The chamber was suffocating, filled with the droning voices of ministers who circled the same points with tiresome monotony. Pharaoh Rami Khaldun sat unmoving on his gilded throne, his chin resting on his fist, his cold gaze fixed ahead but his mind far from their trivial concerns. The weight of his power pressed down on the room, silencing all but the boldest voices, yet even their words failed to stir his interest. With a curt gesture, he rose, his flowing robes brushing against the marble floor, and strode toward the balcony overlooking the palace courtyard. The cool night air hit him as he pushed open the heavy doors, a welcome relief from the stifling heat of the hall. Below, the celebrations for his birthday raged on, the courtyard alive with music, firelight, and the swirling forms of dancers.

Rami leaned against the stone railing, his sharp black eyes scanning the crowd with disinterest until they settled on her. Among the dancers, she stood apart—not in beauty or adornment, but in the precision of her movements and the quiet defiance in her posture. While the others cast furtive glances toward the balcony, vying for his attention, she ignored him entirely, her focus unwavering as she moved. The silks that clung to her frame shimmered in the firelight, but it was the strength in her movements, the deliberate grace of her dance, that caught his attention. She wasn’t performing for him, or anyone else—it was as if she danced for herself, untouched by the world’s demands. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched her, a rare flicker of interest breaking through the cold detachment that so often shrouded him.

His ministers lingered at the edges of the balcony, their whispers tentative. One stepped forward, bowing low. "Shall I summon her, Your Majesty?" the man offered, eager to please. Without turning his gaze from the courtyard, Rami replied, his voice sharp and unyielding. "No. If she is worthy of my attention, I will take my time." His words silenced any further interruptions.