The doors slammed shut, and Meerab stood in the vast silence of the grand chamber, her pulse racing and her mind spiraling in anger. The memory of Murtasim’s touch lingered on her skin, an unwelcome reminder of his power over her now. She hated him—hated his arrogance, his cruelty, and the insufferable way he assumed she would submit to his will as easily as his soldiers had crushed her people.
But defiance had always been her nature, and submission was a foreign concept. She was raised a queen, a woman of fierce will and unyielding pride. And if Murtasim thought he could simply conquer her as he had her kingdom, he was gravely mistaken.
Meerab moved to the window, gripping the ledge tightly as she looked out over the ruined city below. She could see his soldiers patrolling the streets, their torches casting a red glow against the remnants of what once was her home. Her heart clenched painfully at the thought of her people, forced to submit under this brutal conqueror’s rule, their lives reduced to ash and ruin.
But as she stood there, a plan began to form in her mind—a dangerous, reckless plan. If Murtasim wanted to own her, she would make him regret it. She would use his arrogance against him, make him believe he was winning her over. And when he let his guard down, she would find her revenge.
Just then, the doors creaked open. Meerab turned sharply, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger she had hidden in her gown. It was her last weapon, the only remnant of her former life that she had managed to keep. She held it close, ready to strike if necessary.
To her surprise, a young servant girl entered, her head bowed low as she approached. She was carrying a tray laden with food—rich dishes that filled the air with savory aromas. The girl placed the tray on a low table and hurriedly stepped back, her eyes darting nervously toward the door, as if expecting Murtasim to reappear at any moment.
“Who sent this?” Meerab demanded, her voice laced with suspicion.
The girl flinched but answered quickly. “The conqueror, my lady,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “He wishes for you to eat. He… he says you are to be treated with respect.”
“Respect?” Meerab scoffed, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice. “He kills my husband, destroys my kingdom, and now expects me to eat his food as if I am some pampered prisoner?”
The girl glanced up, her eyes filled with fear. “Please, my lady… he has commanded it. If I do not serve you, he will… he will punish me.”
Meerab felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. Murtasim’s reign was already casting a shadow over every soul within these walls. She nodded curtly. “Very well. You may leave.”
The girl quickly scurried away, leaving Meerab alone once more. She eyed the tray with distaste, the fine silver dishes glinting under the torchlight. Despite her hunger, she could barely stomach the thought of eating anything that had come from Murtasim’s table. But her mind was clear—she needed her strength if she was to carry out her plan.
Reluctantly, she sat by the table, picking at the food with a scowl, her thoughts drifting back to Murtasim’s words. He had spoken with such confidence, such infuriating certainty that she would eventually give in to him. She imagined his smirk, the way he had looked at her with that unnerving, possessive gaze. A shiver of anger—and something else she didn’t want to acknowledge—coursed through her.
The hours passed slowly, each moment dragging on in tense silence as the night deepened. Finally, exhaustion overtook her, and she allowed herself to lay down on the bed, her eyes drifting shut.
But just as sleep was about to claim her, the heavy doors creaked open once more.
Her eyes snapped open, her heart racing as she sat up, clutching the edge of the bed. There, in the doorway, stood Murtasim, his dark silhouette framed by the flickering torchlight. He stepped inside, his presence filling the room with an intense, almost suffocating energy.
“What do you want?” she demanded, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides.
Murtasim’s gaze was unreadable as he took a step closer, his eyes locking onto hers with a smoldering intensity. “I came to see if my queen was comfortable,” he replied, his tone maddeningly calm.
“Do not call me that,” she spat, her fists clenched. “I am not your queen.”
Murtasim’s mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Not yet, perhaps. But you will be.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that made her feel both exposed and infuriated. “Tell me, Meerab, why do you fight this so fiercely? You must know that resistance is futile.”
Meerab glared at him, her defiance flaring up once more. “I will never submit to you, Murtasim. I would rather die than be your conquest.”
He chuckled softly, the sound low and ominous. “You misunderstand me. I have no desire to see you broken and defeated.” He moved closer, each step deliberate, calculated. “I want you as you are—fierce, untamed. You see, I don’t seek to crush you, Meerab. I seek to possess you.”
His words sent a chill down her spine, but she refused to let him see the effect he had on her. “You may have taken my kingdom, Murtasim, but you cannot take my spirit.”
“Oh, but I can,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise. “And I will.”
In an instant, he was in front of her, his fingers brushing against her cheek in a gesture that was both tender and possessive. She stiffened, trying to pull back, but his hand moved to cup her face, holding her still.
“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “I see fire. I see a woman who has known power, who has ruled with grace and strength. But I also see a woman who is alone. Vulnerable.”
She clenched her jaw, her gaze never wavering. “You know nothing of me.”
“Perhaps,” he replied, his thumb tracing a path down her jawline. “But I know enough. Enough to know that you are mine.”
She pulled back sharply, breaking free of his touch, her eyes blazing with fury. “You may claim my body, Murtasim, but you will never claim my heart. That is something you cannot conquer.”
Murtasim’s gaze darkened, a flash of anger crossing his face. “You are bold, Meerab. But boldness will not save you.”
Without warning, he seized her wrist, pulling her close until their faces were mere inches apart. His grip was firm, unyielding, and she could feel the raw strength in his hold, a reminder of his power.
“You may despise me,” he said softly, his voice like a caress. “But know this—I always get what I want. And I want you.”
Their faces were so close that she could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes, could feel the heat radiating from his body. For a brief, terrifying moment, her resolve wavered. But then she remembered who he was—the man who had destroyed everything she held dear. Her hatred reignited, fueling her defiance.
“Then you will be disappointed,” she hissed. “For I will never be yours.”
Murtasim’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in their depths. “We shall see, Meerab. We shall see.”
With a final, lingering look, he released her and stepped back, his gaze still locked onto hers. There was something almost triumphant in his expression, as if he relished the challenge she presented.
“Rest well, my queen,” he said, his voice laced with dark promise. “For tomorrow, your life begins anew.”
He turned and walked out, leaving her alone once more, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear, anger, and a strange, unwanted thrill that she could not understand.
