CHAVI: Bride of Sultan

3.Truth

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Next Morning, the tension in the royal meeting chamber was suffocating as I entered. My brothers, Abhiraj and Abhishek, were glaring daggers at Prince Murat.

Babasa, my father, sat at the head of the room with the same sharp expression, his disapproval radiating toward the prince. 

Yet, Murat remained seated with unwavering composure, his shoulders relaxed as if he had no care in the world. 

His confidence was palpable, almost unnerving. Rehman, his brother, looked less assured, fidgeting slightly as he stood near Murat.

I took my seat quietly, observing the scene unfold. Maasa wasn't present; she was busy with court matters concerning the kingdom's ladies.

Her absence made the atmosphere feel even more tense, as her presence usually helped calm Babasa's temper.

Abhiraj broke the silence, his tone biting. "You are claiming you will make our sister the queen of Arub, yet you have been kicked out of your kingdom. How do you explain that, Prince Murat?"

For a brief moment, I thought I saw a flicker of irritation in Murat's eyes. But he remained calm, leaning forward slightly as he spoke in a measured, dangerous tone. "Why would I be kicked out of my own kingdom, Prince?" His question was rhetorical, but it carried a weight that silenced the room.

Abhishek scoffed. "Are you saying my brother is lying? He conducted his own research on you."

Murat's jaw tightened, and he slowly folded his fists, his gaze narrowing. "If you wanted to know something about me, you should have asked me directly rather than sending spies into my Sultanate." 

His voice was sharp now, carrying an undercurrent of warning. "I am the sole heir to the throne of Arub. The only legitimate child of the Sultan."

There was a pause as he let the words sink in, his confidence unwavering as he continued, "The Sultan of Arub has seven children, but only I am the son of the Sultana. The rest are..." 

He trailed off with a slight shake of his head, disdain flickering across his face. "Let's just say, people in my family have reasons to spread false rumors about me. But why would my 

Ammi, the Sultana, allow her one and only legitimate child to be kicked out of the kingdom?"

His words hung in the air, sharp and resolute. I could see Abhiraj's and Abhishek's resolve falter slightly, though they didn't drop their glares. Babasa's expression remained unreadable, his sharp eyes assessing every word Murat spoke.

Murat straightened in his seat, his voice firm as he concluded, "Others can say whatever they wish about me. But I am not what they claim, and I will not justify their lies any further."

Despite myself, I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my lips. His confidence, his unwavering belief in himself—it was admirable. 

He sat there amidst hostility and judgment, yet he hadn't faltered, hadn't even flinched. It was the kind of strength and self-assuredness that made me pause and take notice.

Babasa leaned forward, his fingers interlocked as he studied Murat with an intensity that made the air feel heavy. "Confidence is one thing, Prince Murat," Babasa said slowly, his voice deep and commanding. 

"But actions and intentions speak louder than words. What proof do you have that your claims are true? Why should we trust you with our daughter—our princess—when your family itself questions your legitimacy?"

Murat met Babasa's gaze with an unwavering calm, his dark eyes sharp and steady. 

"Maharaj (King), I do not need to prove my place in my kingdom to anyone outside of it. But out of respect for you and your family, I will share this: the Sultana herself sent me here with the proposal to strengthen the ties between our kingdoms. I am not here to take your daughter. I am here to earn her trust, her acceptance, and if the heavens allow, her love."

His words were spoken with such conviction that the room fell silent again. Even Abhiraj and Abhishek seemed momentarily caught off guard by his response.

Babasa raised a brow. "You expect us to believe that you have no hidden motives? That you aren't using this alliance to strengthen your claim to the throne of Arub?"

Murat leaned back slightly, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "It would be a lie to say that an alliance with Hind does not benefit me politically. But let me be clear: I do not need your daughter to secure my throne. My position is already set. This marriage is not about politics alone—it is about building something stronger, something that benefits both our kingdoms. And," his gaze flickered briefly to me, "something more personal."

A blush crept up my neck, and I quickly looked down at my hands, pretending to adjust my bangles.

 His gaze was too intense, too knowing, and I felt the weight of it even when I wasn't looking directly at him.

Abhishek slammed his hand on the table, breaking the moment. "Words! Just words! You can say whatever you want, but we don't know your real intentions."

Murat's smirk faded, replaced by a cold, calculated expression. "I understand your concern, Prince Abhishek.

 But let me remind you—actions speak louder than words, as your father just said. I invite you to visit Arub yourself, to see my kingdom and my truth firsthand.

Until then, I will stand here, take your accusations, and answer your questions because I am here for her." His voice softened slightly on the last word, and though he didn't look at me, I felt it was directed at me.

Babasa leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Very well," he said finally. 

"We will consider your words and your proposal. But know this, Prince Murat—my daughter's happiness is paramount. If we sense even a shred of deceit, this conversation ends here."

Murat nodded respectfully. "As it should be, Your Majesty."

The meeting concluded, and as everyone began to leave, I stood, adjusting my dupatta nervously. Before I could step away, I felt a subtle yet firm tug on the edge of the fabric. Turning slightly, I found Murat standing a little too close, his dark eyes locked on mine.

"Princess," he murmured low enough that only I could hear. "I meant what I said. You deserve nothing but the truth, and I will prove myself to you."

His words left me momentarily speechless. Before I could respond, he released my dupatta and stepped back, bowing slightly before walking away with Rehman. My heart raced as I watched him leave, my thoughts a swirl of confusion and curiosity.

What was this man hiding, and why did a part of me—against all reason—want to believe in him?

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