I feel it before I see it.
The palace has changed its rhythm around me—doors open faster, footsteps follow closer, voices lower when I enter a room. It isn't fear. It's order. Controlled. Intentional.
Khalid's doing.
At breakfast, he sits beside me instead of across from me. His presence is calm, reassuring to anyone watching. To me, it feels strategic.
"You've been restless," he says softly, pouring my tea himself. "I thought you might appreciate company."
"I'm fine," I reply, forcing a smile.
He studies me over the rim of his cup. "You don't have to be fine with me."
That's the problem. He sees too much.
Later, my schedule is rearranged without my consent. Walks are shorter. Meetings are supervised. Even my ladies-in-waiting are switched—new faces, polite and silent.
Control doesn't announce itself.
It simply removes your choices.
When I ask about Fahad's presence at the next council briefing, the answer comes smoothly.
"He won't be needed," Khalid says. "I've reassigned his duties."
My chest tightens. "Reassigned where?"
"Away from unnecessary distractions."
Our eyes meet.
This isn't a threat.
It's a decision already made.
That evening, I finally see Fahad—by accident, or perhaps by fate—in the palace archive hall. The air smells of old paper and dust, secrets stored and forgotten.
"You're avoiding me," he says quietly.
"I'm being watched," I whisper back.
He steps closer, his voice low. "They spoke to me today. My colleagues."
"What did they say?"
"Nothing serious," he replies. "That's what makes it dangerous."
I close my eyes briefly. "Khalid knows."
"He suspects," Fahad corrects. "And suspicion is enough."
Silence stretches between us, thick and trembling.
"If we stay quiet," I say slowly, "this will end. Cleanly. I'll marry him. You'll leave the palace. Life will go on."
Fahad's expression tightens, pain flickering beneath control. "And if we don't?"
I look at him, really look at him.
"If we don't," I whisper, "everything burns."
He reaches for my hand, stopping just short of touching it.
"Tell me what you want," he says. "Not what you're supposed to want."
My heart screams.
"I want you," I admit, the words tearing out of me. "But wanting isn't enough to protect you. Or me."
Footsteps echo nearby.
We separate instantly.
Khalid's voice drifts down the hall. "Ria?"
I step forward, away from Fahad, my decision slamming into place like a lock.
"I'm here," I call.
Fahad watches me retreat, understanding written all over his face.
I choose silence.
For now.
But as Khalid's hand settles at the small of my back, guiding me away, I know one truth with terrifying clarity:
Silence isn't safety.
It's just a delay.
And delays always end.