Chapter 74 The Shadows of the Past
The corridors of Chandlok’s palace never slept. Even in the dead of night, torches flickered against the stone walls, throwing shadows that whispered with every step Sana took. She walked silently, her pendant cool against her skin, her thoughts anything but still.
Everywhere she turned, the past seemed to haunt her — her mother’s laughter echoing in forgotten chambers, the memory of Roshni’s smirk, the sting of betrayal at banquets and trials. And always… always Hatim.
Hatim with his cruel words.
Hatim with his relentless glares.
Hatim with his impossible, reckless moments of care.
Sana gripped the railing of the grand staircase, her knuckles whitening. She could still see it: his hand pushing away her goblet at the banquet, voice low, steady, protective. “Not that one. The wine was switched.”
It was like fire and frost in her veins at once. How could the same man who caged her in accusations also shield her from poison? How could the King who scorned her in private defend her so fiercely in public?
The contradiction gnawed at her, twisting her anger into something dangerously close to longing.
No. She clenched her jaw. Longing was weakness. And weakness had no place in her heart.
Yet as the days passed, shadows of tenderness began to slip into her world.
It began with flowers.
One morning, when she pushed open her chamber doors, a cluster of wild jasmine lay waiting on the threshold. White as stars, fragrant as dawn. Her breath caught. Jasmine — her mother’s scent. The fragrance she remembered clinging to Chandini’s robes as a child.
No note. No explanation. Only silence.
But Sana knew.
Hatim.
She refused to pick them up. She stepped over them, forcing her heart to stay cold. But when she returned that evening, the flowers were gone. And she hated herself for wishing they had remained.
Then came the incense.
During evening prayer, the palace priest lit the usual frankincense in the temple flames. But that night, when Sana entered, the air was different. Softer. Sweeter. The smoke curled with the delicate perfume of jasmine — her mother’s incense.
The priest had no idea where it had come from. “The King’s order,” he said simply.
Sana’s hands shook as she folded them in prayer.
Each night, another gesture followed. A dish she had once favored quietly appearing at the royal table. A book she had read as a child suddenly placed in her chambers. A servant she defended from cruel nobles spared punishment by the King himself.
And every time, Hatim never spoke of it. Never asked for gratitude. He left no mark of ownership, no smug reminder of his power. Just… silent offerings.
It unsettled her more than his cruelty ever had.
Because cruelty, she could fight. She knew the shape of its blade.
But kindness? Kindness seeped through cracks in the armor she had built, softening edges she wanted to keep sharp.
One evening, unable to bear it any longer, Sana found herself wandering into the moonlit gardens. The fountain whispered in silver streams, the roses bent low with the weight of dew. And there, on the marble bench beneath the willow, lay another gift.
A book. Bound in dark leather, its cover embossed with the crest of the Starborn.
Her mother’s crest.
Sana’s throat tightened. She picked it up, flipping through the delicate pages. Inside were poems. Old verses written by Aarav himself — her father. Verses she had never seen before, preserved as if by magic.
At the front page, in handwriting sharper and darker than the rest, was a single line:
“Not forgotten.”
Her breath hitched. She traced the ink with trembling fingers.
Hatim.
It was too much. Too much to bear.
Anger rose like a shield. She slammed the book shut and pressed it against her chest, pacing the garden like a caged flame. “What do you want from me, Hatim?” she whispered to the night. “Do you want me to forgive you? To believe you? You can’t erase the past with flowers and incense and poems.”
Yet still, her chest ached.
Because some part of her… wanted to believe.
Wanted to believe that behind the crown, behind the cruelty, there was a man who had not only hated her, but also mourned with her.
She sank onto the marble bench, the weight of the book heavy in her lap. The night pressed close around her, as if waiting for her to decide — to harden, or to hope.
But Sana could not choose.
So she sat there, torn between the girl who had sworn vengeance and the woman who longed, against her will, for the enemy who kept placing pieces of her heart back into her hands.
The shadows of the past pressed in — of betrayal, of poison, of cruelty. And yet, so too did the whispers of something else. Something dangerously close to love.
And Sana, for all her strength, could not silence them.
The book still lay heavy in her lap when the night deepened. The moon slid behind a cloud, and suddenly the gardens felt colder, darker — almost watchful. Sana clutched the leather binding, whispering a silent prayer to her mother, to her father, to anyone who might hear.
But weariness gnawed at her, heavier than she realized. Somewhere between anger and longing, between the stars and the shadows, her eyes slipped shut.
And the nightmare came.
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She was running through the palace corridors, barefoot, her hair wild, the sound of steel on steel ringing in her ears. Smoke curled through the halls, choking her lungs.
In her arms, she clutched a child — small, fragile, swaddled in white cloth. His cries echoed like bells shattering through the fire.
“Hatim!” her voice broke, raw with desperation. “Hatim, save him!”
From the shadows, soldiers closed in. Blades gleamed, their footsteps ruthless. The baby’s cries grew weaker, drowned by the chaos.
Then he appeared.
Hatim — not crowned, not robed in power, but running toward her, sword drawn, eyes fierce with terror. He reached her, grasped her shoulders. “Sana, give him to me!”
Tears blinded her vision. She shook her head, clutching the child closer. “He’s ours! Please — please don’t let them take him. He’s the symbol of our love. If he dies… we die with him.”
Her voice cracked into a scream. “Please, Hatim!”
Hatim cupped her face, desperate. “I won’t let anything happen to him, Sana. I swear it. I swear it on my life—”
But the soldiers closed in. Steel flashed. And in that moment of terror, blood sprayed across the child’s white cloth. His cries ceased.
“No—no!” Sana shrieked, falling to her knees. Her hands trembled as they pressed against the lifeless bundle, her heart tearing open like a wound that would never close.
---
She woke screaming.
“Sana!”
Her chamber doors had burst open. Hatim was there, disheveled, his eyes wide and frantic, as though he had sprinted across half the palace. Without hesitation, he rushed to her side.
Sana sat upright on the bed, drenched in sweat, her chest heaving. Her hands clutched the sheets as if the child was still there, still bleeding.
Hatim gripped her shoulders firmly, his voice rough but urgent. “It’s a dream. You’re safe. Breathe, Sana. Look at me—just look at me.”
Her tear-filled eyes lifted, and for a moment, she didn’t see the King, the enemy, the one who had caged her. She saw the man from her dream — desperate, terrified of losing her.
Her voice cracked. “Save him, Hatim… please save our child…”
Hatim froze. His heart stuttered in his chest. Slowly, painfully, he cupped her face the way he had in the dream.
“Sana… there is no child. It’s the nightmare.
Just the nightmare.” His thumbs brushed her tears away, gentle, almost trembling.
“But if there was, I swear to you… I would burn the world before letting harm touch him. Or you.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Sana’s breath hitched. For one dizzying moment, she leaned into his touch, her forehead resting against his chest, as if she believed him, as if the world could stop spinning if she stayed there.
His arms wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her close, shielding her trembling frame. He whispered into her hair, voice raw. “I’ve hurt you too much… but this? Losing you, losing what could be ours… that’s the only fear I cannot bear.”
And for a heartbeat, there was no court, no crown, no betrayal. Just them. Just the fragile thread of something that had always burned, even under the ashes of hatred.
Sana’s fists clutched his robe, her body trembling against him. She closed her eyes, letting herself believe — just for a moment — that he meant it. That his warmth was hers.
But then reality struck.
Her eyes flew open. Her breath steadied into something sharper, colder. She shoved him away with sudden force, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking but firm. “Don’t make me forget what you’ve done. Don’t make me weak with promises you never intend to keep.”
Hatim staggered back a step, his jaw tight, his eyes shadowed with something she couldn’t name — regret, pain, longing. “Sana—”
“Go.” Her voice cracked like glass. “Just go.”
For a long, unbearable silence, Hatim stood there. His fists clenched, his breath heavy. He wanted to speak, to reach for her again, but something in her eyes stopped him.
Finally, he turned, and whispered, "You can hate me forever, Sana. But let me protect you." With that he went from there, his steps heavy as he left the chamber.
The door shut behind him with a hollow thud.
And Sana, alone once more, sank back onto her bed. The pendant at her throat glowed faintly, as though her mother’s spirit wept with her.
She pressed it to her heart, her tears flowing freely. For all her resolve, all her strength, her heart betrayed her.
Because in that moment, more than vengeance, more than justice, she wanted the impossible.
She wanted to believe him.
She wanted to love him.
But shadows of the past still wrapped around her like chains — and they would not let go.
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??? Author’s Note ???
This chapter was… intense. ?? Writing it felt like pouring Sana’s heart straight onto the page — all her anger, her pain, her confusion…
and that dangerous flicker of love she doesn’t want to admit.
???? Her bond with Hatim is so messy, so twisted, yet there’s something beautiful hiding in the cracks. ??
I wanted this chapter to show that sometimes the people who hurt us are also the ones we can’t stop longing for… and that’s the scariest truth of all. ???? Sana’s nightmare, Hatim’s tenderness, their fragile moment together… it broke me while writing ????.
Thank you for staying with me through this storm of emotions ?????. The next chapters will only get heavier, and the fire of truth is coming. ?????
?? Tell me — do you think Sana should trust Hatim’s heart… or keep her walls unshakable? ????