Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sound shattered the silence. My heart jolted awake before my mind could catch up. The world was still black outside — no sun, no birds, just the thundering knock echoing through my chambers.
No one dared disturb me before dawn. Not even the servants. Not even my father.
Then—
Crash!
My door burst open, splinters flying. Two men stormed in, cloaked in black and crimson, the golden crest of the Bhenalian Empire stamped on their chests like a curse.
I froze. "What—what is this?!"
One grabbed me by the arm before I could blink. The other said nothing, only nodded, as if my life were just another order to execute.
"I am Princess Iana of Tan!" I shouted, voice trembling. "I command you to speak before you touch me!"
They didn't even look at me. Rough hands lifted me like I weighed nothing. I kicked, twisted, screamed — but they kept walking.
Down the corridor. Past the moonlit hall. Past the guards who looked away.
Something was terribly wrong.
Then the throne room doors opened, and I forgot how to breathe.
My father — the King of Tan — was on his knees.
His crown lay discarded at the feet of a man with silver hair and eyes like molten gold. He was draped in the Empire's colors, medals glinting in the firelight. He sat on my father's throne as though he'd been born there.
My vision blurred red. "This is treason!" I screamed, pointing at him. "You will all hang for this!"
The man's lips curved. He turned his head lazily toward my father. "Will you tame your daughter," he said, voice calm and poisonous, "or shall I?"
My father's eyes lifted to mine. Tired. Bloodshot. Broken.
"My love," he whispered, voice cracking, "everything will be all right."
The silver-haired man struck him across the face.
I heard it before I saw it — the sharp crack that split my chest open.
"Father!" I screamed, lunging forward.
Pain exploded in my back. My knees gave out. The floor rose to meet me, cold and unyielding.
The last thing I saw was the Empire's crest shining above me like a brand of ownership.
Then, darkness.
I woke to the sound of wheels grinding against sand.
My head pounded, my tongue dry as ash. The air was thick with sweat and silence. For a long moment, all I could see was darkness — the sway of wooden walls, the creak of chains, the dull clatter of hooves against the road.
A caravan.
We were moving.
I blinked hard, trying to focus. The faint smell of hay and blood filled my nose. Someone whimpered nearby.
Then, through the slats of the caravan, thin lines of gold light began to pierce the dark. The sun was rising — slow, merciless. Its rays fell on our faces like a reminder that time hadn't stopped, even if everything else had.
Days bled together after that.
We didn't speak.
Not a word.
We just sat — seven of us in total — staring into nothing as the wheels turned and turned. Three girls, three men, and one boy barely old enough to lift a sword. I didn't even ask their names. Maybe I was afraid to know.
When the caravan finally stopped, the silence shattered.
The door swung open, sunlight stabbing into our eyes.
"Out, you unfortunate degenerates!" a voice barked.
I flinched at the sound. The guard's tone was soaked in disdain, as though the mere act of breathing our air disgusted him. We stumbled out one by one, blinking into the harsh daylight.
The men were dragged away first — I caught the boy's frightened eyes before they disappeared beyond the dunes. The rest of us — the three girls and I — were pushed down a stone path that glittered in the sun.
Then I saw it.
Rising before us like a mirage was a palace so bright it hurt to look at — endless towers of white ivory trimmed with gold, gleaming under the desert light.
"The Court of Khalifa," I read softly. The Bhenalian script carved into the gates was clear as day.
One of the girls gasped. "The Ivory Palace!" she cried, half awe, half disbelief. "We're in the Emperor's own city!"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Their wonder felt wrong in my chest — like laughing at a funeral. My throat tightened as I stared up at the golden gates.
The sun burned against my skin. The air tasted of fear.
And for the first time, I understood what my father had meant when he said, "Everything will be all right."
He hadn't been comforting me.
He'd been saying goodbye.
——————————————————-
They dragged us through endless marble corridors — cold, echoing, and far too clean for people as filthy as us.
Somewhere ahead, music floated through the air. Drums. Laughter. The clinking of golden cups.
A banquet.
We were shoved forward until we stood behind tall carved doors. Then, without warning, the doors swung open.
Light exploded in my face.
The hall stretched wider than the palace itself — pillars of white stone, banners of red silk, and hundreds of jeweled nobles feasting, drinking, and swaying to the rhythm of flutes. The smell of roasted meat and wine was heavy, almost dizzying.
Before I could take it in, ropes tightened around my wrists. The guards tied the three of us together, dirt still caked on our skin, rags clinging to our bodies. Then they pushed us forward.
Right into the middle of the celebration.
Gasps rippled through the room. Then laughter. Loud, merciless laughter.
"What is going on?!" I shouted before I could stop myself.
A guard yanked me close, his breath hot against my ear. "Not here, girl," he hissed. "Unless you want to be ash before the crowd."
My heart pounded so hard I thought everyone could hear it. I turned my head away from him — and froze.
In the center of the hall, a woman danced.
Her sari blazed scarlet, trimmed with gold and diamonds that caught every flicker of torchlight. Her movements flowed like water, her voice soft but commanding. Every eye followed her — every breath in the room belonged to her.
And behind her sat a man.
Even before he moved, I knew who he was.
The Emperor. Khalfani of Bhenalia. The man who burned kingdoms and crowned himself with the ashes.
When he looked at her, his eyes flared — literally. A sharp, blue light sparked inside them, like lightning captured in glass. The stories were true. The Emperor born with the flames of the gods.
When she finished, he rose from his throne and took her by the hand, lifting her for all to see.
"Look at her!" His voice thundered, deep and smooth, silencing the music. "My darling Amanirenas. My Queen. No beauty in this world rivals hers."
The hall cheered. He smiled. "Come, my love. Sit with me."
And she did — without hesitation, the entire court watching.
Then his gaze shifted.
"Bring them here."
The words rolled like thunder.
The guards pulled at our ropes, forcing us toward the throne. My knees threatened to give out as I felt hundreds of eyes burning into us.
Khalfani stepped down from the dais. The crowd fell silent.
He stopped before the first girl. "Ah," he said, almost gently. "The heavens favor you. A lovely face softens even my heart." He smiled, a sharp and cruel thing. "You shall join my court as a concubine."
The generals laughed. The hall erupted in cheers. I didn't understand why anyone was cheering — there was no honor in being chosen like prey.
Then he turned to the second girl. His smile vanished. "The daughter of Aksum," he said coldly. "Your father led rebellion against my rule."
Her lips trembled. "Please—"
He didn't let her finish. His eyes flashed blue. He reached out, and the air itself screamed.
Fire burst from his hands. Her own caught the flame — searing, glowing, burning. Her scream tore through the hall, the sound too human to bear.
"Let this be his punishment," Khalfani said, voice calm again. "You will carry his sin forever."
When he let go, she collapsed. The smell of burnt flesh hung in the air. Guards dragged her away as the crowd sat in horrified silence.
Then his gaze found me.
He walked closer. Step by step.
"So," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "This is the Princess of Tan?" He circled me like a lion. "So thin. So pale. With a face only a mother could love."
Laughter exploded across the hall — nervous, forced, cruel.
I stood still, shaking, my face burning with shame. I wanted to speak. To scream. To claw at his face until he remembered my father's name.
But the smell of smoke still lingered in the air.
And I said nothing.
Khalfani's gaze lingered on me, cold and calculating. He tilted his head as though weighing a dull object in his mind.
"Hm," he said slowly, his voice echoing through the silent hall. "What to do with you?"
My chest tightened. No answer came.
He stepped closer, his eyes burning faintly with that unnatural blue light. "You are not worthy of me."
The hall rippled with soft laughter. I clenched my fists.
Then his gaze drifted toward the far end of the throne room. "But perhaps…" He smiled — that dangerous, lazy kind of smile that meant trouble for whoever came next. "You might be worthy of him."
Every head turned.
At the end of the hall sat another man, dressed in silver and black, quiet and composed — the only person who hadn't laughed once that night.
The Emperor's brother. Khalid.