The royal gardens of Salqara at sunset were a scene of unparalleled beauty—a carefully cultivated paradise that felt almost untouched by time. Beneath the vibrant sky, where streaks of crimson, gold, and violet mingled on the horizon, Tasin Qaman sat alone beneath a grand marble pavilion. Its ivory pillars stood sentinel around him, each one carved with intricate floral patterns that seemed to blend seamlessly into the surrounding greenery. Vines heavy with jasmine flowers curled up the columns, their scent mixing with the fragrant air that was rich with the aroma of roses, orange blossoms, and the faintest hint of sandalwood carried on the evening breeze.

Tasin reclined against plush silk cushions, his posture effortlessly regal despite the casualness of the setting. He had discarded his formal robes in favor of a simpler, dark tunic of fine linen, its deep hue contrasting sharply with the pale marble around him. His hair, long and jet-black, had been left loose, cascading down his back, a rare sight for anyone but himself. It was here, in this hidden corner of the royal gardens, that Tasin allowed himself a rare moment of solitude.

A silver tray sat on the table beside him, laden with ripe, freshly picked fruits—a collection of figs, grapes, and pomegranates, glistening with droplets of condensation. Tasin reached for a small cluster of grapes, lifting them to his lips with a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers brushing the cool metal of his rings as he did so. The fruit burst sweetly on his tongue, a rich, satisfying contrast to the tension that often gripped him in the throne room or the war council.

The pavilion was perched on a slight rise within the gardens, offering an unspoiled view of the sun sinking behind the distant hills. The shadows of the palace walls stretched long and languid across the grounds, and the air was filled with the gentle murmur of the ornamental fountain nearby, its water flowing endlessly over smooth stone. Tasin’s amber eyes, which often held a sharp, intense stare.