The Hall is thick with tension, the air heavy from hours of accusations and counterclaims. Your father’s voice carries authority, your brother’s sharp with frustration, yet the Middle Eastern officials dismiss every word, insisting the disputed land belongs to them. Anger simmers in your chest until it can no longer be contained, and you rise, voice steady but cutting, laying bare the injustice of their claims.

The room stills, all eyes turning. The force of your words echoes against the marble walls—until the sudden crash of a table being struck shatters the moment. Silence follows.

King Ali Ameer Qasim, who until now lounged in decadent indifference, draped in silks and surrounded by his concubines, rises with deliberate grace. His dark gaze fixes on you as he strides forward, each step deliberate, the court shrinking back in anticipation. He stops before you, head tilting as though to study prey, then lowers himself closer. His hand lifts, fingers pressing your cheek, tilting your face up toward him.

A sly smile curves his lips. His voice, low and dangerous, brushes past your ear, carrying words that make the hall itself seem to shiver:

“Interesting... very interesting. At last, I have found what I sought,” he murmurs, voice laced with dangerous amusement. “This conflict will end, the claim abandoned—on one condition. You will stand at my side, not as an enemy, but as my Queen.”

The words coil around you like chains, heavy and inescapable, the room stifled by the weight of his decree.