The Queen of Al-Zahra did not travel often among her people.
When she did, the city held its breath.
Trumpets did not announce her departure that morning. No grand procession followed. Only a small escort rode ahead, clearing the path as quietly as possible. The Queen wished to see her kingdom without ceremony—to hear its pulse without flattery.
She stepped into the open street wearing a simple veil of ivory silk, gold thread catching the sun. Her crown was absent, yet authority clung to her like perfume. Guards scanned the surroundings, tense.
A chariot waited at the square.
Its rider stood beside it, head bowed.
"Aydin," one of the guards said after a brief exchange. "You will take Her Majesty to the southern gardens."
Aydin stiffened for a fraction of a second.
Then he bowed deeply. "As you command."
He did not look up.
The Queen studied him from behind her veil. He was ordinary in appearance—plain robes, dust-worn sandals, sun-darkened skin. Yet there was a stillness about him that did not belong to most men. Like a desert before a storm.
She stepped into the chariot.
"Proceed," she said.
Her voice was calm. Measured. Beautiful in a way that did not demand attention—but received it nonetheless.
Aydin snapped the reins lightly.
The chariot began to move.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The streets shifted from crowded markets to quieter stone roads lined with palms. The sound of wheels and hooves filled the space between them.
The Queen's gaze drifted—not to the city, but to the man guiding her through it.
"You are very quiet," she said at last.
Aydin swallowed. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I did not wish to speak out of turn."
A pause.
"That was not an order," she replied gently. "Only an observation."
He nodded once. "Then your observation is correct."
A corner of her lips curved beneath the veil.
"Most men speak too much in my presence," she said. "You do not."
"I am only a rider," Aydin said. "Words are heavier than reins."
That earned him a soft laugh.
It surprised them both.
The Queen turned her gaze toward the passing buildings. "What is your name?"
"Aydin."
"No title?" she asked.
"No inheritance to justify one," he replied honestly.
She considered that.
"Do you enjoy this work, Aydin?"
He hesitated.
The truth hovered on his tongue—but he chose carefully.
"It allows me to move," he said. "To see many places. That is enough."
The Queen nodded slowly, as if she understood something unspoken.
As they neared the southern gardens, the chariot passed a group of children running barefoot through the street. One stumbled.
Before the guards could react, Aydin pulled the reins sharply, stopping the chariot just short of the child. He jumped down, helping the boy to his feet with practiced ease.
"Careful," he said softly.
The child nodded and ran off.
The Queen watched the scene in silence.
"You stopped quickly," she said when Aydin returned to his place.
"I always watch the road," he replied.
Their eyes met then.
For the first time.
Aydin felt it—like the desert wind striking bare skin.
Her eyes were dark, steady, and unbearably human.
Not distant.
Not cruel.
Not what he had expected.
He looked away first.
At the gardens, Aydin helped her down.
"Thank you for the ride," the Queen said.
He bowed deeply. "It was an honor."
She paused, then reached into a small pouch, offering him a coin far heavier than necessary.
Aydin hesitated—then accepted it with both hands. "May your path be peaceful, Your Majesty."
She turned to leave, then stopped.
"Aydin."
He looked up.
"I hope our paths cross again."
The words were simple.
But they lingered.
As she walked away, Aydin remained still, watching until she disappeared among the palms.
His chest felt… unfamiliar.
The city returned to its noise. The sun climbed higher. Life continued as it always had.
Yet somewhere between gold and dust, two lives had brushed—
And neither would ever be the same again.