Chapter 58 Mirror of Doubt
The night was quiet, unnaturally so. The grand chambers of Prince Hatim were lit dimly by the flickering torches lining the high stone walls. Outside, the wind whispered secrets, but inside, a storm was brewing.
Hatim stood before the full-length mirror in his room, his shirt discarded, blood from his bruised knuckles trailing down his wrist. His reflection stared back—not as a prince, not as a warrior, but as a man torn between love and betrayal.
He saw her. Not in the mirror, but in his mind—Sana, standing in the courtroom with eyes wide, lips trembling, voice trembling as she defended herself.
Every word she had said echoed in his mind like a song he couldn’t silence.
“I never betrayed Chandlok.” “You once told me to always speak the truth.” “Hatim, you know me.”
He clenched his jaw.
Why did her voice still sound like the truth?
"No," he muttered, shaking his head. "She could be lying. She might be everything they said she is."
The mirror offered no comfort. Instead, his reflection began to speak—not with words, but with expression. Hatim could almost hear it taunting him.
How could you do this to her? Your Sana?
His breathing grew heavy.
"She’s not mine. Not anymore."
Didn’t you love her? the reflection seemed to whisper.
His eyes burned. His fists trembled.
"I still..."
He stopped. Admitting it even to himself felt like treason. Not to Chandlok. Not to the kingdom. But to his pride.
Would you really kill her if she was the traitor?
With a scream of frustration, Hatim threw a punch directly at the mirror. Glass shattered, raining to the ground like crystal snow, and his reflection disappeared into a hundred broken pieces. Blood dripped from his knuckles, the pain grounding him.
He hated this. Hated the chaos in his heart. Hatim was known for his discipline, his clarity. But tonight, all of it had crumbled.
He stormed out of his room, ignoring the servants who bowed and stepped aside. They noticed his bleeding hand, the look in his eyes—wild, restless, shattered.
Within minutes, he was on the royal battleground.
The moon hung high, and the guards cleared the space. No one dared question his presence. Hatim picked up his sword and began sparring—with no partner, just the open air, striking at invisible enemies.
He fought like a man possessed.
But soon, the hallucinations began.
Sana’s figure appeared at the edge of the battleground.
Then another. And another.
Everywhere he turned, there she was. Laughing. Crying. Standing with flowers. Wearing the green robe she wore during their first encounter. Her eyes staring into his soul.
He roared.
Magic erupted from his hands, a blinding wave of golden fire. He hurled it at her reflection—only for it to pass through air. Her smile didn’t disappear. Her tears didn’t fade.
It was all in his head.
“Get out!” he shouted, spinning wildly, sending wave after wave of magic across the field.
But it didn’t help.
Instead, memories flooded in.
Their first playful argument near the palace lake. The time she threw a flower crown at him, laughing. The night he almost confessed his love but held back. The way she used to call him "Your stubborn highness" with that teasing smile.
Every spell he cast against her illusion only made the memories stronger. His arms ached. His soul burned.
Finally, his strength gave up. He fell to his knees, panting.
The hallucinations vanished. All that remained was silence.
Hatim returned to his room long past midnight. He was limping slightly, still bleeding, his clothes torn, sweat dripping from his brow.
He dropped to the floor beside the broken mirror.
A single shard reflected his eye—red, puffy.
He didn’t cry. Not at first.
But as the stillness grew louder than his thoughts, a single tear rolled down his cheek.
"I hate you, Sana," he whispered.
But the pain in his voice betrayed him.
Because even in hatred, there was love.
A dangerous, aching love that refused to die.
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool stone floor.
The truth was simple. Hatim didn’t know if Sana was innocent. But he knew that his heart wasn’t his own.
It was still hers.
--------