chapter 8:

As Shazad slumbered, a mysterious figure slipped into the hospital room, their red heels clicking softly on the floor. The long coat billowed behind them like a dark cloud, and their eyes gleamed with an air of secrets untold. They approached the bedside, their gaze fixed on the prince's tranquil face, and deposited a single page on the desk.

The paper seemed to whisper secrets, its presence commanding attention. Shazad's eyes fluttered open, and he sensed an unseen force lingering in the room. His gaze drifted to the page, and as he read the words, his expression transformed.

His eyes widened, and his brows furrowed in disbelief. His lips parted, as if to speak, but only a faint whisper escaped. His face paled, and his chest rose and fell with quickened breaths. The page seemed to hold a power that shook the very foundations of his being.

The mysterious figure watched, their eyes gleaming with a knowing intensity, as Shazad's world was turned upside down. They seemed to savor the prince's shock, their presence a reminder that secrets can be both weapon and shield.

As Shazad's mind raced to comprehend the revelation, the figure vanished as silently as they appeared, leaving behind only the echoes of their red heels and the haunting question: what secrets lay hidden in the shadows, waiting to be unveiled?

Shazad's voice was laced with urgency as he summoned Daniel, his mind racing with the mysterious page's revelations. Daniel entered, his expression inquiring, "Why the summons, Your Highness?"

Shazad's eyes narrowed, his voice low and intense, "The food sent to my room last night...who was behind it?"

Daniel's brow furrowed, "Only a pink ribbon and a note, sir. No indication of the sender."

Shazad's gaze burned with determination, "Where is the note, then?"

Daniel produced the note from his pocket, and Shazad's fingers trembled as he opened it. The words danced before his eyes, an Italian poem that spoke of vengeance against the royal family:

"La vendetta è un fuoco che brucia dentro

Una fiamma che divora, senza pietà

La famiglia reale, un bersaglio facile

Un obiettivo da colpire, senza rimpianto"

(Revenge is a fire that burns within

A flame that devours, without mercy

The royal family, an easy target

A goal to strike, without regret)

Shazad's face paled, his lips compressing into a thin line.

Daniel's eyes widened, his face set in a mask of concern, "Your Highness, what does it say?"

Shazad's voice was barely audible, "A threat...a promise of revenge."

As he opened the second note, his eyes scanned the words, another Italian poem that sent a chill down his spine:

"Non ti voglio uccidere, solo torturare

Far ti soffrire, senza pietà

La tua mente, un labirinto di paura

La tua anima, un'inferno di dolore"

(I don't want to kill you, only torture you

Make you suffer, without mercy

Your mind, a labyrinth of fear

Your soul, a hell of pain)

Shazad's face twisted in anguish, his mind reeling with the sinister intentions. Daniel's expression mirrored his own, shock and fear etched on his face.

The room seemed to darken, the shadows closing in on them. Shazad's thoughts raced with the weight of the threats, the royal family's safety hanging in the balance. His eyes locked onto Daniel's, a silent understanding passing between them - they had to unravel the mystery before it was too late.

As Nazia entered the grand hall of the royal house, she was met with the warm smile of her brother, Ali. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he embraced her, "Nazia, it's so great to see you! I've missed you so much!"

Nazia's face lit up with joy, "Ali, my brother! I've missed you too! It's been far too long!"

Ali led her to a lavish sitting area, adorned with intricate tapestries and plush cushions. "Come, let us catch up. I have so much to tell you."

As they sat together, Nazia noticed a subtle change in Ali's demeanor. His usual carefree spirit seemed tempered by a hint of concern. "Ali, what's wrong? You seem troubled."

Ali's expression turned serious, his voice low and urgent. "Nazia, I have something important to share with you. Something that affects us all."

Nazia's heart quickened with anticipation, "What is it, Ali? Please tell me."

And with that, Ali began to reveal a secret that would shake the very foundations of the royal family...

As Ali uttered the words, "I saw Salina," the air in the room seemed to thicken, heavy with an unspoken truth. Nazia's eyes widened, her gaze piercing through the shadows, as she demanded, "Where? She was dead! So how could you have seen her?"

The silence that followed was oppressive, a palpable weight that pressed upon the siblings. Ali's words hung in the air, a challenge to the very fabric of reality. Nazia's question was a dare, a provocation to confront the impossible.

The flickering candles cast eerie shadows on the walls, as if the darkness itself was alive and watching. The wind outside whispered secrets, its gentle caress a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within.

Nazia's voice was a razor's edge, cutting through the tension, "How, Ali? How could you have seen her, when death had already claimed her?"

Ali's eyes locked onto Nazia's, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. "Remember the pink ribbon, Nazia? The one we saw on her head last time? And we never saw her body, did we? So, can we be certain she's really dead?"

The words hung in the air like a challenge, a thread of doubt that Nazia couldn't help but tug on. She felt a shiver run down her spine as she recalled the delicate ribbon, its soft pink hue a stark contrast to the darkness that had unfolded.

"And what if she's not?" Nazia whispered, her mind racing with the implications. "What if she's somehow connected to all of this?"

The silence that followed was oppressive, a heavy blanket that suffocated the room.

As the grand doors of the royal house swung open, a stately figure emerged, her presence commanding attention. Mrs. Mansabdar's eyes sparkled like diamonds as she beheld her son, Ali, standing before her. A warm smile spread across her face, illuminating the room with a radiant glow.

"Ali, my child!" she exclaimed, her voice a gentle melody. "It's been far too long!"

Ali's face lit up with a mixture of surprise and delight as he embraced his mother, the tension in his shoulders easing in her warm embrace. Nazia, too, couldn't help but smile at the tender reunion, her heart swelling with affection for the family.

Mrs. Mansabdar's gaze swept the room, taking in the opulent decorations and the weight of history that hung in the air. Her eyes lingered on Nazia, and a hint of curiosity flickered in their depths.

"Ah, Nazia, dear," she said, her voice dripping with warmth. "It's lovely to see you again. I trust you're taking care of my son?"

The room was bathed in a sense of warmth and comfort, the very air seeming to vibrate with the love and connection that bound the family together.

As the tender moment between Ali and his mother lingered, Nazia's voice pierced the air, a hint of vulnerability beneath her words. "Mom, I'm also your daughter," she reminded, her eyes searching for reassurance. "He's come back, but that doesn't mean you forget about me."

Mrs. Mansabdar's expression softened, her gaze shifting to Nazia with a gentle understanding. "Oh, my dear, of course not," she said, her voice a soothing balm. "Your father is in a meeting, but he'll be back tomorrow. He's always thinking of you, Nazia."

Mrs. Mansabdar's hands fluttered, a maternal gesture. "Now, go, my son, and take some rest. You must be exhausted. I'll prepare dinner for you."

As Ali nodded and departed.

"What's wrong, mom?" Nazia asked, her voice laced with concern.

Mrs. Mansabdar's expression turned grave. "I'm worried about his safety, Nazia. With everything that's been happening...I can't shake off the feeling that something might happen to him too."

Nazia's face softened. "Don't worry, mom. He's safe. I promise."

Mrs. Mansabdar's eyes searched Nazia's face. "Has anyone gotten a clue about the murder? Any leads?"

Nazia shook her head. "No, mom. Nothing yet. But we're working on it."

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken fears and doubts, the shadows in the room seeming to grow longer and darker.