I could not sleep.
The moon hung like a silver coin in the sky, soft and watchful, and the whispers of the palace would not leave me alone. So I wrapped my shawl tighter around my shoulders and slipped out from my chambers, past the sleeping guards and silent marble corridors, towards the imperial gardens. Since the golden flower touched my lips in that dream, my veins had not been quiet. They thrummed now — like distant drums under my skin.
The air was cool, tinged with the scent of night jasmines and wet earth. Lanterns flickered along carved archways of sandstone, their glow casting long shadows across pillars etched with ancient script and crowned phoenix — the mark of Emperor Khalfani's bloodline. I walked barefoot on polished obsidian tiles, the stone still warm from the afternoon sun.
Something was calling me.
Beyond the fragrant rows of blue lilies and moon-petaled roses, there was a darkness. A corner of the garden, untouched by light, as though abandoned by life itself. Plants there lay twisted, blackened — as if fire had kissed them and never apologized.
My breath caught. It looked like a scar.
I stepped toward it, drawn as though invisible hands pulled me forward. The grass beneath my feet faded to ash. I knelt, slowly, pressing my fingers to the dead soil. It was cold, painfully silent, like it had forgotten what it meant to live.
"Let me remember for you…" I whispered.
I didn't know why I said it. The words just came — as natural as breathing.
Heat blossomed from my palms, gentle at first, then growing, pulsing. The ground answered.
A tremor of green. Then another.
Vines unfurled. Leaves glowed with dew. Flowers rose like waking stars — white, violet, gold. The earth drank from me, and I let it, watching life rush back richer and wilder than before. The air warmed. The wind sighed with relief.
Then—
Crack.
I froze. A snapped twig somewhere behind me.
I turned sharply, heart pounding.
Who are you," a deep voice said from the shadows, "and what are you doing in my garden?"
I gasped.
Before I could think — before I could breathe — fear seized me. My pulse roared, power surged, and light shot from my hands, a wild burst of golden energy.
It struck him square in the chest.
He didn't fall.
He only slid back a step, boots skidding against the stone. His cloak rippled behind him like a storm cloud. His eyes—once dark—flared into a brilliant blue, cold as the deepest part of the Nile at night.
Emperor Khalfani.
I felt it. Power recognized power.
He vanished—then reappeared before me, swift as wind. His hand wrapped around my wrist, warm, firm, stopping my second strike as though it were nothing.
His face was close. Too close.
Moonlight traced the sharp cut of his jaw, the bronze of his skin, the silver-threaded crown lying loosely in his midnight hair. And his eyes—ancestors preserve me—his eyes held mine, as if they had waited centuries to see them.
Something in me trembled.
The world went quiet.
His grip loosened. Slowly. As though letting go of something fragile.
"You…" he breathed, not as a ruler, but as a man who had just seen a miracle. "What are you?"
I couldn't speak. Words tangled in my throat. I pulled my wrist back, skin tingling where he touched me, still angry at how he humiliated me, still shocked at how I just felt.
"I—" I wanted to tell him. I am Princess Iana of Tan. I am your brother's betrothed. I am nothing. I am everything. But the words refused to come.
So I ran.
My feet flew across stone and grass. My heart was a drum. Behind me, his voice rose like thunder controlled.
"Wait!"
But I didn't. I slipped through archways, past columns of white granite and torchlight, breath ragged, chest burning, power still humming beneath my skin.
I didn't stop until I reached my chambers.
Only then did I press my back to the door, hand over my racing heart, whispering to the darkness,
"What have I done…"
——————————————————-
The night howled like a wounded beast as I fled through the marble halls, the moonlight streaking across pillars and golden tiles. My breath burned in my chest.
My feet carried me without thought — past the fountains of silvered lions, past the sleeping guards, past the carved archway that led to the princes' wing.
Only when I reached my chamber did I slow, slamming the doors shut behind me.
I collapsed onto my bed, chest heaving, heart pounding so loudly it drowned out my thoughts. My hands trembled against the silk sheets. I had done the one thing Prince Khalid explicitly told me never to do.
"Oh curses…" I whispered, burying my face into my palms. "The Emperor… he's going to kill me."
Just then — the door opened with a soft groan.
Prince Khalid stood there.
His dark hair was tousled from sleep, his grey sheer robes hung loosely across his shoulders, exposing the smooth bronze of his chest. The night wind danced around him, carrying the cold desert air and the scent of oud and cedarwood. His eyes — sleepy, soft, and darker than black pearls — met mine.
My lips parted. My spine straightened.
"Y—Your Highness…"
He didn't respond at first. He only looked at me. Silent. Observing. My pulse thrashed wildly.
"I heard… noises," he said finally, voice low as a whispering dune.
My breath stilled. How? I thought. I wore shoes. I made no sound. Back in Tan, I had been trained to move like a shadow.
I forced a shaky smile. "W–what noises?"
His gaze sharpened — gentle, but sharp as the edge of a blade wrapped in silk.
"The Ivory Palace can be a dangerous place," he said, walking closer into the moonlight spilling onto my floor. "Today you're Khalifa… tomorrow your head is rotting on a spike. Or worse — burnt to black ashes."
My heart stopped.
Sweat gathered beneath my palms. My throat tightened painfully.
"I—I was here the whole time," I lied quickly, unsure why the words even left my mouth. "You told me not to leave."
He paused. Then, with a single breath: "Good."
Though something in his eyes told me he didn't fully believe it.
He turned slightly, the lantern light outlining the strong curve of his jaw. "Sleep well, Iana. Tomorrow… we have breakfast with the Emperor."
My heart dropped to my feet.
"What?" The word slipped out before I could stop it.
His gaze flickered back to me. "I am not sure why — but he requested it. He wants to dine with me… and with you, my Khalifa. His favorite Khalifa, Amanirenas, will be there as well."
A wave of panic crushed into me. My chest tightened — I couldn't breathe. Memories of the garden rushed in — his eyes, glowing blue… his hand gripping my wrist… the raw power and the cold moon between us.
His question: What are you?
Which made me feel an emotion I didn't understand. I felt deeply infuriated when he humiliated me, and butterflies when he held me.
I clutched the wooden frame of my bed, my nails digging into it. Fear gripping me.
What if he recognizes me? What if he burns me where I stand? What if Prince Khalid kills me before he does?
"Iana," Khalid said softly.
I didn't respond — I couldn't.
"Iana." His voice came firmer this time, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I looked up.
His expression softened — something warm flickering in his eyes. "I told you," he said quietly, stepping closer, "I am here for you. You are not alone in this palace. Just… listen to what I say. Do you understand?"
My lips parted. "Yes, Your Highness."
He gave a small, tired smile. One that didn't quite reach his eyes, but still eased the air between us. "Good."
Then, gently, he stepped back. "Now rest. Tomorrow isn't far from us."
He lingered in the doorway for a heartbeat longer — robes fluttering in the breeze, moonlight silvering his skin — then he left.
The door closed.
Silence.
I sat there, staring at nothing, the palace quiet around me. My lungs finally remembered how to breathe.
But the question remained — loud, cruel, unrelenting:
What will happen to me tomorrow?