Red Lines

[AMAL POV]

The silence was deafening. Even the fountain seemed to have stopped its gentle bubbling. A hundred pairs of eyes watched in stunned horror as I stood there, my hand pressed to my burning cheek, staring at my husband with something that felt like the death of every dream I'd ever had.

"You..." I whispered, my voice barely audible. "You struck me."

A woman somewhere behind me gasped. Another let out a strangled cry. The whispers began like rustling leaves—urgent, scandalized, spreading through the crowd like wildfire.

"Did you see—"

"The Prince just—"

"His own wife—"

"In front of everyone—"

Idris's face had gone white, his hand still raised as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd done. But his eyes... his eyes held no regret, only a cold fury that made my blood turn to ice.

"You have forgotten yourself," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And your place."

My place. The words hit harder than his hand had. I was the Princess, the future Queen, and he had just struck me like the old disobedient servant in front of the entire court. The humiliation was so complete, so absolute, that for a moment I couldn't breathe.

Lady Nadia stood frozen, her face a mask of shock and something that might have been satisfaction. She had watched my husband strike me and said nothing. Done nothing.

I lowered my hand slowly, feeling the phantom heat of his palm still burning against my skin. When I spoke, my voice was steady as stone.

"My place," I repeated, and the words carried the weight of a curse. "Yes, I think I understand my place now."

The crowd parted as I moved through them, their whispers following me like hungry ghosts. I walked with my head high, my spine straight, every inch the princess I had been trained to be. But inside, something fundamental had shattered.

Behind me, I heard Idris's voice, low and urgent, speaking to Lady Nadia. Apologizing, perhaps. Explaining. Making excuses for why he had just publicly humiliated his wife to defend his former lover's honor.

But I didn't turn back. I couldn't. Because if I looked at him now, if I saw any trace of the man I thought I'd married, I might crumble entirely.

The whispers grew louder as I reached the palace doors:

"Never seen anything like it—"

"Poor girl—"

"What will this mean for—"

"The scandal—"

With that, I disappeared into the palace, leaving behind the shocked silence and the weight of their stares. I could hear Idris calling my name, but I didn't turn back.

Let him explain to his precious Lady Nadia why his wife was so unreasonable. Let him apologize for my behavior while she played the gracious victim.

But as I reached the palace doors, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass. My eyes were bright with unshed tears, my cheeks flushed with anger and humiliation. I looked wild, unhinged, everything a princess should never be.

And for the first time since my wedding day, I looked real.

Mira caught up to me in the corridor. "Your Highness, that was—"

"Necessary," I finished, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "Long overdue."

"Your Highness, the prince seemed quite... displeased."

I laughed, the sound bitter and sharp. "The prince can go to hell. Along with his charming friend and anyone else who thinks I'll stand by quietly while my marriage becomes a joke."

I had declared war, and I was done pretending to be anything other than what I was.

Let them all learn what happened when they mistook my perfection for weakness.

The following evening, I dismissed my ladies-in-waiting with a finality that brooked no argument. The humiliation of the festival still burned in my chest like swallowed fire, but it had crystallized into something sharper, more focused. I would no longer beg for scraps of affection or perform like a trained pet for his approval.

No. Tonight, I would claim what was mine by right.

I spent hours in preparation, but not the careful, studied preparation I had practiced under the noble ladies' tutelage. This was war paint, armor donned for battle. I bathed in milk and honey until my skin was silk-smooth, applied oils that made me gleam like polished marble in the lamplight. Every hair was removed, every surface perfected until I was a vision of feminine perfection designed for one purpose only.

The servants transformed our chambers at my command. Gone were the formal arrangements, the careful positioning of furniture that spoke of respectful distance. In their place: scattered rose petals, the warm glow of dozens of candles, silk curtains that caught the light and cast everything in golden shadows. The air hung heavy with frankincense and jasmine, creating an atmosphere of sensual luxury that would have made the courtesans of legend envious.

I draped myself in a gown of deep burgundy silk that clung to every curve, its neckline cut daringly low. The emerald necklace rested against my throat like a collar of possession.

I sent word through my most trusted servant: "Tell His Highness that his wife requests his presence in their chambers. Tonight."

The response came back within the hour, carried by the same servant whose eyes couldn't quite meet mine: "His Highness sends his regrets. He has... pressing matters to attend to this evening."

Pressing matters. The euphemism was so transparent it was almost insulting. I could picture him perfectly—sharing juice with Lady Nadia in some private alcove, their heads bent together in intimate conversation, her laughter echoing through whatever chamber they had chosen for their reunion.

"Send word again," I said, my voice deadly calm. "Tell His Highness that this is not a request."

This time, the wait was longer. When the servant returned, his face was pale with the awkwardness of his position.

"Your Highness, the Prince says... he says that he will attend you when his current obligations are complete."

Current obligations. As if I were some minor administrative task to be dealt with when convenient.

"I see," I said, my smile sharp enough to cut glass. "Then perhaps His Highness needs a reminder of what his primary obligation actually is."

I swept from the chambers, my silk gown rustling like angry whispers. The corridors seemed to part before me as I made my way through the palace, servants and courtiers alike stepping aside when they saw my expression. I was a storm given human form, and everyone could sense the violence crackling in the air around me.

I found them in the library—of course it was the library, that sanctuary of intellectual intimacy where minds could meet and souls could touch without anyone questioning the propriety of it. They sat close together on a cushioned divan, a juice service between them, their conversation so absorbed that neither noticed my approach until I was standing directly before them.

"Your Highness," I said, my voice carrying the false sweetness of poisoned honey. "How delightful to find you here. With your... pressing matter."

Idris looked up sharply, his expression shifting from surprise to wariness to something that might have been guilt. Lady Nadia, to her credit, maintained her composure, though I caught the slight tightening around her eyes.

"Amal," he said carefully, setting down his cup. "I thought you were resting."

"Resting?" I laughed, the sound high and brittle. "No, darling. I was preparing. I sent word requesting your presence in our chambers, but I was informed that you had... other priorities."

The silence stretched between us like a drawn blade. Lady Nadia made a small movement as if to rise, but I fixed her with a stare that could have frozen blood.

"Please," I said, my voice dripping with false courtesy. "Don't let me interrupt. I'm sure whatever you're discussing is far more important than a wife's desire for her husband's company."

"Amal, you're being unreasonable," Idris said, his voice carrying the same tone of barely controlled frustration that had preceded yesterday's violence. "Lady Nadia is only visiting for a few days. We have plenty of time for... domestic matters."

Domestic matters. The words hit me like a physical blow. I was a domestic matter, to be attended to when more interesting concerns had been exhausted.

"Domestic matters," I repeated, my voice rising with each word. "Is that what you call your wife? A domestic matter?"

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Do I?" I stepped closer, my eyes never leaving his face. "Because from where I stand, it seems quite clear where your priorities lie. Lady Nadia visits for a few days, and suddenly I become an inconvenience to be managed around your... reunion."

Lady Nadia finally spoke, her voice carefully modulated. "Your Highness, I think there may be some misunderstanding—"

"Oh, there's no misunderstanding," I cut her off, my gaze sliding to her like a knife finding its target. "I understand perfectly. You waltz back into my husband's life, and suddenly I'm expected to wait patiently while you two relive old times. But here's what you both seem to have forgotten."

I turned back to Idris, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I am not some convenience to be scheduled around your social obligations. I am your wife. And yesterday, in front of the entire court, you struck me to defend her honor."

The words hung in the air like an accusation. Idris's face had gone pale, but his jaw was set in that stubborn line I was learning to hate.

"You were behaving inappropriately," he said coldly. "You embarrassed yourself and dishonored our name."

"I embarrassed myself?" The fury that had been building all day finally erupted. "I stood up for my marriage, and you humiliated me in front of every noble in the kingdom! Do you have any idea what they're saying? What they're thinking?"

"What they're thinking is irrelevant."

"Is it?" I laughed, the sound harsh and desperate. "They're saying you don't love me. They're saying I'm a placeholder, a political convenience that can be discarded when something better comes along. They're saying our marriage is a sham, that you publicly chose another woman over your own wife."

"That's not—"

"That's exactly what happened!" I was shouting now, beyond caring who might hear. "And now you sit here, drinking the finest beverages with her, while I wait in our chambers like some forgotten concubine!"

"Amal, calm yourself."

"Calm myself?" I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried more menace than my shouts. "You want me to calm myself? Fine. Let me tell you what's going to happen. You're going to prove them wrong."

"What are you even talking about?" He looked at me like I was a spoiled child throwing a tantrum.

"You're going to give me a child." The words came out with absolute certainty, as if I were declaring a law of nature. "Tonight. Now. You're going to come to our chambers and I'm going to bear you an heir."

Lady Nadia's face had gone white, while Idris stared at me as if I'd lost my mind.

"Amal, this is not the time nor the place for—"

"This is exactly the time and place," I interrupted, my voice gaining strength with each word. "Because she's leaving in a few days, isn't she? And then what? You'll pine for her from afar while your wife grows round with your child? You'll remember these precious few days while I give you the heir that will secure your line?"

"You're not thinking clearly."

"I'm thinking more clearly than I ever have." I moved closer until I was standing directly in front of him, my voice dropping to an intimate whisper that somehow excluded Lady Nadia entirely. "You can have your reunion. You can relive whatever golden memories you shared. But I will be the mother of your children. I will be the one who gives you the future. And no matter who else you fancy yourself in love with, that child will bind you to me in ways your precious Lady Nadia never could."

Something flickered across his face—surprise, perhaps, or recognition of the trap I was laying. But I wasn't finished.

"Do you think she'll wait for you forever? Do you think she'll be content to be your eternal 'what if' while you do your duty with your wife? She's a widow now, Idris. Free to remarry. Free to choose her own path. And if you think she'll waste her life pining for a married man, you're more naive than I thought."

I saw the words hit their mark. Lady Nadia's sharp intake of breath told me I had struck true. She was indeed free to remarry, free to find someone who could offer her more than stolen moments and nostalgic conversations.

"But I," I continued, my voice gaining power, "I will still be here. I will still be your wife. And when I'm heavy with your child, when I give you a son, everyone will know that you chose me. That you made me the mother of your heir. That whatever... feelings... you might have for others, your future belongs to me."

"This is madness," he said.

"Is it?" I tilted my head, studying him with eyes that felt ancient and knowing. "Or is it the sanest thing I've ever said? You struck me yesterday. In front of everyone. To defend her. The scandal is already spreading through the kingdom like wildfire. But if I'm with child within the month, if I'm visibly carrying your heir, what will they say then? They'll say you were protecting your family. They'll say you were defending the future mother of your children."

I leaned closer, my breath warm against his ear. "Give me a baby, Idris. Give me something she can never take away. Something that will make me irreplaceable."

The silence stretched between us like a taut wire. I could feel Lady Nadia's presence like a weight at the edge of my vision, but I kept my eyes fixed on my husband's face, watching as he processed my words, my demand, my desperate gambit.

Because that's what it was—desperation dressed up as strategy. All my life, I had been expendable. The cursed daughter who brought misfortune, the political bride who could be discarded if necessary. But a mother? The woman who bore the heir to the throne? That was a position no one could take from me.

Not even her.

"Please," I whispered, and for the first time in our marriage, the word carried real vulnerability. "Come to our chambers. Be my husband. Give me what I need to be more than just... domestic matter."

I straightened, my mask of desperate determination sliding back into place. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to spend the evening reminiscing about the past instead of creating the future."

The choice was laid out before him like a chess move—and we both knew that whatever he decided would determine not just the rest of our evening, but the entire trajectory of our marriage.