POV Ruqayyah
That morning, Ruqayyah arrived at Layla's house in a litter, accompanied by her guards.
Layla's eyes widened. Usually, she was the one to visit Ruqayyah first. "Ah! What a surprise," she said warmly.
Ruqayyah smiled. "I was growing bored at home."
"Oh?" Layla raised an eyebrow.
Ruqayyah looked at the litter. "Mother and I plan to spend the morning at the most renowned hot baths in Baghdad."
Layla's eyes sparkled. "Heh, is Aunt Salma coming too?"
Ruqayyah nodded. "Yes. And I wanted to wish you a blessed Eid."
Layla returned the smile. Salma descended from the litter and entered the governor's house. "Assalamualaikum," she greeted respectfully.
From within, Rabiah, Layla's mother, replied, "Waalaikumsalam."
Inside, the table was heavy with the season's delicacies for the nobility: sweet ma'amoul filled with dates and almonds, honey-layered baklava, warm flatbread brushed with olive oil and spices, fresh dates, spiced roasted nuts, and sweet drinks made from fruit syrups and honey. Layla invited Ruqayyah in. "Come, let us eat."
They exchanged polite handshakes, and Khadijah Buran, Layla's younger sister, added her laughter to the lively conversation. The soft sounds of their voices mingled with the aroma of spices and cinnamon from the table—an ordinary Eid for Baghdad's noble families in 817.
The conversation flowed easily, touching on family news, market decorations, preparations for new garments, and street musicians performing in the streets. Salma spoke of arranging the house for important guests, while Rabiah occasionally reminded them to maintain decorum and temper their laughter. Ruqayyah nodded politely, offering restrained smiles, adjusting to the strict etiquette surrounding them.
After finishing their meal, they prepared to leave for the noble baths. The morning air was cool, carrying the scent of agarwood and roses along the marble corridors leading to the bathhouse. Other noblewomen were already gathering in the steaming rooms; soft laughter blended with the trickle of water from the small pools.
Ruqayyah drew a steady breath, focusing on propriety. Each step, every nod, every smile had to be measured—courteous, respectful, careful not to offend. She walked alongside Layla, while Salma and Rabiah followed together.
Amid the warm mist, Ruqayyah's gaze met Zafira's. The noblewoman's faint smile could not conceal a chill beneath; her eyes betrayed a hidden disdain masked by courtesy. Ruqayyah swallowed, keeping her expression composed, though her mind churned.
Layla patted her gently. "Ignore her," she whispered. "The steam and the crowd are more dangerous than her gaze."
After bathing, they settled by the pool, drying themselves with soft cloths. Layla's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Aisha… do you remember the man we met at the assembly of learning yesterday?"
Ruqayyah nodded, recalling the young man whose voice was soft yet commanding. "Yes… I remember."
Leaning close, Layla almost whispered, "Do you know… he is Al-Mu'tashim. A prince of the Abbasids. Son of Harun al-Rashid."
Ruqayyah froze for a moment. "Really…?"
"Yes," Layla said. "And he is not yet married."
Ruqayyah exhaled slowly, steadying herself. "Oh… I understand now."
A playful smile touched her lips as if she were about to say more.
"Then why do you not marry him yourself?" Ruqayyah asked evenly.
Layla hesitated, then replied cautiously, "No… I will not marry him."
Ruqayyah blinked. "Why?"
"Even though he is unmarried, the prince already has several concubines," Layla said. "He even has two children."
Ruqayyah swallowed, a mix of shock and understanding filling her. She looked at the pool, absorbing the fact, then queried the system in her mind. The answer came: [Yes. Host, from ages fifteen to eighteen, princes often have concubines and children. Marrying noblewomen can create power disputes with the wife; thus, princes choose concubines to continue the lineage without political complications]
Ruqayyah digested this, both startled and relieved. "So… that is the reason."
Layla shook her head, half-laughing, half-serious. "Imagine if I married him. No, I will not share a husband with the dramas of his concubines. Impossible."
Ruqayyah offered a faint smile. "True. Most noble girls think the same. We aim to protect our position, our honor… and our hearts."
Layla studied Ruqayyah and spoke softer, "Honestly, Al-Mu'tashim is very handsome. And he… meets my standard. I hear he is cold, stern, and not inclined to debate in the assemblies like yesterday."
Ruqayyah frowned. "Then why was he there?"
"I don't know. Leave it to fate. Why bother ourselves?"
"Well… I am glad I am not his wife," Layla added, and Ruqayyah's eyes widened.
Ruqayyah looked at her seriously. "That is because of the concubine system. If it didn't exist, your story with Al-Mu'tashim would have been quite romantic."
The words surprised Layla. She had not expected Ruqayyah to say that.
Ruqayyah turned to the system in her mind. "Why must there be such a system? Is it not unjust? It makes it hard for noble girls to be close to a prince."
The system answered calmly: [Islam adapts to longstanding customs and traditions. Concubines are granted certain freedoms, yet remain within the social order. This preserves political stability while ensuring the succession continues]
Ruqayyah drew in a steady breath, attempting to understand. She glanced at Layla, equally astonished.
Ruqayyah drew a slow breath, trying to make sense of it all, her eyes flicking to Layla, who looked equally startled.
"System… fortunately, I transmigrated with the grand vizier's daughter. Not to mention, there's not a single selir of Al-Mu'tashim with me."
For the first time, the Nadhirith system chuckled quietly at its master's words.
"Heh, host. You're almost like Layla now."
"Oh?" Ruqayyah raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her tone.
Meanwhile, Zafira observed them from a distance, irritation coiling within her. She returned home and approached her father, Harun.
"Father, why is that Aisha still alive? Did you not send an assassin to the bimaristan?"
Harun's eyes widened in genuine surprise. "They failed. Do not trouble yourself, my child. I have other plans in motion, more formidable ones, alongside those who oppose Al-Fadl ibn Sahl. You need not concern yourself further."
Zafira's frown slowly softened into a thin, calculating smile. "Very well," she murmured.
She made her way to her chamber. Her hatred for Ruqayyah was complex—fueled not only by jealousy of the attention Ruqayyah had received at the bimaristan, but also by envy of her beauty and her position as the grand vizier's daughter, whose wealth and influence were considerable.