[AMAL POV]
Mira followed me, her footsteps quick and worried. "Princess, please. You're not thinking clearly."
But I was thinking clearly—perhaps for the first time since this nightmare began. I had created this mess with my desperation and jealousy. I had turned my husband into a monster in the eyes of his people. The least I could do was try to undo the damage.
The corridors felt different in daylight. The servants who usually bowed respectfully now averted their eyes entirely, their discomfort palpable. I could feel their whispers following me like a shadow, could sense the weight of their speculation and pity.
When I reached Idris's study, the guards at the door shifted uncomfortably. They knew I was supposed to be confined to my chambers, but they also couldn't exactly stop their future queen from moving through her own palace.
"I need to see my husband," I said, trying to project more confidence than I felt.
"Your Highness," one of them said carefully, "the Prince gave specific instructions—"
"I don't care what instructions he gave." I stepped forward, and they reluctantly moved aside.
I knocked once, then pushed the door open without waiting for permission. Idris sat behind his desk, still in yesterday's clothes, his hair disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and for a moment, I thought I saw something that might have been regret flicker across his face.
"Idris," I began, stepping into the room. "I need to—"
"Get out."
The words were quiet, but they hit me like a physical blow. He didn't even look up from the papers spread across his desk.
"Please, just let me explain—"
"There's nothing to explain." He finally raised his eyes to mine, and what I saw there made my blood freeze. Not anger, not cruelty—just complete and utter indifference. "You've said enough."
"The palace is talking," I said desperately. "They're saying terrible things about you, about what happened. I can fix this, I can—"
"You can do nothing." He stood slowly, his movements deliberate and controlled. "You've done enough damage for one lifetime."
"I know you're angry, but if you'll just listen—"
"I'm not angry." The calmness in his voice was somehow worse than rage would have been. "I'm tired. I'm tired of your dramatics, your demands, your inability to accept your place in this arrangement. I'm tired of pretending this is anything other than what it is."
Each word was a dagger, precisely placed to cause maximum damage. I felt myself shrinking under his gaze, becoming smaller and more insignificant with every passing second.
"Idris, please—"
"Your Highness," he said, and the formal address was like a slap. "You will return to your chambers. You will rest. You will recover from yesterday's... episode. And then you will resume your duties as my wife with the appropriate dignity and discretion."
"But the rumors—"
"Are your responsibility to manage. You created this situation. You can live with the consequences."
The door opened behind me, and I turned to see a palace guard enter, along with Mira who looked stricken.
"Escort the Princess back to her chambers," Idris said without looking at me. "She needs rest."
"I can walk myself—"
"You can't be trusted to make appropriate decisions," he cut me off. "As yesterday so clearly demonstrated."
The guard stepped forward, not roughly but with clear intent. This was happening. I was being removed from my husband's presence like a child having a tantrum.
"Idris," I whispered one last time, but he had already turned his attention back to his papers, dismissing me as completely as if I had never existed.
The walk back to my chambers felt like a funeral march. Mira's hand on my arm was gentle but firm, the guard's presence a constant reminder of my humiliation. Servants pressed themselves against the walls as we passed, their eyes carefully averted but their awareness burning against my skin.
When we reached my chambers, I stopped abruptly. Through the window, I could see the crowd in the courtyard had grown larger. More whispers, more speculation, more damage to the man I had sworn to honor.
"Your Highness?" Mira said softly.
I looked at her, then at the guard, then back at the window. An idea was forming in my mind—desperate, perhaps foolish, but the only way I could think of to salvage something from this disaster.
"I need to go to the courtyard," I said.
"Your Highness, you're meant to rest—"
"I'm meant to be a princess," I said, straightening my shoulders. "And princesses protect their kingdom. Even from themselves."
Before anyone could stop me, I turned and headed for the main staircase. The guard called after me, but I ignored him. I had spent too long being passive, too long letting others control my choices. This was one decision I would make myself.
The crowd in the courtyard fell silent as I appeared at the top of the steps. Dozens of faces turned toward me—servants, courtiers, guards, even some citizens who had somehow gained access to the palace grounds. I could see the speculation in their eyes, the hungry curiosity about what had transpired in the royal chambers.
For a moment, I almost faltered. These people were looking at me with a mixture of pity and disgust, waiting for me to confirm their worst suspicions about my husband. It would be so easy to tell them the truth, to paint myself as the victim and let them comfort me with their outrage.
But I couldn't. Whatever Idris had done, whatever he had become in those dark hours, I wouldn't let him be destroyed by my mistakes.
I walked down the steps slowly, each movement deliberate and controlled. When I reached the bottom, I turned to face the crowd with what I hoped was a serene smile.
"My people," I said, my voice carrying clearly in the morning air. "I understand there has been some... concern about my health following yesterday's festivities."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some faces showed relief that I was addressing the situation directly. Others remained skeptical, their eyes sharp with suspicion.
"I want to assure you all that I am perfectly well," I continued. "Yesterday was... overwhelming. The stress of hosting our guests, the excitement of the festival, the joy of being reunited with old friends—it all became rather much for someone of my delicate constitution."
I saw some of the older women in the crowd nod knowingly. They understood the euphemisms, the careful language that protected everyone's dignity.
"Prince Idris has been nothing but attentive and caring," I said, the lie sliding off my tongue with practiced ease. "When he saw how overwrought I had become, he immediately escorted me to our chambers so I could rest. He spent the entire night ensuring my comfort and well-being."
More murmurs, these ones warmer. I could see some of the suspicion beginning to fade from their faces.
"Any sounds of distress that may have been heard were simply the result of my... emotional state. My husband was infinitely patient with me, despite my embarrassing display. I am grateful beyond measure for his kindness and understanding."
The words tasted like ash in my mouth, but I forced myself to continue smiling. This was my penance, my way of atoning for the damage I had caused.
"Lady Nadia's early departure was also my fault, I'm afraid. My illness made it impossible for me to be a proper hostess, and I fear she felt unwelcome. I hope to make amends when next we meet."
A few people in the crowd actually smiled at this, as if my concern for proper etiquette was endearing rather than tragic.
"I ask for your patience as I recover from yesterday's... episode. And I ask for your continued respect for my husband, who has shown me nothing but love and consideration throughout this trying time."
The crowd began to disperse, most of them looking satisfied with my explanation. But I noticed that not everyone was convinced. Some of the servants who had been in the corridors last night exchanged glances. A few of the courtiers still looked skeptical.
One of them—Lord Harren, an older man who had served the kingdom for decades—approached me as the crowd thinned.
"Your Highness," he said quietly, "we are all concerned for your welfare. If there is anything... anything at all that you need to discuss..."
He was offering me a lifeline, a chance to tell someone the truth. For a moment, I was tempted. But then I thought of Noah, of the man who had once courted me with poetry, who had been forced into this marriage just as I had been. I thought of the kingdom that needed stability, not scandal.
"Thank you, Lord Harren," I said, "But truly, I am well. My husband is a good man who has shown me nothing but kindness. Any suggestion otherwise is simply the result of misunderstanding and my own poor judgment yesterday."
He studied my face for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Of course, Your Highness. I'm glad to hear you're feeling better."
Then he turned and disappeared back into the palace, leaving me alone in the courtyard with the bitter taste of lies and the hollow victory of a reputation saved at the cost of my own truth.
I had protected him. I had protected our marriage. I had protected the kingdom.
But I had never felt more alone in my entire life.
Three weeks later, the palace physician arrived with her leather satchel and knowing eyes. Master Kaira had been delivering royal children for three decades, and she approached her examinations with the clinical efficiency of someone who had seen every possible outcome.
"Your Highness," she said, settling beside me on the examination couch. "I need to check your condition following your... recent reunion with the Prince."
I lay still as she pressed her hands to my abdomen, as she asked questions about my monthly cycles, as she examined me with the thoroughness that royal wombs demanded. The whole process felt distant, as if it were happening to someone else entirely.
"Well?" I asked when she finally stepped back.
"Congratulations, Your Highness." Her smile was warm but professional. "You are with child. Perhaps two weeks along."
The words should have brought joy, or at least satisfaction. This was what I had demanded, what I had fought for. But all I felt was a hollow sort of completion, like a box being ticked on a ledger.
"I'll need to examine you weekly now," she continued. "To monitor the pregnancy's progress. And Your Highness... you'll need to be more careful. No more... emotional episodes. The early weeks are delicate."
Within hours, the news had spread through the palace like wildfire. I could hear the excitement in the servants' voices, could see the relieved smiles on the courtiers' faces. The royal heir was secured. The succession was safe. My value as a wife had finally been proven.
But with the joy came renewed scrutiny. Every move I made was now watched, analyzed, discussed. And with that attention came whispers I hadn't expected.
"Have you heard what they're saying in the Second Prince's palace?" I overheard Lady Meren whisper to her companion as I passed through the gardens. "About the Princess's... origins?"
"Surely not," came the reply. "That would be..."
"Scandalous? Yes. But there are those who swear she bears a striking resemblance to a certain escaped slave. The timing of her arrival at court, the way she avoids certain questions about her past..."
I quickened my pace, my heart hammering against my ribs. But the whispers followed me like shadows, growing bolder with each passing day.
Within a week, the rumors had reached the city. And with them came a hatred I hadn't anticipated.
"Your Highness," Captain Aldric said carefully as we prepared for my weekly visit to the masjid. "Perhaps today we should take the covered carriage instead of walking."
"Why?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew.
"There have been... incidents. Citizens gathering in the streets when you pass. Some are loyal supporters, but others..." He paused delicately. "Others have been influenced by certain rumors."
"What kind of incidents?"
"Shouting, mostly. Some thrown objects. Nothing my men can't handle, but for your safety and the child's..."
"I won't hide," I said firmly. "I am their princess. I will not skulk through my own kingdom because of lies and gossip."
The walk to the temple began normally enough. My guards formed a protective circle around me, and my face was veiled accordingly. But as we moved deeper into the city, I could feel the change in the air. Groups of men lingered at street corners, their voices rising as we passed.
"That's her," someone shouted. "The slave pretending to be a princess!"
"Slave!" another voice called out. "You don't belong here!"
I kept walking, my chin raised, refusing to acknowledge the growing crowd. But then the first stone struck my shoulder, and everything changed.
"Protect the Princess!" Captain Ali bellowed, but it was too late. The men had found their courage in numbers, and rocks began flying from all directions.
My guards raised their shields, deflecting what they could, but there were too many projectiles coming from too many angles. A stone caught me on the temple, making stars explode across my vision. Another hit my ribs, driving the breath from my lungs.
"Move!" Ali commanded, and suddenly I was being half-carried, half-dragged through the streets as the crowd pressed closer. "Get her to the masjid!"
But the masjid was still blocks away, and the crowd was growing. More stones rained down, one striking my back so hard I stumbled. Another caught my arm, and I felt something wet trickling down my skin.
"Slave!" they chanted. "Impostor! Murderer!"
The words hurt more than the stones. These were my people, the citizens I was supposed to protect and serve. And they hated me with a venom that took my breath away.
By the time we reached the masjid, my guards had to carry me inside. Blood stained my torn dress, and every breath sent sharp pains through my ribs. But what hurt most was the emptiness inside me—the knowledge that I had become exactly what they claimed I was: an impostor in royal clothes.
Two weeks later, Master Kaira's face was grim as she examined the dark bruises that still mottled my skin. Some had faded to yellow-green, but others remained purple-black, stark against my pale flesh.
"Your Highness," she said carefully, "these injuries... they're not from a fall."
"I'm clumsy," I said automatically. "I've always been clumsy."
"Multiple impact wounds, defensive bruising on your arms..." She traced a particularly dark mark on my ribs. "This is consistent with being struck by thrown objects. Rocks, perhaps."
I said nothing, staring at the ceiling as she continued her examination.
"I need to inform the Prince," she said finally. "These injuries could have harmed the child. Could still harm the child if they're not properly addressed."
"Please don't—"
"I'm sorry, Your Highness. But the health of the royal heir is my responsibility."
Within an hour, Idris strode into the room with barely controlled fury radiating from every line of his body. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched into fists, and when he saw me sitting on the edge of the bed, something dark and dangerous flickered in his eyes.
"Show me," he said, his voice deadly quiet.
"Show you what?"
"The injuries. Show them to me."
Master Kaira gestured to my exposed arms, where the bruises were most visible. Idris's breath hissed between his teeth as he took in the extent of the damage.
"Who?" The word cut through the air like a blade. He stepped closer, eyes burning. "Tell me who did this to you."