Siyahgarh Kingdom.

In the quiet kingdom of Siyahgarh, far from the towering walls of Varenshah Palace, a small haveli stood hidden among orchards and dust-covered lanes. Inside, the air was still-like a breath held too long.

Begum Salma, Mehrunisa's mother, sat on the floor of the prayer room, the aged letter spread open on the prayer mat before her. Her trembling fingers smoothed its edges for the hundredth time, but the words still felt like thorns against her heart.

It was her husband's handwriting-fading, uneven, yet firm with purpose.

"She is the key. When the moon wanes and the shadow awakens, she must be there. Only then shall the blood-curse find peace. Only then shall I be free."

She pressed her fingers to her lips, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Her daughter, her light-Mehrunisa-had been sent to a cursed palace, all alone, bound to a man of stone and silence... only because of this letter. This promise.

"She's too young," Salma whispered. "You shouldn't have done this to her, Farid."

Behind her, the door creaked. Mehrunisa's younger sister, little Zari, stood with wide eyes, holding a glass of water. "Ammi... are you crying again?"

Salma quickly wiped her tears and opened her arms. Zari ran into them, burying her face in her mother's lap.

"She'll be fine, meri jaan," Salma said softly, trying to convince herself more than anyone. "Allah is with her. She's stronger than I ever knew."

Outside the haveli, a group of village elders discussed hushed rumors-about the Varenshah heir, the old curse, and the girl who had gone to fulfil her father's final will. But none dared say it aloud: if the curse awoke again... what price would be paid?

Back inside the haveli, Salma finished her prayer and folded the letter with trembling hands. She kissed it gently before placing it inside a wooden box-locking it away, though its weight remained on her heart.

She lit a small oil lamp and whispered beneath her breath, "Ya Allah, protect my daughter. Let her heart not break in that cold palace. Let her find warmth... even in the arms of a man marked by fate."

--------

At palace.

The first light of dawn spilt softly into the chamber, seeping through the intricate jharokhas carved into the palace walls. The golden hue settled over silk-covered cushions, cold stone floors, and the large bed that rested at the heart of the room-a bed now shared by two souls bound in silence and uncertainty.

Mehrunisa stirred first.

Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks as she opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the pale morning glow. For a moment, she forgot where she was-until she felt the warmth near her.

Kaif.

He was lying just beside her, though still distant enough to preserve respect. One arm rested behind his head, the other over his chest, rising and falling with each slow breath. His long dark hair spilt loosely over the pillow, and a faint shadow of stubble lined his jaw. Even in sleep, his face carried that same stillness-as if carved from the same stone that burdened his legacy.

Mehrunisa quietly pulled her dupatta over her shoulder and sat up. Her dress was a deep maroon angarkha, embroidered with golden threads-now slightly wrinkled from sleep. Her silver anklet jingled softly as she moved to fix her dupatta, brushing her hair behind her ears.

She glanced once more at Kaif, unsure of how to feel.

But before her thoughts could settle, he opened his eyes.

Their gazes met.

Neither spoke.

There was a moment-fleeting but heavy-where their silence said everything. The awkwardness. The awareness. The unspoken questions.

Kaif sat up slowly, running a hand through his tousled hair. His white kurta, now creased, hung loosely around him, and a black shawl had slipped down to the floor during the night. He looked at her-not with coldness, but with caution, as if still unsure whether to speak as a husband or remain the stranger fate had assigned her to.

Before either of them could utter a word, a gentle knock broke the stillness.

The door creaked open slightly, and Maha, one of the palace's oldest and most trusted maids, entered with a tray of breakfast and fresh rose water. Her eyes flicked between the two, and though she said nothing, the knowing smile on her face made Mehrunisa's cheeks flush.

"Good morning, princess, " Maha said cheerfully, placing the tray down on a low table. "You both slept well, I hope?"

Kaif looked away, standing up as he adjusted his shawl over his shoulders. Mehrunisa remained quiet, her fingers clutching the edge of her dupatta.

"Your room has become warmer now, prince," Maha added with a twinkle in her eye, "perhaps because it now has a heart inside it."

Kaif's lips twitched at that, but he said nothing. He gave one final glance at Mehrunisa before walking to the balcony, letting the morning breeze touch his face.

And Mehrunisa sat quietly, unsure if the warmth rising in her chest was embarrassment-or the beginning of something unfamiliar.

Later That Morning - Varenshah Palace

As the soft fragrance of sandalwood incense filled the hallways, Kaif stood in the shaded corridor just outside his chamber. His voice was quiet but firm as he addressed the head maid, Maha, who stood with her hands respectfully folded.

"Shift everything," he said. "Her clothes, her books, her perfumes... all of it. She will stay here now."

Maha gave a small bow, trying to hide her smile. "As you say, prince."

He nodded once and turned away, but not before catching a glimpse of Mehrunisa through the half-open lattice window-still seated quietly on the divan, the maroon folds of her angarkha trailing like spilled ink against the white floor.

---

Mehrunisa's Chamber - Moments Later

The room that had once been hers was now half-empty. The maids worked efficiently, folding her shawls and carefully packing her jewellery. Among them, her old friend Saliha, who had journeyed with her from home, watched it all unfold with wide, excited eyes.

"See?" Saliha whispered with a grin, helping fold a deep green dupatta. "I told you he'd bring you to his room. You're his wife, not a guest."

Mehrunisa rolled her eyes gently, trying to maintain composure, but her cheeks had already turned pink. "Saliha, please."

But Saliha only laughed and teased, "princess Mehrunisa of Varenshah Palace. Sounds lovely, doesn't it?"

---

Kaif's Chamber.

When Mehrunisa stepped back into the chamber, now fully hers, something felt different. Her carved jewellery chest sat beside the vanity. Her prayer rug was neatly placed by the window. Her favourite shawls were draped beside Kaif's midnight robes. It was no longer his room. It was theirs.

She stood near the mirror, adjusting the delicate pearl earrings Saliha insisted she wear. Her outfit was a soft rose-pink peshwas, the fabric flowing gracefully to the floor, with a faint golden shimmer that glowed in the morning sun. Her hair was parted neatly, a few strands falling along her cheeks, and a soft floral scent followed her every movement.

Kaif entered just as she turned slightly toward the mirror.

And for a moment, he stopped.

His gaze lingered-not intrusively, but with a quiet awareness. Her presence had changed the space. The chamber no longer felt cold or haunted. It breathed now. It glowed.

She noticed him, their eyes meeting briefly in the mirror. Neither said anything, but something passed between them-an unspoken recognition. Something tender.

"I... I'll come when you're ready," he said quietly, gesturing toward the open hallway. "Breakfast is being served in the marble courtyard."

Mehrunisa gave a small nod.

---

Marble Courtyard - Breakfast

The long marble courtyard was filled with light and laughter for the first time in years. A silver dastarkhwan was laid with bowls of honey, cream, fresh naan, and a range of traditional Balochi dishes-spiced lamb, roasted chillies, and sweet rice

Mehrunisa walked in beside Kaif, her head slightly lowered, but the soft breeze lifted her veil just enough to show the flush of her cheeks.

All around, the maids paused their work to steal glances. One of them whispered, "She looks like a queen."

Saliha giggled beside Mehrunisa and nudged her. "They're all looking. Especially he is," she said, tilting her head toward Kaif, who sat quietly but whose eyes hadn't left Mehrunisa since she entered.

Sitting beside him, Mehrunisa finally looked up, her eyes meeting his once again.

"Do you always eat so much spice in the morning?" she asked softly, trying to ease the silence.

He raised a brow, then glanced at her plate.

"Only when I'm trying to stay awake... or trying to impress someone," he said dryly, a subtle smile playing at the corner of his lips.

That made Saliha choke on her water while trying not to laugh. The moment softened into quiet warmth.

But even as they sat among light conversation and gentle teasing, far above-high in the abandoned western tower-a shadow moved.

A cloaked figure stood behind a broken pillar, watching them closely. A low, echoing chuckle rolled through the cold air.

"The key has found the door," the Watcher whispered. "And the palace has begun to breathe again..."

-----
The days in Varenshah began quietly, with sunlight slipping through the high arched windows and casting golden shapes on the cold stone floors. And ever since Mehrunisa had shifted into Kaif's chamber, a new rhythm had quietly taken root in the silence of the palace.

They were still strangers, in many ways-learning each other not through confessions but through glances, gestures, and the pauses between spoken words.

Each morning, Mehrunisa would wake before him. The rustle of her dupatta, the soft clinking of her bangles as she poured water into the small silver basin near the bed, became the gentle alarm of the household. She had taken a corner of the large room and filled it with her own quiet grace-an ornate comb, a pale pink shawl draped over a chair, and a small embroidered prayer mat.

When Kaif awoke, he would often find her at the window, silently brushing her hair, eyes lost in the courtyard below.

Their mornings began with breakfast in the west veranda. Saliha often joined them, serving with lighthearted smiles and occasional teasing that made Mehrunisa blush. Kaif said little, but he listened. His eyes, sharp and unreadable to others, often lingered on Mehrunisa longer than necessary-as if quietly studying how her presence softened the shadows in his world.

By afternoon, they would walk together in the gardens. Kaif never took her hand, never walked too close, but somehow, their steps always fell into the same rhythm. They spoke of simple things-the stars, the old carvings on the palace walls, stories from Mehrunisa's childhood-and sometimes, of nothing at all.

She once said to him, "You walk like someone who's been walking alone for a long time."

And he had replied, not meeting her eyes, "Maybe I was waiting for someone to walk beside me."

In the late hours, Kaif would excuse himself to meet with his advisors-elder statesmen, scribes, and men of counsel who had served the Varenshah line for generations. They would gather in the Hall of Guidance, where dusty scrolls and maps littered the long wooden table. Talk of trade routes, border disputes, forgotten taxes, and quiet rebellions filled the air.

Kaif listened with a brooding calm, occasionally offering a sharp, well-placed word. It was clear he had no desire for power-but duty clung to him like a second skin.

An old advisor once said, "You are the shadow of your father, but your silence speaks differently."

Kaif had simply answered, "I listen. Shadows hear more than kings do."

Every evening, he returned to their shared chamber.

Sometimes Mehrunisa was there, reading by the dim light of an oil lamp, or brushing her hair in the silver mirror. He watched her in those quiet moments-not as a husband, not yet-but as a man slowly realizing that her presence anchored something inside him.

One night, he found her asleep on the divan near the window. A shawl had slipped off her shoulder, and her fingers were curled softly against her chest. Kaif walked over and gently placed the shawl back over her.

She stirred, blinking awake, her eyes meeting his.

"I was waiting," she said softly.

He hesitated. "For me?"

She nodded once, eyes half-closed. "I don't like the silence when you're not here."

Kaif didn't reply. But when he walked to his side of the room and sat near the fireplace, his hand clenched gently-holding the warmth of her words like a secret.

--------
The wind howled low that night, curling through the empty corridors of the palace like an ancient lullaby. Far from the candle-lit warmth of the main wing, an old servant named Raheel, once trusted with the secrets of kings, walked cautiously through the east passage-where even guards avoided after sundown.

He carried nothing but a small oil lamp, the flame inside flickering wildly, as though disturbed by more than just the wind.

He paused, hearing something.

A faint echo of footsteps.

Turning around, Raheel saw no one. Yet he felt eyes on him-cold, calculating.

He tightened his grip on the lamp and walked faster. The air had changed. It felt heavier. Murmurs seemed to rise from the walls, voices of the past stirring awake. He passed a mirror that had long been covered in black cloth, but tonight, the cloth fluttered as if brushed by unseen hands.

And then... he saw him.

A man cloaked in black, standing between two crumbling pillars.

Raheel stopped, the lamp nearly falling from his hand.

"You shouldn't be here," he whispered.

The man didn't move. His face remained in shadow.

"She's awakened something," Shahzaib's voice murmured.

Raheel trembled. "This palace is cursed enough. Don't bring more darkness into it."

But Shahzaib only smiled faintly.

"You old men still believe in curses. I believe in justice."

Raheel's breath caught in his throat.

"She is the key. But keys can open... or destroy."

Shahzaib stepped back into the shadows, vanishing as if swallowed by the palace itself.

And Raheel, now alone, felt the silence close around him like a grave.
----------

...filling the silences with cheerful chatter that both softened the awkwardness and masked the tension lingering beneath their newfound companionship. Sometimes, she would catch Kaif watching Mehrunisa from the corner of his eye-his gaze quiet, not possessive but protective, as if he too was beginning to wonder what this marriage meant beyond duty.

Kaif, though still a man of few words, began lingering longer at the table. He asked about her homeland, about her mother, even once about her favorite sweet. And though his tone remained composed, Mehrunisa noticed the subtle shift-the way he now walked beside her instead of ahead, how he slowed his pace so her steps could match his on the cold marble floors.

One morning, as she poured rosewater into his cup, their hands brushed-just barely.

Neither spoke of it.

But later that day, a small white rose was placed beside her prayer rug, fresh with dew.

She found it before the dawn prayer. No name. No note.

But she knew.

---

In the evenings, the palace corridors echoed with softer footsteps, shadows no longer so sharp. Mehrunisa had taken to sitting by the small fountain in the inner courtyard after dusk, its gentle trickling easing the burden of her thoughts. Kaif would sometimes join her there, silently, each lost in their own world yet comforted by the other's presence.

One evening, as the call to prayer echoed from the distant village minarets, Kaif broke the silence.

"I wasn't prepared for this," he said quietly, his voice nearly lost in the breeze.

Mehrunisa turned to him, her eyes reflecting the lantern light.

"This marriage?" she asked.

He didn't answer at once. Instead, he looked up at the crescent moon.

"This... feeling of not being alone anymore."

She said nothing. Only watched him.

And then, she said gently, "Neither was I."

"Can you speak a little more?" She asked slowly looking down at the fountains.

"Like what?" He asked, staring back at her.

"Like friends do." She replied, and without a thought, he gave a nod.

They sat like that for a long time-two souls beneath a broken sky, uncertain, but not untouched by the hope that maybe, just maybe, something sacred was beginning to bloom.

---

But far above them, in the abandoned western tower where the Watcher lived unseen, the wind carried darker whispers.

"Let them grow close," the Watcher murmured, running long fingers over the cracked stone ledge. "Let the rose bloom in the shadow... before the thorn takes its due."

And as the moon climbed higher, a single candle flickered out in the eastern wing-where no one had dared to walk in years.

Not yet.

Not until the curse stirred again.
Not until the blood debt was claimed.

Assalam-o-Alikum readers.

How are you all? How was the chapter?? Do tell me me if you're finding this story interesting. And do share it with your friends.

Till update Allah Hafiz.

Keep reading...
Keep smiling...