Chapter 11 Whispers in the Flame
The palace halls were unusually silent.
Ever since the night of the triple moons, the wind in Chandlok had shifted. Magic hung heavier. The stars blinked more urgently. And deep within the veins of the earth, something ancient began to stir.
But amidst the rising tension, Sana’s days had become strangely steady.
She served the prince. Quietly. She studied the stars. Secretly. She hid her feelings. Relentlessly.
What she didn’t know was—Hatim noticed everything.
In the training yard, the clang of blades echoed. Hatim moved like a phantom—precise, untouchable, furious.
His opponents never lasted long.
One of them—a seasoned knight—crashed to the floor after a strike so fast, no one even saw it.
“Again,” Hatim growled.
The knight shook his head. “I... I yield, Your Highness.”
Hatim turned away, chest heaving. His blue eyes flicked to the royal balcony, where Queen Roshni stood watching, arms folded.
They hadn’t spoken in days.
He didn’t want to.
Later, in the royal library, Sana arrived with a tray of warm honeyed milk and lemon cakes—Hatim’s favourites. She stepped silently over fallen scrolls and resting shadows, her anklets barely making a sound.
Hatim sat near the window, shirtless, beads of sweat on his neck, flipping through a book he clearly wasn’t reading.
“You’re late,” he said, without looking up.
“I brought the cakes,” she replied softly, setting the tray down.
He turned to her then. His eyes locked onto hers.
“Do you dream, Sana?” he asked suddenly.
She blinked. “Everyone dreams, don’t they?”
“I don’t mean sleep. I mean... dream. Hope. Want more than what the world told you you’re allowed.”
The room was still.
Sana clutched the edge of her veil.
“I used to,” she admitted. “But then the world reminded me where I stand.”
Hatim leaned back, watching her carefully. “And where do you think you stand now?”
She didn’t reply.
So he stood, walked to her, and picked up the scroll she had dropped unintentionally. Their fingers brushed. Just a second.
But the air between them shifted.
“You’re not what you’ve been told you are,” he said, voice low.
Sana’s heart thudded painfully.
“Don’t say things like that,” she whispered. “It makes it harder.”
“Harder for what?” he asked, stepping closer.
“To pretend I don’t feel anything.”
The tray trembled under her hands.
Hatim was too close now. His breath warm, his aura magnetic. But before either could speak, the library door creaked open.
A guard stepped in, bowing. “Your Highness, the council awaits.”
Hatim didn’t move.
“Tell them to wait longer.”
That night, the wind outside Sana’s chamber howled like a wounded beast. She stared out the small window, clutching a letter she never sent—words she never dared write aloud.
“Do you think he sees me, Amma?” she whispered to the night. “Or just the mystery I hide?”
In the royal throne room, the council debated war.
A border rebellion. Magical energy rising near the Akar mountains. The prince needed to act.
But Hatim wasn’t listening.
He was thinking about Sana’s voice. Her eyes. The way she flinched when people called her cursed.
“You’re not cursed,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re the only calm in my storm.”
Roshni noticed.
And she didn’t like it.
Later, in her private chambers, Roshni summoned the palace priest.
“Prepare the Sealing Ritual,” she said coldly.
“But Your Majesty… sealing is forbidden on living—”
“I said what I said.”
Down in the servants’ wing, Sana’s friend Meher snuck into her room with gossip bubbling in her mouth.
“Sana,” she whispered, “they say the prince refused to eat until he was served by you. Like personally.”
Sana blushed furiously. “He’s stubborn. That’s all.”
But inside, her heart fluttered.
“He notices me... too much.”
That night, something strange happened.
As Sana lay sleeping, a glow surrounded her body.
Faint, silver. Like moonlight melting into skin.
Somewhere in the skies above Chandlok, a star blinked… and disappeared.