The Window

[AMAL POV]

The silence in the library stretched like a funeral shroud. I watched Idris's eyes flick past me to the doorway, where I suddenly became aware of the soft shuffle of servants' feet, the whispered conversations of passing courtiers. The palace had ears, and my desperate proclamation had carried further than I intended.

His jaw tightened, and I saw the exact moment he realized the trap I had unknowingly laid. Not for him, but for both of us. My words about heirs and duty and his public humiliation of me—they were spreading already, I could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the flash of something that might have been panic in his eyes.

"Fine," he said, the word falling like a stone into still water. "You want to discuss this? We'll discuss it."

He stood abruptly, his movement so sudden that Lady Nadia startled. There was nothing of the gentle husband in his face now, nothing of the man who had once courted me with poetry and careful consideration. This was the prince who commanded armies, who made decisions that affected kingdoms.

"Idris," Lady Nadia said softly, her voice carrying a note of alarm. "Perhaps this isn't—"

"Mind your own business," he cut her off, his voice sharp as a blade. The cruelty of it made her recoil as if he had struck her instead of me.

His hand closed around my wrist—not gently, not with the care one might show a wife, but with the efficiency of a man handling a problem that needed to be resolved quickly and quietly.

"You want to be treated like a wife?" he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "Then let's go be married."

The walk to our chambers felt endless. His grip on my wrist was firm enough to leave marks, his pace quick enough that I had to half-run to keep up. The corridors that had seemed so familiar suddenly felt foreign, hostile. Servants pressed themselves against the walls as we passed, their eyes carefully averted, but I could feel their awareness like a physical weight.

What had I done? What had I demanded?

The regret hit me like a physical blow as we reached our chambers. The candles I had so carefully arranged now seemed to mock me with their romantic glow. The rose petals scattered across the floor looked like bloodstains in the flickering light. The silk curtains that had seemed so seductive now felt like prison bars.

"Idris," I whispered as he released my wrist, finally finding my voice. "I... perhaps we should—"

"Should what?" He turned to face me, and the look in his eyes made my blood freeze. "Should reconsider? Should pretend that half the palace didn't just hear you demand I give you a child? Should ignore the fact that you've made this into a public spectacle?"

"I'm sorry," I breathed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking clearly, I was just—"

"Just what? Just jealous? Just desperate? Just so pathetic that you'd rather force this than accept that some things can't be commanded recklessly?"

Each word was a dagger finding its mark. I had thought I wanted his attention, his focus, his time. But not like this. Never like this.

"I don't... I don't want to do this," I whispered, hating how small my voice sounded. "Not like this."

"Too late for that," he said, and began removing his formal robes with mechanical precision. "You made your choice when you decided to air our private business in front of the entire court. You want to be irreplaceable? You want to bind me to you? Then let's get this over with."

Get this over with. The words echoed in my mind like a death knell. This was what I had demanded, what I had fought for, what I had convinced myself I needed. But standing here in the candlelit room that now felt like a tomb, I realized I had never wanted anything less in my entire life.

"Please," I whispered, but I wasn't even sure what I was asking for anymore. Mercy? Forgiveness? For this to have never happened?

He didn't answer. There was no gentleness in his movements, no consideration for my fear or my sudden desperate desire to disappear. This wasn't making love, wasn't even the dutiful coupling of a political marriage. This was punishment, pure and simple. Punishment for my jealousy, my desperation, my foolish belief that I could force someone to care about me.

I closed my eyes and tried to vanish into myself, tried to find some corner of my mind where this wasn't happening. But there was nowhere to hide from the reality of what I had brought upon myself. This was what I had demanded. This was what I had fought for. This was my victory.

It lasted less than twenty minutes. When it was over, he rose without a word, without a glance, without the slightest acknowledgment of what had just occurred. I listened to the rustle of fabric as he dressed, the soft sound of his footsteps as he crossed the room, the quiet click of the door as he left.

And then I was alone.

I lay motionless on the bed, staring at the ceiling where shadows danced in the flickering candlelight. The rose petals that had seemed so romantic now felt like a cruel joke, their sweet scent mixing with the salt of tears that had somehow started falling without my permission.

But even as I wept, I felt empty. Hollow. As if something essential had been carved out of me and left to bleed in the dark.

The window drew my attention like a magnet. From our chambers on the third floor, it was a long drop to the courtyard below. Long enough to end this. Long enough to stop feeling like I was drowning in my own skin.

Should I jump? Will I fly? Najwa's words were right... Flying is the only way out..

Would anyone even mourn me? Would Idris feel guilt, or would he simply remarry someone more suitable? Someone who wouldn't demand impossible things or make public spectacles of private pain?

I thought about my family, about the curse that had followed me since birth. Maybe this was always how it was meant to end. Maybe I was meant to be the princess who couldn't be saved, who couldn't save herself, who couldn't even manage to be loved by the man she was supposed to spend her life with.

The tears had stopped falling, but not because the pain had stopped. They had simply run out, leaving behind only the dry, aching emptiness of a well that had been drained to its very bottom.

I pulled my knees to my chest and continued staring at the window, at the darkness beyond, at the promise of silence it offered. The candles continued their dance, the rose petals continued their mockery, and I continued to lie there, smaller and more worthless than I had ever felt in my entire life.

This was what I had fought for. This was what I had won.

And I had never felt more like losing everything that remained.

Dawn came without my permission, pale light creeping through the window I had stared at for hours. The candles had burned down to nothing, leaving behind only pools of hardened wax and the lingering scent of roses that now made my stomach turn.

I hadn't moved from where he'd left me. My body felt foreign, disconnected, like something that belonged to someone else. The silk gown I'd chosen so carefully lay crumpled on the floor beside the bed, a burgundy stain against the marble that looked disturbingly like blood in the morning light.

A soft knock at the door made me flinch. I wanted to ignore it, to pretend I had ceased to exist entirely, but the sound came again, more insistent.

"Your Highness?" Mira's voice, carefully neutral. "May I enter?"

I tried to speak, but only a croak emerged. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Come in."

She entered with the cautious movements of someone approaching a wounded animal. Her eyes took in the scene—the scattered rose petals, the burned-out candles, the empty cups, and finally me, still curled on the bed in my chemise like something that had been discarded.

"Your Highness," she said quietly, "I've brought your morning tea."

Tea. As if tea could wash away what had happened. As if anything could.

"I don't want it," I whispered.

"You need to drink something. You need to eat."

"I need to disappear."

She set the tray down on the side table and approached slowly. "Your Highness, may I...?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. She sat on the edge of the bed, her presence both comforting and unbearable. I wanted to disappear into the mattress, to become nothing more than a stain on the silk sheets.

"The palace is... talking," she said carefully.

Of course they were. My public demand, the way Idris had dragged me from the library, the sounds that must have carried through the corridors. By now, every servant, every courtier, every visiting noble would know exactly what had transpired.

"What are they saying?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"That you were... unwell. That the stress of hosting the festival affected your judgment."

Unwell. A kind lie to wrap around the ugly truth of my desperation.

"And Lady Nadia?"

"She left this morning. Early. Her party departed before dawn."

I felt something that might have been relief, or might have been loss. She was gone, but her absence felt like another kind of abandonment. At least when she was here, I had an enemy to focus on, a target for my rage. Now there was nothing left but the hollow ache of my own stupidity.

"Your Highness," Mira continued gently, "there's something else. Prince Idris has requested that you remain in your chambers today. He feels you might benefit from... rest."

Confinement. He was confining me to my chambers like a child who had misbehaved. The humiliation burned fresh, but I had no energy left to fight it.

"Of course he has," I whispered.

"Princess... what happened?"

I looked at her—really looked at her—and saw genuine concern in her eyes. Not the careful neutrality of a servant, but the worry of someone who had watched me slowly destroy myself and didn't know how to stop it.

"I got what I asked for," I said, my voice empty as winter. "I demanded to be treated like a wife, and he obliged."

"That's not... that's not what being a wife should be."

"Isn't it?" I laughed, the sound harsh and broken. "I'm a political marriage, Mira. A transaction. I forgot that for a moment and convinced myself I could demand something more, something real. But you can't force someone to love you. You can't command affection. You can only... submit to your function."

"Your Highness, you're worth more than—"

"Am I?" I sat up slowly, my body protesting the movement. "What exactly am I worth? I'm a wife who can't earn her husband's love. I'm a woman who threw away her dignity for the chance to feel wanted, even for minutes."

"You're the future queen."

"I'm a placeholder," I corrected. "A womb to carry his heirs, a face to stand beside him at ceremonies, a name to sign treaties with. Nothing more."

The words felt like stones in my mouth, heavy and bitter. But they were true. I had always been true, but I had been foolish enough to think I could change it.

"The physician has been summoned," Mira said quietly. "To... to check on your health."

Of course. To see if my desperate gambit had succeeded, if I was already carrying the child I had demanded. The thought made my stomach turn.

"What if I'm not?" I asked suddenly. "What if this was all for nothing? What if he... what if there's no child?"

"Then you heal," Mira said firmly. "You recover from this, and you remember who you are."

"I don't know who I am anymore," I admitted. "I thought I was someone who could fight for what she wanted. But I'm just someone who begs for scraps and calls it victory."

A commotion in the corridor outside caught our attention. Raised voices, the sound of rapid footsteps. Mira moved to the window and peered out at the courtyard below.

"Your Highness," she said, her voice tight with concern. "You should see this."

I forced myself to rise, my legs unsteady beneath me. At the window, I could see a crowd gathered in the main courtyard. Servants, courtiers, guards—all looking up at something I couldn't see from this angle.

"What is it?"

"There are... rumors," Mira said carefully. "About last night. About what happened. Some are saying..."

"Saying what?"

"That Prince Idris was... harsh with you. That your cries were heard throughout the corridor. That this morning, Lady Nadia left in tears."

The words hit me like physical blows. My private humiliation had become public speculation. The entire kingdom would know, would whisper about the prince who had treated his wife like a... like a...

"I need to go to him," I said suddenly, moving toward my wardrobe. "I need to fix this."

"Your Highness, you're confined to your chambers."

"I don't care." I pulled out a simple dress, my hands shaking as I tried to fasten it. "I need to apologize. I need to explain. I need to make this right."

"You can't make this right by apologizing for his behavior."

"It wasn't his behavior," I said desperately. "It was mine. I pushed him to this. I demanded it. I made him into a monster because I was too weak to accept that he didn't love me."

"Princess, stop."

"No, you don't understand. I ruined everything. I destroyed my marriage, my reputation, my future. And for what? For the chance to feel wanted for one night? For the desperate hope that I could make him choose me over her?"

I was spiraling, I knew it, but I couldn't stop. The weight of what I had done, what I had caused, was crushing me from the inside.

"I should have jumped," I whispered, sinking onto the bed. "I should have jumped when I had the chance."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? What's left for me now? A lifetime of being the wife he's ashamed of? Of knowing that every time he looks at me, he'll remember what I made him do? Of bearing children who'll grow up hearing whispers about how their mother was so desperate for love that she..."

I couldn't finish the sentence. The words were too ugly, too true.

"Your Highness," Mira said firmly, "listen to me. What happened was not your fault. You didn't make him do anything. You asked for your husband's time and attention, and he chose to respond with cruelty. That's on him, not you."

Mira's words should have been comforting, but they only made the ache in my chest worse. I couldn't accept that this wasn't my fault—couldn't live with the idea that I was simply a victim. If I was a victim, then I was powerless. If I was powerless, then I truly had nothing left.

"I need to see him," I said, standing abruptly and smoothing my dress. "I need to explain."

"Your Highness, you're meant to rest—"

"I don't care what I'm meant to do." I moved toward the door with more determination than I'd felt in hours. "I need to fix this before it gets worse."