Al-Mu'tashim halted. His gaze was level, unreadable.
"Since when has the sound of my footsteps become the subject of whispers in the harem?"
Shuja's smile did not falter. "Since every step you take carries weight, Amir."
The afternoon breeze carried the scent of jasmine from the inner garden. Several attendants ducked their heads and stepped aside, understanding that this conversation was not meant for ordinary ears.
"You seem… busy of late," Shuja continued, her voice light yet measured. "Even Qaratis has been curious."
The name hung in the air.
Qaratis, another concubine, was younger and outwardly softer, yet ambitious in subtler ways. If Shuja was a controlled flame, Qaratis was smoke—elusive and hard to grasp.
Al-Mu'tashim's eyes narrowed slightly.
"If Qaratis has questions, she may come herself."
"Yes, Ya Amir," Shuja bowed once more, but this time a subtle gleam lingered in her eyes. "It is just… the palace is never without watchers."
A thin silence settled.
"What do you mean?"
"Some attendants noticed Amir entering the eastern wing," she said softly. "The wing that has remained empty until today."
Al-Mu'tashim did not flinch.
Yet the air around him shifted.
Heavier.
"And?" he asked sharply.
"And nothing was prepared there… until now."
The breeze stilled for a moment.
Shuja stepped half a pace closer, her voice lower. "Shall we prepare to receive someone, Ya Amir?"
The words sounded polite.
But their meaning was sharp.
Al-Mu'tashim studied her long. He knew Shuja was no ordinary concubine seeking attention. She was clever—far too clever to be ignored.
"The eastern wing is my concern," he said at last. "And anyone within it is under my protection."
Shuja fell silent.
Protection.
A word not lightly spoken within the Abbasid palace.
She inclined her head slowly. "Of course, Ya Amir."
Yet when she lifted her face again, her smile had thinned.
"May that protection… not summon a storm."
Al-Mu'tashim said nothing.
He turned and walked away, leaving the garden—and the scent of jasmine, now sharper than sweet—behind.
From behind the curtain, another figure watched from the shadows.
Qaratis.
Her bright eyes followed the prince's retreating form.
"So it is true," she murmured. "There is someone in the eastern wing."
Shuja did not look back.
"And someone important enough to make Amir hide them."
Qaratis smiled faintly.
"In that case," she said softly, "we must find out… whether they are a threat."
Or an opportunity.
---
Elsewhere, Ruqayyah closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the fleeting calm in her chamber. Yet the voice in her mind never ceased.
[Ding!] A new side mission appeared: retrieve an important document from Al-Mu'tashim's study.
Ruqayyah cursed the system under her breath. "Why don't you have me catch a tiger instead?" she muttered, exasperated.
[Host, comply—or…]
"Heh! Threaten me? And what can you do if I refuse, hmm?" Ruqayyah shot back.
[Do not underestimate me. I could assign you a task to disturb Al-Mu'tashim in his own room, hehe.]
Ruqayyah regarded the cold, impassive interface with a scowl. "Heartless machine," she grumbled.
She pursed her lips, annoyed. "I was only beginning to feel a shred of safety… and now this?"
The system was always blunt, never compromising—but this order made her pulse race. "How am I supposed to do this?" she whispered. "I can't just walk in."
She recalled Al-Mu'tashim's promise: protection. But protection meant constant surveillance—every step she took could be watched.
Ruqayyah turned to the window. The late afternoon sun cast soft light across the marble floor, shadows of her figure faint against the heavy drapes.
Her hand brushed the edge of her cador. Strategy had to begin here—from words, trust, and perfect timing.
She moved slowly along the palace corridor. The air still carried the rich scent of oud and agarwood. At a corner, she froze—two sharp eyes fixed on her from across the hall.
Ibrahim al-Mahdi.
Ruqayyah's heart seized. She nearly collided with her uncle. If her face had been seen, all her efforts to survive, every step in the palace, could be undone. Ibrahim was ruthless; his name was soaked in rebellion and blood. He had nearly killed her once, upon learning she was the Wazir's daughter.
Luckily, her cador concealed her face. Ruqayyah passed as a mere servant. Al-Mahdi's gaze swept the corridor briefly, but he did not stop.
She exhaled quietly and continued. Her eyes scanned, seeking the location of Al-Mu'tashim's study. That afternoon, she had watched him walk away from a particular chamber. The door remained closed for a while, and then he emerged.
Ruqayyah finally knew: this was his study.
That night, she returned, carrying a small torch. Its trembling light danced across the marble walls. Each step echoed, every creak of the floor magnified in the silence.
"System, tell me—what kind of document is this?" she whispered.
[Just take one. Anything here will be important.]
"Very well," she murmured, selecting a scroll without hesitation. Its contents mattered little—the mission's completion was what counted.
She smiled faintly and turned toward the exit. As her hand touched the door, someone yanked her cador from behind. A ghost? she thought casually, assuming it was a gust of wind. She didn't worry.
Suddenly, a large, solid hand covered her mouth.
"Are you looking for death?" The voice was deep, commanding, with a rough edge.
Ruqayyah's eyes widened. She recognized it instantly.
"The Prince?" Ruqayyah thought.
Al-Mu'tashim's expression was stern. He snatched the scroll from her hands and released her. Ruqayyah gasped, inhaling deeply. "Hhh…"
The prince unrolled the document. His muttered words were laced with irritation, yet his tone retained its cold composure. "Untrustworthy. What are you after? Do you think you can play with me?"
Ruqayyah trembled, wanting nothing more than to flee from the palace entirely.
As he examined the scroll, Al-Mu'tashim's expression shifted. He swallowed, his face tightening slightly.
Ruqayyah's anxiety deepened.
The prince glanced at her, occasionally lowering his gaze. "M-mmm… why are you seeking this document?"
From his question, Ruqayyah began to understand. She did not yet know the scroll's contents, but the weight in his voice was unmistakable.
"Yes," she replied simply.
Suddenly, the harshness in his tone softened, almost hinting at a thin, restrained smile. "Forgive me. I thought you were stealing an important document. But you should not have entered here."
Forgive me? Ruqayyah was stunned. She had never heard such words from this cold, formidable prince.
She quickly retrieved her cador from the floor. Al-Mu'tashim watched her sharply.
Curiosity pricked at her. "Is it dangerous?" she asked, eyeing the scroll.
Al-Mu'tashim unfurled the scroll with a swift motion, his eyes sharp and unyielding, not a trace of a smile crossing his face. "Records of the diarrheal outbreak. Herbal remedies. Quarantine measures. That is all."
Ruqayyah drew in a quick breath, nearly choking. In her mind she muttered, "Oh… so this scroll is that important… enough to nearly cost me my life."
He regarded her for a brief, piercing moment, cold and lethal. Then, his voice cutting through the silence like steel, he spoke:
"Princess, I trust such an incident will not occur again. Or… you shall bear the consequences."
Without another word, he turned and left the study, his footsteps deliberate and heavy. The echo of his steps on the marble floor lingered long after he had gone, leaving Ruqayyah frozen, her heart pounding, fear clawing at her to the bone.
She smoothed her cador, swallowed hard, and began to retreat down the corridor, painfully aware that what had seemed a simple mission had nearly led her to disaster… and that the cold, unyielding prince would show no mercy.