The days stretched on in a twisted dance of power, one where Meerab played the part of the queen Murtasim wanted her to be, all while harboring a fierce, quiet rebellion deep within. Every morning, she donned the finest silks and jewels he had commanded be brought for her. To those who saw her in the palace halls, she seemed regal, poised, a queen as powerful as the man who had conquered her kingdom. But behind her serene expression and graceful demeanor, there simmered a fire of defiance and vengeance.
At every banquet, every gathering, Murtasim watched her from his place of power. His eyes never strayed from her, and his gaze, with its smoldering intensity, felt like a constant reminder of the claim he had laid on her life and soul. She sensed his amusement at her defiance, the way his lips curved into a faint smirk whenever she looked away in disdain, unwilling to grant him even the satisfaction of her gaze. He was waiting, she knew, waiting for her to break or relent. But Meerab was as unyielding as stone, her spirit as untamed as ever.
In those days, Meerab learned much about her captor. He was ruthless, cold, and powerful—a leader who commanded unwavering loyalty from his men. The soldiers in his ranks spoke of his tactical genius, his victories on battlefields far and wide. He was a man who ruled not only through fear but through respect, his followers believing in him as one would in a deity. But Meerab saw the cruelty beneath it all, the cold calculations behind his every action. To him, power was everything, and she was just another conquest.
Yet, she could not ignore the strange thrill that crept into her heart when his eyes lingered on her a moment too long, when he leaned close, letting his words brush against her skin like a whispered threat. She hated herself for it, for that slight, treacherous thrill his presence invoked, and she steeled her heart further, reminding herself of all he had taken from her.
One evening, as dusk settled over the palace and the soft glow of lanterns filled the halls, Meerab found herself summoned to Murtasim’s private chamber. She strode down the corridor, her heart pounding with anger and dread. She knew what he wanted, or thought she did, and she vowed to meet his demands with the same icy resistance that had kept her spirit unbroken so far.
The guards opened the grand doors as she approached, and she stepped inside, her gaze immediately finding him. Murtasim stood by the wide, open window, his dark silhouette against the fading light casting him as a figure of both beauty and terror. He turned, his gaze capturing her, dark eyes glittering with that familiar intensity.
“Meerab,” he greeted, his voice low and smooth, laced with something unreadable.
“What do you want, Murtasim?” she asked, keeping her tone cold and impersonal.
He approached her slowly, his footsteps soft but deliberate. “Why must you always assume that I want something from you?” he replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Perhaps I simply enjoy your company.”
She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Spare me your games. We both know that I am here because you desire control over me. You have everything you want—this kingdom, my people—yet you still need me to submit, don’t you?”
Murtasim’s smirk faded, his gaze hardening. “You misunderstand me, Meerab. You may think of me as a tyrant, a conqueror, but I know power is more than what one can seize by force. True power requires something more… profound.”
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. Meerab felt her heart beat faster but refused to step back, meeting his gaze with unyielding defiance.
“You want to be a true queen?” he continued, his voice a low murmur that sent chills down her spine. “Then rule alongside me. The power you seek isn’t in rebellion, Meerab. It’s here, within your grasp, if only you’d take it.”
