Chapter 4 When Crown cast Shadows
The palace gardens breathed with fragrance that evening, the air rich with lavender and night-blooming roses. Moonlight spilled over marble statues, and water trickled from a fountain shaped like a swan in flight. Nahim Jane walked slowly along the winding path, her cloak trailing softly behind her. The banquet had ended hours ago, but the echo of its noise still lingered in her ears.
It was in the gardens she often found a semblance of peace. Here, the chatter of nobles could not reach her, and the walls that pressed so tightly around her crown seemed to loosen. Tonight, however, tranquility eluded her.
Lord Alaric’s words at the banquet returned again and again. “You carry the kingdom’s future in your hands. Do not squander it on fleeting distractions.” They had sounded like concern, but to Nahim, they felt more like a warning cloaked in charm.
She stopped beside the fountain, tracing the edge of the stone with her hand. Her reflection rippled in the water—a young woman weighed down by legacies too heavy for her shoulders. She wondered how much of her life truly belonged to her, and how much had already been claimed by duty.
---
The sound of footsteps broke her thoughts. Turning, she saw Maren approaching, a lantern in hand.
“My lady,” the older woman said gently, “it grows late. The council meets tomorrow at dawn. You will need rest.”
Nahim sighed, though she smiled faintly. “Rest seems a distant friend these days.”
Maren studied her carefully. “Something troubles you more than the crown.”
Nahim hesitated, then admitted, “When I walk among the people, I feel something stir within me. It is as if the kingdom has a soul beyond these halls. I wonder if I have been blinded all this while by the walls of the palace.”
Maren’s gaze softened. “The people love you, Nahim Jane. But love can change swiftly when mixed with hunger or envy. Be cautious where your heart wanders.”
Her words lingered even after Maren departed, leaving Nahim alone once more in the silver-lit garden.
---
The next morning, Eldoria’s council assembled. The grand chamber was filled with men draped in velvet and brocade, their faces stern, their eyes calculating. Nahim sat at the head of the table, her presence commanding though her youth stood in contrast to their seasoned years.
Lord Alaric was among them, his voice strong and persuasive. “Trade with the northern provinces grows weak. We must forge alliances through marriage. Eldoria cannot risk standing alone.”
His gaze lingered on Nahim as he spoke, though no one dared to name aloud what he implied.
She listened, her hands folded neatly before her. “Marriage may strengthen bonds, but it also risks chaining Eldoria to ambitions not our own. I will not hasten to tie the kingdom’s fate to hands I do not trust.”
The room murmured, some nodding in agreement, others shifting uneasily. Alaric smiled smoothly, though his eyes hardened for a fleeting moment.
“You speak wisely, my lady,” he said with practiced respect. “Yet wisdom sometimes demands sacrifice.”
Nahim held his gaze, unyielding. “Sacrifice, yes. But never surrender.”
---
When the council dispersed, she walked through the palace corridors, her mind heavy with the weight of their expectations. Every glance she received, every bow from passing servants, reminded her that she was not merely Nahim—she was heir, guardian, future queen.
And yet, in the back of her mind, she remembered the scroll seller in the market—Elias, with his quiet strength and unassuming presence. He had not looked at her with ambition or calculation, but with simple recognition of a soul meeting another.
The thought unsettled her, not because it frightened her, but because it felt like the first honest breath she had drawn in a long time.
---
That evening, she sought the city again. Disguised once more, she slipped past the palace gates. The streets were quieter after sunset, the lanterns casting soft glows over cobblestones. Merchants closed their stalls, lovers walked hand in hand, and musicians filled the taverns with low, lingering notes.
She found herself drawn back to the bookstall. Elias was there, arranging scrolls by the light of a single candle. He looked up as she approached, recognition flickering in his eyes.
“You return,” he said softly, as though surprised but not displeased.
Nahim lowered her hood just enough for him to see her face. “Your scroll has kept me company. Queen Liora’s tale is a mirror I had not expected to find.”
Elias studied her, then replied, “Perhaps you recognized something of yourself in her story.”
Her heart quickened. “And if I did?”
“Then you will need strength, as she did,” he said simply.
Before Nahim could answer, a loud voice cut through the quiet. Lord Alaric appeared at the far end of the street, his cloak trailing, his expression unreadable. He had no guards with him, but his presence carried the weight of power nonetheless.
Nahim’s pulse raced. She tugged her hood forward quickly, though she knew it was already too late.
---
The moment stretched. Elias glanced between her and Alaric, his jaw tightening. Alaric approached slowly, his eyes sharp as blades.
“My lady,” he said with deliberate politeness, “the city at night is no place for an heir alone. One might mistake your…companions.” His gaze flickered briefly toward Elias, heavy with unspoken disdain.
Nahim straightened her shoulders beneath the cloak. “And yet, here I am, and unharmed.”
Alaric’s lips curved faintly, but there was no warmth in the smile. “For now.”
The tension pressed like a storm waiting to break. Elias lowered his eyes but stood his ground, refusing to shrink back. Nahim felt the weight of two worlds tugging at her—one of power, politics, and expectation, and another of honesty and unvarnished truth.
She knew this moment would not be forgotten. Not by Elias. Not by Alaric. Not by herself.
---
As she returned to the palace that night, her heart pounded with questions she could not silence. The kingdom’s mirage shimmered more fragile than ever, and she realized she stood at the edge of something dangerous, though she could not yet name it.
Beneath the veil of duty, whispers stirred—whispers of choice, of love, of power. And Nahim Jane, heiress of Eldoria, could no longer pretend she did not hear them.
