It was dawn—the hour when the sun had only just begun to whisper its light over the red dunes of Tan.
Mist curled above the royal springs, soft and silver like the breath of the ancestors. This was where only the royal blood of Tan bathed—clear water blessed by priests and guarded by stone lions older than the palace itself.
Cold water lapped at my skin as Bahati and Hasina, my only handmaidens, poured scented oils over my shoulders. The morning breeze kissed the droplets on my body, sending shivers dancing across my spine.
Birds sang in the towering baobab trees, their wings catching the first threads of sunlight. Somewhere in the distance, the palace drums murmured awake.
I watched Bahati as she scrubbed my arms—her dark lashes lowered, obedient. I held her gaze too long, until her cheeks warmed beneath my stare. I smirked.
"Tell me," I whispered, voice light as the breeze. "Do we use spring water because we are too poor to afford a bathhouse?"
Her hands paused. She swallowed. "My princess… a bathhouse is stone and steam." She bowed her head, resuming her work. "But this—this is the heart of Tan. The earth's own water. No luxury is greater."
Hasina hummed her agreement, braiding my damp hair with tiny white river flowers. I smiled, though my heart quivered. Princess. The title was becoming an illusion—like a gold bracelet on a fading wrist.
My father, King Mkulli of Tan, could no longer afford gold. Or soldiers. Or peace.
He said the kingdom was dying. I believed him.
Before the sun fully rose, shouting erupted from the palace. Men's voices—loud, sharp, angry.
I stood abruptly, water cascading off my body like melted pearls. Bahati rushed to wrap me in a sheer black robe, embroidered with gold thread and the crest of the gazelle. Hasina slipped soft gold slippers onto my feet.
"Your Highness, you shouldn't run!" one of them called as I sprinted barefoot across warm stone, ignoring them.
The palace unfolded before me—sun-baked clay walls carved with ancient symbols, pillars of dark wood wrapped with marigold cloth, archways draped in lion-hide tapestries. Traders were setting up baskets of kola nuts and dates in the courtyard; servants hurried past with clay jugs of goat milk.
I slipped through the kitchens, snatched a ripe pear from a bowl, and winked at the head chef. The fruit juice clung to my lips as I strode through the corridor lined with ancestral statues—kings and queens with eyes carved in obsidian, watching me as though they already knew.
I pushed open the throne room doors.
And stopped breathing.
My father sat slumped on his throne—crown crooked, eyes wild. Before him stood armored soldiers wearing the crimson-and-gold insignia of the Capital Empire. At their center lounged a man, legs lazily propped on the steps of the throne. His armor was black iron lined with silver. His smile was sharp as a lion's teeth.
"Father, what's happening?" I asked, voice thin.
"Iana," he snapped. "Leave. Now."
The soldier laughed. A cruel, deep sound that crawled under my skin. He tilted his head toward my father with mock pity. "So, he still thinks he is king."
His gaze locked with mine. Cold. Calculating. Amused.
"You ended your reign the day you betrayed the Emperor," he said.
"I did no such thing!" my father shouted, rising from his throne. His voice cracked, crown slipping further. "You know me, General—"
"Enough." The general stood. The air thickened. "Your life is already forfeit by law. Hanging or stoning—either fits a traitor." He gave a lazy shrug. "But the Emperor has granted you mercy."
His eyes moved to me.
"Instead—your daughter will pay the price."
My heart stopped.
In an instant, two soldiers grabbed me. Pear fell from my fingers. My voice broke into a scream I didn't know I could make.
"No! Father!" My feet scraped across stone, leaving streaks of river water and crushed petals.
He didn't look at me.
He just bowed his head.
The general's voice echoed behind me. "Your title is gone, girl. From this day… you are no princess of Tan."
—————————————————-
The caravan door slammed shut. Inside, I found three others—two women and a man—hands bound, eyes hollow. The scent of dust, iron, and despair filled the air.
I clutched my robe, my hands trembling. The palace walls faded from view, the sun rising behind them like a final goodbye.
And I knew…
I was never going home again.
Days blurred into nights.
Inside the caravan, the world smelled of dust, sweat, and dried tears. I could barely see—only tiny slivers of light pierced through the holes in the wooden walls, like stars trapped in darkness. They gave us nothing but hard bread and lukewarm water. I had never tasted such bitterness… not from the food, but from life itself.
My body ached. My lips were cracked. My throat was sand.
None of us spoke. Not the man with scarred knuckles, not the two women whose wrists were still bruised from the ropes. We just stared into nothingness—three days of silence, three days of losing pieces of ourselves.
By the third dawn, the caravan rattled over smooth stone instead of dirt. I heard more horses. Voices. The air smelled different—not of Tan's dry winds and red sand—but of jasmine, spice, and smoke. We were no longer home.
The door was flung open. Harsh light poured in, blinding me for a moment. He stood there—the same man who had ripped my crown from my life—arms folded across his iron chest, lips curled in impatience.
"Out."
Stumbling onto the marble steps, I looked up.
My breath caught.
The Court of Kalifa.
I recognized the swirling golden Bhenali letters on the archway. I had only seen them in my father's old scrolls. But here it was—real.
And it was magnificent.
The Ivory Palace rose like a dream carved from moonlight—walls of polished white stone laced with veins of gold, towering spires that touched the sky, stained glass windows that shimmered like captured rainbows. Lush emerald gardens stretched across the courtyard. Fountains danced with sparkling water. And above it all—people floated in the air… flying with wings of flame, of feathers, of light. Others shaped wind with their hands or called birds from the sky.
Magic.
Real magic. Something we in Tan did not possess. We were only human—my father always said so.
"Quit staring and come inside!" scolded a rough, feminine voice from within.
The strange man left with the man we were with and disappeared into the evening light.
We were led into a high-domed chamber. Shelves spiraled across the walls, packed with scrolls, ancient books, ink pots. Incense smoldered from bronze bowls, filling the room with sandalwood and rosemary.
Behind an intricately carved wooden desk sat a woman.
Her hair was silver-white, braided down her back like threads of cloud. Her green robe shimmered with golden embroidery. But it was her eyes that held the room—one deep brown, one violet like twilight.
She did not speak for a while. She merely… observed us. Stripped us with her gaze. I felt naked beneath it, even in my torn robe.
Finally, she said, voice steady and cold:
"You know why you're here."
We said nothing. How could we? I didn't even know how to react to all this.
She sighed as if we were foolish children.
"Your parents have failed you. They betrayed the Empire. But His Imperial Majesty—the Great Flame—has shown mercy."
She paused, letting her words sink into my bones like poison.
"So instead of their lives… he has taken you. Their most cherished children."
My heart stopped. My fingers trembled. A slave. I am truly nothing now. How could one man—born of flesh and blood—hold so much power over life? Over me?
"You will rest tonight," she continued, already turning to her open ledger. "Tomorrow, the Emperor will decide your fate."
She lifted her hand in dismissal.
"Good luck," she whispered. But there was no warmth in her voice—only exhaustion.
They locked the door to our chamber.
And as the last torchlight flickered out, I felt metal close around my ankle.
Chains.
I was no longer free.