The Crown And Her Shadows

chapter 12

"Allah ya jaza maka, Yerima," the dogari said with a slight bow.
Ayman acknowledged him with a curt nod, signaling for him to continue.

"Sarki na kiranka, Baban mu," the guard added respectfully before stepping aside.

It was after Maghrib. Ayman had been in his private chamber, dressed in a black thobe that ended just above his ankles, a pair of blue sweatpants visible beneath. The Qur'an rested open in his hands. He had been observing a deliberate pause from public affairs - not from weakness, but discipline. His late mother had taught him that power meant nothing without control.

He closed the Qur'an carefully and rose.
The walk to his father's wing of the palace took ten minutes. The palace grounds were expansive, divided into sections - each household occupying its own territory. As he approached, the dogari at the entrance announced him.
"Ayman Abdul Hamid, Yerima, has arrived."
He entered without hesitation.
Inside were his stepmother, his step-siblings, and Anisa, his biological sister. The air felt expectant. Tense.
"As-salamu alaikum," he greeted, his tone even, almost detached.
"Wa alaikum salam," they responded in chorus.
"Ga ni," he said flatly, standing before them, expression unreadable.

His father - Bappa - ignored the indifference.
"Thank you for coming," he began, glancing at him briefly. "We have received a proposal."
Ayman did not move.
"For your marriage."

Silence fell like a blade.
"What?" he asked, his voice low but carrying across the chamber.
His stepmother smirked slightly. "Why the shouting? Since you have not brought a wife yourself, we found one for you."

His gaze shifted to her - slow, deliberate.
"Who gave you the right," he asked, voice dropping into something colder, "to find me a wife?

"I have that right," she replied sharply.

"Because?" he pressed.
"Because I am your mother."

The temperature in the room shifted instantly.

"You are not my mother," he said evenly. "You will never be my mother. My mother is six feet beneath the ground. Never refer to yourself as-"

The sound cracked through the chamber.
A slap.

No one breathed.
Ayman's head turned slightly from the force. Slowly, he returned his gaze to her. His face showed nothing.

"You slapped me," he stated.
"Yes," she replied. "And I will do it again."

"Do it," he said calmly. "Slap me again."

"Enough!" Bappa thundered. "Ayman, you will marry the girl."
"And who," Ayman asked without breaking eye contact with his stepmother, "is the girl?
"
"Sa'adatu yar sarduana”

Ayman laughed - sharp, humorless.

"Try me," he said.
Bappa stared at him. "What did you say?"

"Try me."
Bappa rose to his feet. "If you refuse, you will leave this palace. Under my roof, you obey my rules."

Ayman's lips curved slightly.
"Gladly."
He turned toward the door.
"Anisa."

She stood immediately.
"Where are you going?" his stepmother demanded.

He paused briefly at the doorway. "That," he said coldly, "is none of your concern."

They left the chamber.

Once inside his private wing, Anisa shut the door behind them.
"Chubu..." she called softly.

"Yes, Habibti," he replied, already walking toward his wardrobe.
"What are you going to do?"