a note to Aneesa: a summons from the Malika.
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When Aneesa entered, The Malika was standing on the balcony of her bedroom, gazing out at the horizon through a looking glass. She was dressed in crimson, her hair undone and cascading in curls past her hips. In this light, she looked angelic, a halo of golden sunrays forming around her.
"I see my son has finally released you from his grasp." The Malika said, her voice calm yet weighted, as she collapsed the looking glass. She lingered for a beat, watching the light dance across the horizon before turning to face Aneesa.
"He's just protective," Aneesa responded, blushing. She was dressed in an emerald robe with a lilac veil. In her hand, the only possession she brought from her former life: a book on the empire's lineage.
"Yes, as he should be," The Malika smiled and motioned for them to sit on a nearby chaise.
"Did you bring the book?" she asked.
"Yes, your majesty, I…"
"Call me mother." The Malika's voice softened, but her eyes bore into Aneesa's with quiet power. Aneesa felt her throat tighten. Her chest rose and fell once before she finally managed a whisper...
"I..." words escaped her.
"Oh, come, child, I am not a monster, and you will soon be carrying my first grandchild."
A silence crept in between them. Instead of filling the air, the Malika held space for them both before speaking again.
"Do you know I knew your mother?" she shared, causing Aneesa to look up with quiet desperation. "Yes, she was the first person to gift me a book when I came here. Your father helped fill the royal library, and she often accompanied him. She was the only person who could hold my gaze and not be swayed by it. In another lifetime, I think we were sisters."
Aneesa felt tears welling. She blinked rapidly, clenching her jaw, willing herself to hold them back. But the rush of emotion, the memories, the ache of absence, the unexpected kindness all shimmered in her gaze.
"You remind me of her so much," the Malika said, wiping Aneesa's tears.
"So why bring me here?" Aneesa asked.
The Malika's expression faltered, her brow knitting in what might have been surprise or subtle pain. For a fleeting moment, she looked not like the feared and fabled queen, but like a mother disheartened by doubt.
"Why not ensure that your future holds something greater than survival? Where you still see a curse, I see endless possibilities. I suggest you start thinking bigger."
"I'm sorry," Aneesa whimpered, averting her eyes.
"When Tariq took an interest in you, I saw a perfect opportunity to bring you here with a purpose. Rather than making you a maid…La samah Allah."
Aneesa abruptly stood and bowed deeply at the Malika's feet.
"Thank you, Mother."
The Malika was taken aback. She laid a hand on Aneesa's head and then her chin, gently guiding her to her feet.
"Queens do not bow, Aneesa. Now, let's take a look at that book."