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It is said that when in battle, one should never turn their back on their opponent. It gives way to immoral attacks manifesting in the form of gruesome wounds. This was every warrior's and every ruler's kalma since they were capable of understanding why wars were started to begin with. Now, Sultan Arzam Hyderi and Malka Zartasha Fahim Hyderi seemed to clutch that age-old piece of advice to their chests while staring at one another.
Neither dared to move their gazes away from their mark, one fearing the loss of his heart and one fearing the loss of her soul if they did so. The king of kings and his wife were in the midst of a battle of wills, with the weight of their stares falling heavier than the weight of iron weapons.
Arzam may have lived many fulfilling years before her but now there was only after; only the unsteady pace of his heart, the shaky exhale coming out of his mouth, and the dryness in his throat when he looked at his Malka.
During which Zartasha's face was a picture of deadly stillness with her mouth turned to the side in a pout and the skin between her brows creased in puzzlement. She did not understand why they were suddenly rooted in place, assessing and undressing each other through the dangerous art of eye contact.
Bearing the Sultan's stare was an unnerving thing, a rattling feeling even the Sherquli shehzadi felt in her bones. And the weight of his words from a few moments ago made something sink to the bottom of her stomach before it rose up to her chest again and fluttered at his slow blink, followed by the warm hands coming to rest upon her forearms.
Strong fingers wrapped around the sharp beading of her surkh blouse, holding her, feeling her, stilling her in her seat. As his face grew closer to hers, the silence between them turned into a thickening cloud of smoke. Like the moment between them, it turned suffocating when Zartasha realized he didn't seem like he would stop to elaborate on his earlier words any time soon.
Her own voice got caught in her throat when he trailed his hands upwards. His languid touch dragged across her skin, and she didn't know what to make of it. Did she focus on the chills running down her spine or on the scorching whisper his fingertips left behind? The thought was abandoned altogether when she felt him grasp her shoulders and lift her to stand.
Arzam, despite all his intentions to have her sit in front of him and pass his night staring at her - taking in her presence in his life and kingdom, understood what she currently needed was to explore that status on her own. Begrudgingly, he would leave her with the mehal's women. Zartasha would not require further instructions to start her own harem and begin ordering the working girls around. The idea brought a creeping grin to his face.
Upon spotting the growing glee twisting his lips, her senses sharpened once more and her eyes narrowed. The phantom smoke from a few moments ago had cleared but its remains still choked her throat when she asked, "What is my true role here? Am I some sort of spectacle you can't take your eyes off of, that you can't stop ogling?"
A rapid answer was out of him before she even realized what her deep-rooted insecurity had voiced, "Yes."
The supreme ruler of Kalthura cleared his throat and tightened his hold on Zartasha. His Malka didn't seem to like his answer so he spoke again before she reprimanded him in her hypnotic voice. The one she had when she looked at him with ghussa in her eyes and spit out brisk, rounded syllables from her tongue.
"You may not have fully grasped it yet but you are Malka. My jaan, the keeper of my kingdom's keys. And you are about to hold the reigns of your own kingdom in your hands too."
He looked up at his ceiling, the colours above meeting in the middle of the dome and clicked his tongue. Then he stole a look at her and flashed her a quick smirk, "Now, who wouldn't stare at a wonder such as you? The first female ruler to-"
Zartasha lowly hissed her contradiction to his statement, "There have been many consorts to kings before, there have been many queens but only in name before."
Arzam's hand moved to cup the side of her face when her previously narrowed eyes pinned him with a harsh glare. As if he was responsible, but that look is why he would be. The Sultan will make sure his Zar gets all that she desires from the world. Whether that be her throne, his heart, or someone's blood - if it meant that in the end, she would grace him with a small smile, he would ensure it.
Slowly shaking his head, he held on to hers and let go of the tight leash he had on his tongue. The depth of his feelings was apparent on his face when he told her, "You are not them, you will never be a lost name in history and I will make sure of it."
The king of kings suddenly pulled her face forward and the power in his body took her aback when he brought his own face down to connect their foreheads together. An unbridled sort of passion blazed through his eyes when he stared intently into her glittering black orbs. He couldn't help but murmur his most recent and most compromising raaz to her at the way her gaze searched his, prodding and wild.
"And you should know, Malka, that you are at the top of our food chain. This Sultan is yours to do with as you please. His heart has made its peace with being in your malkiat."
Quirking his brow, he asked her, "Doesn't that make you the first female ruler then? One who will not only rule upon mulks but also kings?"
The ferocity in his voice, the honesty in his quivering hold called to Zartasha. She believed what he had said to her. She found herself trusting him when he was lulling her into his arms so she looked to the floor and bit back the smile that wanted to decorate her lips at his words.
Sultan Arzam Hyderi knew his grip on the remaining threads of his sanity would slip out of his hands anytime now that he had seen what his shehzadi looked like when she shied away. His vision tinged red, his junoon forcing the predator in him out at the sight of her blushing cheeks and sharp kohl-lined eyes flitting up at him.
He worked his jaw and made a decision to give Zartasha over to her awaiting crowd of palace women. They needed to see their Malka and they needed to learn how to tend to his jaan.
That was the reasoning he fed the wehshi thoughts arising in his mind because the Sultan did not think his bride would appreciate him mauling her their first night bound together in matrimony.
There would be plenty of time for that sort of depravity later, right now the Malka needed to familiarize herself with the mehal's inhabitants. She needed spiritual guidance more than she needed him.
Swallowing thickly at the bitter realization, Sultan Arzam Hyderi tugged on her hand to bring her out of the throne room. He paused to look at her when Zartasha sardonically questioned, "Tired of staring at me already?"
A low and gritty chuckle shook his chest when he heard her, the concept entirely foreign. As if the Sultan could ever look at his Malka and not see different shades of her each time.
He let her in on another secret before he continued on his path ahead with her in tow, "Time will run out before I stop searching for your aks in everything I see."
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Zartasha felt an awful lot like a jilted lover when she was left with Rifat, the head of female ghulaams, to be led away to her chambers. She expected a group of notable women who took part in the mehal's affairs to be there, for they had to welcome her.
She did not assume the woman walking with her wanted to take part in conversation if the way she avoided looking at her was any indication.
Averting her eyes from sizing up the wobbling worker beside her, the Malka blew out a breath after telling herself it was better that no one was seeking out an opportunity to bother her during her time in Kalthura. No one except the godforsaken Sultan.
Zartasha frowned at coming to her old doors and upon further inquiry, she learnt that she had already been inhabiting the queen's shahi chambers since she had arrived in Qalmazar so there was no new set of walls to place her in despite her new status.
Rolling her eyes at Arzam's tactics, she entered the expansive room expecting tittering chatter but froze in place at the low hum coming from the woman sitting in front of her.
It was the same woman from the bazaar, only two young girls accompanied her this time. One was by her feet, massaging the timeworn limbs while the other stayed back, seeming to be in a hushed conversation with her.
Resting on the wraparound raised cushion seating by the effervescent vanity, the old woman was waiting to meet the Sultan's bride.
Zartasha broke out of her stupor fast and spoke in a hard tone, "How are you here? Who are you?"
Though the elderly vendor she had seen from what felt like ages ago seemed more at peace in the Hyderi mehal, her words were still nothing more than infuriating blocks of vague wisdom.
"Did I not say that crown calls to crown? SubhanAllah." She smiled with her wrinkled lips.
The Malka did not understand why a woman such as herself would go out of her way to tell her something she had already said and, surely, a commoner wouldn't be allowed into the Sultan's home.
What made it worst was this woman being in a personal area of the mehal with her own attendants. Zartasha glanced at her again and repeated herself. "That does not answer my question."
"Which question? You asked two."
Her initial assumption was correct, the crone seemed kinder under the gleaming lights of the Hyderi mehal so the Fahim heir only gave her a dry look in hopes that she would get a straight answer. Something that would dampen the fright rising in her chest at the thought that the old purveyor might be leading a rebellious group or looking to attack someone belonging to the mehal.
Before her primal instincts could come alive, the elderly woman decided to tell her the truth. She owed it to her Malka.
So, she told her a few things - that her own name was Amna, that the girl loosening the knots in her calves was called Kanwal, that the giggly young woman behind her in brighter clothing than the rest of the workers Zartasha had seen was her daughter; Mahrosh, that she was related to the Sultan through his parents, and the reason why she was housed at the Hyderi mehal was Arzam's adamant belief about his victories on the battlefield being a result of the power in his father's sister's duas.
The Malka was surprised about the way the elderly woman was related to Arzam but she tried to not let it show. Anger built inside her once again when she realized her purchasing the burka from that tent was not a play of fate but rather a meeting the Sultan must have been eager to arrange.
Before Zartasha could turn around to go on a hunt for him - for the purpose of raging at him, she saw Amna bibi getting up with Mahrosh's support.
Kanwal walked forward to open the door for her exit when the old woman paused in front of Zartasha and pressed something warm into her palms as a farewell.
It was only when the large chambers were quiet and she was alone that Malka Zartasha Fahim Hyderi dared to look at her old gold ring.
The feeling that rose in her chest was one of desperation. It reminded her of how much things had changed since the day she had set foot outside of Sherqul.
Zartasha lost all her ghussa and stifled a small cry at her nostalgia.
She missed her home.
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