POV Ruqayyah's life
She was still in that small house. Ruqayyah held her breath and stepped slowly into the backyard. Her body was still weak, but curiosity drove her forward. The rain had just ceased, leaving the air heavy and the earth slick with moisture.
In the corner of the yard, a man stood rigid, his movements disciplined and precise. He practiced what seemed like a martial art, each punch and kick repeated with exacting rhythm, as if the motions had been etched into memory, performed instinctively.
Ruqayyah froze. The man had his back turned; his face was hidden. Yet his tense posture made her hesitate. Who was he? Could he be one of the remaining rebels? Panic clawed at her, urging her to retreat. She stepped back, nearly slipping in the wet ground. But curiosity held her, and she kept peeking from behind the bushes.
The man paused briefly, eyes lifting to the sky, then resumed his movements with a rhythm almost inhuman.
Suddenly, the man glanced toward the house. For a moment, he bowed his head, catching his breath, and it was then that Ruqayyah noticed something startling. In the faint silhouette cast by the oil lamp through the rear window, The man's posture seemed eerily familiar. The way he stood, the motion of his hands, the calm that emanated from him—it all reminded her of someone she knew.
Impossible… her heart began to race. That… that had to be him. Al‑Mu'tashim.
Ruqayyah swallowed hard, tempted to run, scream, or hide her face, but instinct held her in place. The prince who had left her in the pouring rain, the one who had somehow saved her, now stood in the backyard, unaware that she was watching from her hiding spot.
Ruqayyah was just about to turn and reenter the house when something coiled around his neck—a long piece of cloth. A chill ran across her skin, and Ruqayyah flinched.
"Has the princess awakened?" The voice was deep, hoarse, yet commanding.
Ruqayyah felt a cold shiver crawl along her spine. "Release me," she said firmly.
Al‑Mu'tashim did not loosen the cloth. "At least say thank you," he said, his voice rough but sharp. "For being saved by a prince."
Ruqayyah swallowed again. "Heh… I told you to kill me, yet you chose to hide me here?"
The cloth tightened slightly, enough to restrict movement without hurting her. Al‑Mu'tashim stepped closer, his tone low and controlled.
"You speak too much for someone who nearly died two days ago," Al-Mu'tashim said.
The words sent goosebumps along Ruqayyah's arms—not anger, not mockery, but a cold warning from a man accustomed to command.
"Release me," Ruqayyah repeated, softer this time but no less resolute.
Al‑Mu'tashim paused, surveying the yard as if checking for prying eyes.
"I am merely removing you from a place that would have been your grave," he said finally.
Ruqayyah laughed bitterly. "And what difference does that make?"
Al-Mu'tashim gaze hardened. "The difference is that you are still breathing."
Silence fell between them. Only the sound of dripping water from the roof and the whisper of morning wind filled the air.
Ruqayyah clenched her fists. "Then tell me one thing," she said softly. "How long do you intend to keep me in this house?"
Al‑Mu'tashim looked her straight in the eyes. No evasion, no comforting words.
"As long as circumstances allow," he said briefly.
Ruqayyah stared at him, a whirl of surprise, confusion, and fear twisting inside her.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the house.
Tukkk...
Ttukkk...
The knock was sudden. Hard. Short. Repeated.
Ruqayyah flinched, her breath caught. Al‑Mu'tashim immediately loosened the cloth around her neck—swift, precise, as if he had leapt ten steps ahead of her mind. His jaw clenched, eyes darting sharply.
"How could they know this place?" he muttered, coldly, his words like a command hanging in the air.
He turned to Ruqayyah. His gaze pierced her, a chill running down her skin—not fear, but suspicion, fierce and unreadable.
"Oh?" Ruqayyah smirked faintly, trying to mask the tension. "Now, the prince intends to drag me off to prison?"
Al‑Mu'tashim almost snapped, ready to tear into Ruqayyah, but the knock came again, louder and more impatient.
In Ruqayyah's mind, the system spoke calmly—annoyingly so.
[Host. Probability of safety is low. Hiding is inadvisable.]
Ruqayyah held her breath. You finally spoke now?
[Host. Entering the lion's den is safer than being found as a target.]
"Entering the lion's den?" she whispered swiftly, half-mocking.
[Use a disguise. Veil for the host. Fake mustache and head covering for Al‑Mu'tashim.]
Ruqayyah turned quickly. Al‑Mu'tashim furrowed his brow. The system was telling her to affix a fake mustache and head covering.
"What are you looking at? I do not need your advice. Let me deal with them—"
The knock became a pounding, slicing through his words.
Al-Mu'tasim hissed, restraining the fury threatening to erupt. Reluctantly, his hand took the fake mustache and head covering from Ruqayyah. Al-Mu'tashim's body stiff, eyes sharp.
Ruqayyah, now veiled herself, stepped closer. Their hands nearly touched as she placed the mustache on Al‑Mu'tashim's face. His roughly 180 cm, bent slightly to accommodate Ruqayyah's shorter height—160 cm. Ruqayyah's heart pounded, warmth spreading from her shoulders to her palms. Al-Mu'tashim's breathing was heavy, chest rising and falling, muscles taut.
"You… wish to tempt me, do you?" He hissed, cold, almost trembling under the strain of control.
> <
Ruqayyah stifled a grin, masking irritation, ensuring the mustache and head covering were perfectly aligned. "Heh. Confidence itself," she replied, sensing the heat radiating from the prince.
She adjusted the head covering, fingers brushing Al‑Mu'tashim's hand briefly as he helped straighten it. The contact was fleeting but enough to jolt her—physical and psychological tension intertwining.
"Remove your hand," Al‑Mu'tashim growled, voice hoarse but still commanding, eyes glinting with cold. Ruqayyah obeyed, though their heart still nearly pressed, bodies trapped in the narrow space.
Suddenly, the door opened.
Three men appeared in the doorway, ragged clothing, sharp, suspicious eyes. Their gaze halted on Ruqayyah, still holding Al‑Mu'tashim from behind, creating the illusion of capturing someone drenched.
"Hmm," one sneered. "A man and a woman together?"
Al‑Mu'tashim nearly exploded, eager to strike. Ruqayyah immediately felt the surge of his emotion and reacted, pulling at Al‑Mu'tashim's robe from behind, surprising him again. Ruqayyah stepped forward, her movements silent.
"Gentlemen," Ruqayyah said softly, though her voice trembled with training. "We are merely husband and wife. Please… allow us this."
Beneath the fake mustache, Al‑Mu'tashim's eyes widened for a moment. This girl… she was bold.
Ruqayyah thought privately: Husband and wife? Dream on. Better to marry a monkey than this cruel prince.
One of the rebels stepped closer, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Then prove you are hiding nothing. We will search. And if you lie—"
He tapped the hilt of his sword slowly, chillingly. "—you will come with us."
Silence stretched taut as a bowstring. Ruqayyah lowered her gaze, feigning trembling. Al‑Mu'tashim stood still, suppressing the rage thrumming at his temples, every vein and sinew taut.
After a brief search and lingering, suspicious glances, the rebels departed—leaving a threat hanging in the air.
Once the door closed, Al‑Mu'tashim removed the mustache with a sharp motion, still breathing heavily.
"Heh," he said coldly.
Ruqayyah met his gaze, tense but relieved. "If I hadn't spoken… we would be dead."