Empire of Dreams

۳

I sat alone in my chamber, on a platformed cushion piled high with pillows covered in vibrant fabrics. Surrounding the bed was a thin veil of spider-silk, blowing with eerie leisure at the slightest disturbance. My knees were drawn to my chest; my fingers laced across my ankles.

He wasn't going to show up.

Feeling like an imbecile, I slid off the bed and wrapped a soft shawl around my bare shoulders, padding lightly towards the large terrace. The sweet scent of citrus blossoms wafted through the carved wooden screens leading to the terrace, whispering of freedom now beyond reach. A breeze gusted along the gossamer curtains lining the walls of the chamber. I rubbed my hands along my arms, fighting the cold.

What was I going to do? I had no way out of this situation. I did not think that my husband would think too kindly of me sneaking off into the marketplace in the early hours of the morning even though he had done the same thing. My brows furrowed at the contradiction. The refugees were driven here because of the war with the Turks and the French. He was the reason they were here. His conquests, despite his father's disapproval, were the reason they were here. Yet, he'd paid for their food. Was that out of guilt?

But, he was a known murderer. He'd decimated whole tribes! The city echoed with tales of his ferocity. How he never tolerated any dissent. How he'd flogged a man for talking back. He was the Caliph's sword. A fearless warrior and a gifted swordsman. The General of his army. The youngest son.

Now, I was his wife.

If I managed to get out of this situation, which was an impossible task in itself, I had nowhere to go. Going to the Ottomans was out of the question. They would probably get me married off to some other powerful man, an illegitimate contender to the throne.

Baba would be hung to death here, losing his position and his life.

If I did become selfish, I was looking at a loveless and perilous future either way. My hands clenched on the curtain, tears threatening to spill over. All I wanted was the freedom to do as I pleased. No one to question why I was making potions, making ointments, helping people.

'You could still do that', Sanaa's voice whispered. I stared at the gardens below me, chewing the inside of my cheeks.

"Shehzadi"

I jumped, whirling around to see Prince Alizayd staring at me with a blank expression.

His eyes roamed over my figure and I took an inadvertent step back. My body flushed under his heavy appraisal, his eyes traveling from my neck down to the valley of my breasts and lower to my waist. His intense gaze heated and I took a sharp breath, my stomach clenching.

His eyes snapped back to meet mine and I released a pent up breath. I took in his attire, trying to keep my eyes from wandering too far. He was wearing a qamis of the finest white linen and grey shalwar trousers. He was barefoot, I noted as he stepped closer to me, his eyes not leaving mine for a second. His stature and expression embodied the antithesis of everything I found warm and good in the world.

Why did he have to be a murderer? Why did it have to be him? Hazel eyes peered into my soul, those shape features coming into focus as he made his way towards me. He moved soundlessly, like a ghost.

I made a snap decision and walked over to meet him.

Whatever happened today, I was not going to let him take away my freedom. This would have to be my best option. I would make it so, for myself, for my father and for my clansmen. With every step I took, I felt the clarity of my purpose rise in my blood.

This man was a conundrum but I had to find a way to manipulate him. To mould him. Excellent swordsmen tended to be stalwart strategists. Quick to spot signs of subterfuge. And this presented yet another obstacle. If he ever suspected me of manipulation, it would be even more difficult to catch him unawares. I stared at him, my eyes never wavering.