Princess Amal

[AMAL POV]

I woke on the floor.

The silk nightgown was twisted around my legs, damp with tears and wrinkled beyond repair. Candles had burned down to stumps during the night, leaving trails of hardened wax on the marble floor. The room smelled of smoke and dying flowers—the roses from yesterday's celebration were already beginning to wilt.

For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. Then it all came rushing back—the wedding, the joy, the devastating revelation. I pressed my face to the cold marble and wished I could disappear into it.

A soft knock at the door made me freeze.

"Your Highness?" Mira's voice was gentle, concerned. "May I enter?"

I scrambled to my feet, my body protesting after a night spent on the hard floor. My reflection in the mirror was a horror—eyes swollen from crying, hair matted, the beautiful nightgown stained and ruined. I looked like exactly what I was: a woman who'd been shattered.

"One moment," I called, my voice hoarse. I splashed cold water on my face and tried to smooth my hair, but there was no hiding what the night had done to me.

When I opened the door, Mira's face immediately creased with worry. "Your Highness, are you unwell? You look—"

"I'm fine," I lied, stepping back to let her enter. "Just... tired."

She wasn't fooled. Her eyes took in the wrinkled nightgown, the tear-stained face, the candles that had burned themselves out. "Where is His Highness?"

"His chambers." The words came out bitter. "He... he had business to attend to."

Mira's expression shifted, and I caught a flicker of something that might have been understanding. She'd been at court long enough to read between the lines. "I see. Well, you have a busy day ahead. The Ladies' Circle is expecting you for tea at noon, and there's a reception for the Merchant's Guild this evening."

The thought of facing people, of pretending to be the blissfully happy bride they expected to see, made my stomach turn. "I don't think I can—"

"You must," she said quietly, not unkindly. "You're a princess now, Your Highness. The court will be watching for any sign of... difficulty. Especially after such a grand wedding."

Of course. The performance had to continue. I was just changing roles—from the grateful bride to the dutiful princess. The show must go on.

"Help me dress," I said, my voice hollow. "Something appropriate for a new bride."

I sat surrounded by the most influential women of the court, a delicate teacup trembling in my hands. They were all smiles and congratulations, their voices bright with genuine happiness as they peppered me with questions about my wedding night.

"You're positively glowing, Your Highness," Lady Yasmin declared, though I knew she was lying. No amount of powder and paint could hide the devastation in my eyes. "Marriage suits you beautifully."

"The prince looked so handsome at the ceremony," Lady Fatima added with a dreamy sigh. "And so attentive! I don't think he took his eyes off you once."

"He's very devoted," I managed, the words tasting like ash.

"Such a romantic story," another lady chimed in. "A prince falling in love with a common woman and elevating her to his equal. It's like something from a fairy tale."

A fairy tale. If only they knew how right they were. Fairy tales were just stories people told to make the truth more bearable.

"Tell us about the proposal," Lady Alya prompted gently. "He has been so secretive about the courtship."

I stared down at my tea, watching the surface ripple with the tremor in my hands. "It was... unexpected. He said he'd never felt about anyone the way he felt about me."

I needed you to trust me, to open up to me, so I could present you to the court as something other than a desperate refugee.

"How wonderfully romantic," Lady Yasmin sighed. "And last night? Was he as gentle and caring as we all imagined?"

The teacup slipped from my nerveless fingers, shattering on the marble floor. Hot liquid splashed across my skirts, and I jumped up with a gasp.

"Oh, Your Highness!" Mira was immediately at my side with a cloth. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I... I'm sorry. I'm so clumsy." I was fighting tears again, my carefully constructed composure cracking.

"Perhaps you should rest," Lady Fatima suggested kindly. "The wedding celebrations were quite exhausting."

"Yes," I seized on the excuse. "I think I need to lie down."

As I fled the solar, I heard their whispered conversations behind me:

"Poor thing, she seems overwhelmed..."

"The prince will need to be patient with her. She's not used to court life..."

"Such a sweet girl, though. And so obviously in love with him..."

Obviously in love. Yes, that was the problem. My love was obvious to everyone—including the man who'd created it as a tool to control me.

The Morning After

I woke on the floor.

The silk nightgown was twisted around my legs, damp with tears and wrinkled beyond repair. Candles had burned down to stumps during the night, leaving trails of hardened wax on the marble floor. The room smelled of smoke and dying flowers—the roses from yesterday's celebration were already beginning to wilt.

For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. Then it all came rushing back—the wedding, the joy, the devastating revelation. I pressed my face to the cold marble and wished I could disappear into it.

A soft knock at the door made me freeze.

"Your Highness?" Mira's voice was gentle, concerned. "May I enter?"

I scrambled to my feet, my body protesting after a night spent on the hard floor. My reflection in the mirror was a horror—eyes swollen from crying, hair matted, the beautiful nightgown stained and ruined. I looked like exactly what I was: a woman who'd been shattered.

"One moment," I called, my voice hoarse. I splashed cold water on my face and tried to smooth my hair, but there was no hiding what the night had done to me.

When I opened the door, Mira's face immediately creased with worry. "Your Highness, are you unwell? You look—"

"I'm fine," I lied, stepping back to let her enter. "Just... tired."

She wasn't fooled. Her eyes took in the wrinkled nightgown, the tear-stained face, the candles that had burned themselves out. "Where is His Highness?"

"His chambers." The words came out bitter. "He... he had business to attend to."

Mira's expression shifted, and I caught a flicker of something that might have been understanding. She'd been at court long enough to read between the lines. "I see. Well, you have a busy day ahead. The Ladies' Circle is expecting you for tea at noon, and there's a reception for the Merchant's Guild this evening."

The thought of facing people, of pretending to be the blissfully happy bride they expected to see, made my stomach turn. "I don't think I can—"

"You must," she said quietly, not unkindly. "You're a princess now, Your Highness. The court will be watching for any sign of... difficulty. Especially after such a grand wedding."

Of course. The performance had to continue. I was just changing roles—from the grateful bride to the dutiful princess. The show must go on.

"Help me dress," I said, my voice hollow. "Something appropriate for a new bride."

The Ladies' Circle

I sat surrounded by the most influential women of the court, a delicate teacup trembling in my hands. They were all smiles and congratulations, their voices bright with genuine happiness as they peppered me with questions about my wedding night.

"You're positively glowing, Your Highness," Lady Yasmin declared, though I knew she was lying. No amount of powder and paint could hide the devastation in my eyes. "Marriage suits you beautifully."

"The prince looked so handsome at the ceremony," Lady Fatima added with a dreamy sigh. "And so attentive! I don't think he took his eyes off you once."

"He's very devoted," I managed, the words tasting like ash.

"Such a romantic story," another lady chimed in. "A prince falling in love with a common woman and elevating her to his equal. It's like something from a fairy tale."

A fairy tale. If only they knew how right they were. Fairy tales were just stories people told to make the truth more bearable.

"Tell us about the proposal," Lady Alya prompted gently. "He has been so secretive about the courtship."

I stared down at my tea, watching the surface ripple with the tremor in my hands. "It was... unexpected. He said he'd never felt about anyone the way he felt about me."

I needed you to trust me, to open up to me, so I could present you to the court as something other than a desperate refugee.

"How wonderfully romantic," Lady Yasmin sighed. "And last night? Was he as gentle and caring as we all imagined?"

The teacup slipped from my nerveless fingers, shattering on the marble floor. Hot liquid splashed across my skirts, and I jumped up with a gasp.

"Oh, Your Highness!" Mira was immediately at my side with a cloth. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I... I'm sorry. I'm so clumsy." I was fighting tears again, my carefully constructed composure cracking.

"Perhaps you should rest," Lady Fatima suggested kindly. "The wedding celebrations were quite exhausting."

"Yes," I seized on the excuse. "I think I need to lie down."

As I fled the solar, I heard their whispered conversations behind me:

"Poor thing, she seems overwhelmed..."

"The prince will need to be patient with her. She's not used to court life..."

"Such a sweet girl, though. And so obviously in love with him..."

Obviously in love. Yes, that was the problem. My love was obvious to everyone—including the man who'd created it as a tool to control me.

The Merchant's Guild Reception

The reception for the Merchant's Guild was a smaller affair than the wedding, but no less demanding. I stood beside Idris at the head table, playing the part of the devoted wife while he charmed the assembled merchants and their wives.

He was magnificent, of course. Dressed in deep green silk that brought out the gold flecks in his eyes, he commanded the room with effortless grace. When he spoke, people listened. When he smiled, they smiled back. When he touched my hand or whispered something in my ear, they sighed at the romantic picture we made.

"Your Highness," Master Omar, the head of the Guild, approached with his wife. "Allow me to congratulate you on your marriage. The prince has found himself a true jewel."

"Thank you, Master Omar." I managed to smile, though my face felt like it might crack. "You're very kind."

"The prince's happiness is written all over his face," he chuckled. "We've never seen him so content."

I glanced at Idris, who was indeed smiling. But now I could see it for what it was—a mask, perfectly crafted and utterly false. How had I ever thought it was real?

"My wife brings me great joy," Idris said, his arm tightening around my waist in a gesture that looked possessive and loving. To me, it felt like a shackle. "I'm the luckiest man in the kingdom."

"It shows, Your Highness. You both radiate happiness."

Radiate happiness. I wanted to laugh, or scream, or both. Instead, I smiled and nodded and played my part while dying inside.

The evening dragged on endlessly. Idris never left my side, never stopped touching me, never failed to look at me with apparent adoration. To the watching crowd, we were the perfect couple—the prince and his beloved bride, so obviously besotted with each other.

But I could feel the coldness radiating from him like winter wind. His touches were calculated, his smiles timed for maximum effect. When he leaned close to whisper in my ear, it wasn't endearments he shared but instructions.

"Smile more. You look like you're attending a funeral."

"Laugh when Lord Hakim tells his story about the merchant's wife. Everyone expects it."

"Stop flinching when I touch you. People will notice."

Each whispered command was delivered with a loving smile, his lips so close to my ear that anyone watching would assume he was sharing sweet nothings. The deception was flawless.

"I need some air," I whispered back during a lull in the conversation.

"No." His hand tightened on my waist. "You'll stay here and play your part."

"Please, I can't—"

"You can and you will." His voice was soft, loving, and absolutely final. "Smile, Amal. You're disappointing me."

The casual cruelty of it—the way he could make his disappointment sound like a lover's gentle reproach—nearly broke me. But I held on, somehow. I smiled and laughed and played my part until the last guest had departed.

"Not terrible tonight," Idris said, pulling off his jacket. "Better than this afternoon, anyway. Mira mentioned something about you dropping things."

I sat on the edge of the bed, still in my evening gown, too exhausted to move. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

"You didn't embarrass me. You embarrassed yourself." He hung his jacket carefully in the wardrobe, his movements efficient and impersonal. "The ladies seemed to think it was charming. New bride nerves or something equally ridiculous."

"You weren't concerned?"

He paused, giving me a look like I'd asked something particularly stupid. "About what? A broken teacup?" He shrugged, continuing to undress. "These things happen. Part of the adjustment period."

"The adjustment period?"

"You settling into your role. Learning the expectations." He sat down to remove his boots, not bothering to look at me. "You're a princess now. Act like one."

"I'm trying, but—"

"Are you?" He glanced up briefly, then back to his boots. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're wallowing in self-pity."

The casual dismissal in his voice hit me like a slap. "I'm not wallowing. I'm trying to understand what you want from me."

"I want you to do your job." He stood, moving toward the connecting door to his chambers. "Smile at the right people. Say the right things. Don't drop the china." He paused, as if remembering something. "Oh, and try not to look miserable all the time. It's tedious."

"That's it? That's all you are going to say?"

"You're a princess. You have wealth, status, protection. You'll never want for anything material again. Most women would kill for what you have."

"Most women aren't married to men who despise them."

"I don't despise you." He turned back to face me, his expression mildly curious, as if I were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "I'm indifferent to you. There's a difference."

Somehow, that was worse.

"You said you wanted honesty between us," he continued, "Don't tell me you think that I am being cruel. I'm being honest. You wanted me to stop lying—well, congratulations. No more lies."

"I wanted you to stop lying, not to... to treat me like I'm nothing."

"You're not nothing. You're my wife. You're the future mother of my children. You're a valuable political asset. That's considerably more than nothing."

"It's not enough."

"Then I suggest you find a way to make it enough." His hand on the handle. "Because this is all you're going to get from me, Amal. This marriage, this title, this protection. I suggest you learn to be grateful for it."

"Your Highne—"

"Look, I'm tired. Whatever this is you're doing—the tears, the dramatics—it's not going to change anything. So you might as well save your energy for something useful."

The door closed behind him with a soft click.