Tere Bin - One Shots (Continuation)

The Conqueror (Part 7)

The days passed slowly for Meerab, each one marked by her quiet contemplation and an increasingly clear realization—Murtasim was changing. He was no longer the ruthless conqueror who had claimed her with cold arrogance; now he was something else, something she could bend to her will. His attempts at kindness were clumsy, his gestures awkward, but there was a growing vulnerability in his eyes, a softness that revealed far more than he perhaps intended. He wanted her approval. He wanted her affection. And that knowledge held power.

Meerab had no illusions about love, not in this forsaken kingdom. Her heart was locked away, protected behind walls she would never lower for Murtasim. But if his growing feelings could be used to her advantage, then she would wield them like a weapon.

The Morning Meeting

The next morning, Meerab found herself once again in the gardens, seated under the shade of a sprawling tree, her eyes cast downward as she appeared lost in thought. She heard his footsteps approach, and her lips curled slightly. She’d been waiting for him.

“Meerab,” Murtasim’s voice broke the silence, tentative, almost gentle, as if afraid to disrupt her reverie.

She looked up, schooling her expression into one of faint surprise, as though she hadn’t expected his presence. “Murtasim,” she replied, her tone soft, a hint of warmth carefully woven in. “You’re up early.”

He smiled, visibly relieved by her tone, and moved to sit across from her. “I find myself unable to sleep well these days.” He glanced at her, a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. “My mind… it’s restless.”

She let a moment of silence hang between them, feigning a subtle curiosity. “What could possibly disturb the sleep of a man who has conquered so much?”

His expression softened, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity she had grown used to. “Not everything I desire has been conquered,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Meerab hid her smile, letting her gaze fall to her hands, where she played absently with the edge of her sleeve. “Then I hope you find what you seek,” she replied, her voice deliberately soft, an invitation cloaked in uncertainty.

There was a pause, a moment in which she could feel his gaze on her, heavy with something she would never name as love. But his need, his yearning, was evident, and it was exactly what she needed to see.

“Meerab,” he murmured, breaking the silence. “Would you… perhaps join me for a meal this evening? Just the two of us?”

She let a slight hesitation show, enough to create the illusion of reluctance. “I suppose… that could be agreeable,” she replied, her tone measured, as though weighing her words carefully.

He exhaled, visibly pleased, and she felt a dark satisfaction settle in her chest. She had him. All she needed now was to nurture this strange, unfamiliar hope he clung to, and it would be enough to give her the leverage she needed.

The Dinner

The dining hall was a grand, opulent room adorned with chandeliers and rich tapestries, a place meant for lavish gatherings. But tonight, it was empty save for the two of them. Murtasim had gone to great lengths to ensure privacy, his servants dismissed, the doors shut.

Meerab arrived, her steps graceful, her expression one of careful politeness. She had chosen a gown in deep sapphire, its fabric clinging to her form in ways that left little to the imagination. She saw the way his gaze lingered on her, the way his breath seemed to hitch, and she knew her choice had been the right one.

“Meerab,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving her. “You look…”

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of challenge in her gaze. “What is it, Murtasim? Are you at a loss for words?”