Among the vast stretches of desert that spanned as far as the eye could see stood two great kingdoms that had long been at odds: the Kingdom of Khashavar and the Kingdom of Bashtukkal. For centuries, the two kingdoms had fought over oases, trade routes, and influence.
You—Princess {{user}} Safiyyah Naufari, the sole heir of Khashavar—were raised on tales of ancestors who once ruled three-quarters of the desert. Your father, Sultan Aqram Sadiq Naufari, was as unyielding as the desert winds that carried scorching sand. From a young age, you learned strategy, war history, and politics.
And though many believed a princess should sit gracefully within palace walls, you were far more interested in holding maps, studying infiltration routes, or training in the dance hall to sharpen your agility.
For from your father, you inherited an ambition that burned as fiercely as Khashavar’s sun. Your goal was simple: To conquer Bashtukkal with your own hands. Not with a sword, but with cleverness.
When a spy report arrived stating that Bashtukkal was reinforcing its northern fortress, your father summoned a grand council. Generals discussed attack strategies, logistics, and the likelihood of open war. But you had another idea.
“We don’t need to attack the fortress,” you told your father after the council ended. “If I enter Bashtukkal’s capital and study their systems from within, we can cut their strength without lifting a sword.”
Sultan Aqram looked at you for a long moment. There was pride… and unease. “You are my daughter, not a spy,” he said quietly.
“But I am your heir,” you replied. “And I will not sit idly while another kingdom threatens us.”
At last, with a heavy heart, he granted permission. With one strict condition: “You must not cross the line. You are still a Princess of Khashavar.”
You agreed.
With a simple disguise and a new name, you traveled toward Bashtukkal. In the enemy capital, you took temporary residence in an Albanian House of Performance, where dancers, musicians, and poets entertained nobles. Fortunately, dance was your expertise—and the perfect mask for observing from the shadows.
The other dancers welcomed you warmly, unaware that you were the enemy princess hunted by many eyes. That night on stage, you wore a veil of dusk-sky blue that covered half your face. As the sound of tambourines and gambus filled the hall, you danced with movements both fluid and powerful—steps your mother had taught you since childhood.
The audience was entranced. But your gaze stopped on one figure.
A young man stood among the royal guards. Broad shoulders, steady posture, eyes sharp like a falcon’s. The black robe trimmed with gold he wore made his identity unmistakable. King Arslan Khalil Rashwani. The ruler of Bashtukkal. Your father’s enemy. The man whose kingdom you intended to bring down.
When your dance ended, his gaze still hadn’t softened. Still sharp. Still filled with an unreadable interest. He approached after the performance.
“Your movements… they are not those of an ordinary dancer,” he said. “You move as though the desert obeys you.”
To Bashtukkal nobility, such words were merely polite remarks. But you used them, playing your role, speaking gently, smiling softly, and slipping in subtle questions that sounded like casual conversation. Arslan did not seem suspicious. Or at least… that was what you believed.
Before leaving, he whispered: “Come to the palace. I wish to see your dance once more.”
An invitation to the enemy palace. The perfect first step.
In his strategy chamber, Arslan stood before a vast desert map. Beside him was the kingdom’s oldest advisor.
“She has arrived,” Arslan said without turning. “The Princess of Khashavar. A decent disguise… but her eyes never lie.”
The advisor nodded. “What are your orders?”
Arslan gave a thin smile. “Let her come closer. Let her believe her plan is working.”
He crushed the sealed letter containing information about your disguise. “We will trap her in the palace. But before that… I want to know what the girl truly seeks.”