The following days were a succession of heavy hours and oppressive silences.
Since discovering the plot orchestrated by Nabil Al-Fayez, Assad had reacted with cold determination. The man whom the Sheikh had long regarded as a trusted ally had been quietly arrested and locked away in the palace dungeons. Officially, it was a "temporary removal for investigation," but only a few insiders knew the truth hidden behind the sealed doors of power.
The people remained unaware, oblivious to the turmoil threatening the kingdom's foundations.
In the southern wing of the palace, another battle, more intimate, was being waged.
Laila, the Sheikh's wife, and their daughter Yasmina spent their days at his side. They had learned, shaken, of his illness. A truth kept in the shadows for far too long.
Laila, usually so strong and composed, occasionally let silent tears fall as she brushed her husband's emaciated hand. Yasmina, her eyes red with worry, forced herself to remain composed.
"Why... Why did you hide something like this from us?" she asked in a low voice, wiping the Sheikh's damp forehead.
The old man opened his eyes, a faint smile on his lips.
"Because I wanted to protect you... You, Assad, the kingdom. Fear is a poison. It weakens the house; it cracks the throne."
His voice was weak, but his gaze still held that unwavering spark. Yasmina leaned closer to him, burying her face in his arm to hide her sobs.
Assad, for his part, went from one duty to another, his heart in shreds.
He endured strategic meetings, diplomatic audiences, urgent decisions. Every evening, he returned to his father's bedside, trying to draw strength from the man he had always admired.
But in the depths of the palace, another world was taking shape.
Locked in a narrow cell, Nabil Al-Fayez brooded.
Through the bars, he whispered with a young guard, too greedy to resist the lure of gold and promises.
"This is just a setback," Nabil murmured with a sinister smile. "Let them not rejoice too soon. I will return. And I will take back what is rightfully mine."
He was not broken. He was waiting. He was weaving his revenge.
One night, as Assad emerged from a long meeting with the kingdom's high-ranking officers, a piercing scream shattered the silence.
He turned immediately, his body on alert.
"Where did that come from?" he demanded of the guards accompanying him.
They ran toward the corridor leading to the prisons. As they arrived, a fleeing figure vanished into the shadows.
"Catch him!" Assad roared.
But the figure knew the palace. Better than the guards themselves. Within seconds, it had melted into the darkness.
Nabil had escaped.
The ground seemed to slip beneath Assad's feet. How could such a mistake have happened under his command?
Rage surged in him like a burning tide.
He rushed to his father's room. Laila and Yasmina were still there, watching in silence. He knelt beside the bed, taking his father's inert hand in his own.
"Father… forgive me. I left you vulnerable in your own house."
Then he turned to his mother, his gaze hardened.
"From this night on, I will allow no more weaknesses within our walls. This kingdom will be protected. I swear it."
Laila gently placed her hand on his shoulder.
"We stand with you, Assad. Your father entrusted you with this burden knowingly. He knew you could carry it."
Assad nodded. His heart beat to the rhythm of a future he could no longer run from.
Somewhere in the night, Nabil walked free, already plotting his next moves.
The game had only just begun.
---
The palace, usually alive with whispers, seemed frozen in a heavy silence.
Since Nabil's escape, security had been tightened. The guards no longer slept, and the corridors echoed with hurried footsteps and stifled sighs. But in the Sheikh's chamber, another storm was raging.
Assad stood by the window, letting the night breeze wash over his tense face. The scent of incense, mixed with medicinal herbs, filled the air.
Behind him, Laila held her husband's hand. Yasmina, silent, fidgeted with her handkerchief in restrained anxiety.
The Sheikh slept. Perhaps for the last time in such peace.
Laila broke the silence.
"He always watched you, Assad. Even when he said nothing. He was preparing you, in his own way."
Assad closed his eyes. His heart beat slowly, painfully.
"And have I lived up to what he expected of me?"
Yasmina stepped forward, placing her hand on his shoulder.
"He didn't expect perfection. He expected strength. The ability to stand tall, even when everything is crumbling."
A heavy silence followed. Then Assad whispered:
"I only wish he could see me… ready."
Laila squeezed her son's hand.
"He knows. That's why he allowed you to see his weakness. Because he believed in your strength."
Assad opened his eyes again, grounded in that room where time itself seemed to have stopped.
That night, there was no plot, no threat, no strategy.
Only a family. A grief. A silent promise.
And in Assad's heart, a new resolve, forged in love, sorrow… and duty.