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Murat pov:)

I leaned back in my chair, my eyes fixed on the grand doors of the Sultanate court. Satisfaction hummed in my veins, but I masked it well. 

Every step of the game was playing out exactly as I intended, and this was only the beginning.

The Sultan's fury was almost palpable. His expression when I entered the court flanked by Abhiraj and Abhishake—the heirs to the most powerful neighbouring kingdom—was a sight to behold. 

For the first time in years, the man who ruled this empire with an iron fist faltered, his composure cracking under the weight of my move.

The silence in the court was deafening. Advisors, commanders, and sycophants all stared, their disbelief mingled with fear.

They understood the significance of my actions. This wasn't a mere visit; this was a power play, a declaration that Murat was no longer just a shadow in this Sultanate.

I let the silence stretch, savoring the unease rippling through the room. Only one person seemed unbothered—Ammi. 

She sat gracefully, her smile subtle but knowing. She had always seen the potential others overlooked. She understood that every step I took was deliberate, that my recklessness was nothing more than a well-crafted illusion.

The Sultan's glare bore into me, his jaw clenched so tightly I wondered if his teeth would crack. He wanted to lash out, to strip me of this moment, but he wouldn't dare. 

Not with Abhiraj and Abhishake behind me, their mere presence solidifying my growing influence.

I rose from my seat slowly, deliberately. The tension in the room thickened as all eyes remained fixed on me. 

I met the Sultan's gaze, a smirk tugging at my lips, and inclined my head just enough to be polite but not submissive.

"I trust this display has proven my worth, Sultan," I said, my voice calm but laced with a sharp edge. "This is just the beginning."

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and strode out, leaving the weight of my words hanging like a storm cloud ready to burst.

The marble corridors echoed with the sound of my boots as I walked, my thoughts drifting to her—Chavi. 

Her innocence, her defiance, the way her lips trembled when I spoke of bleeding for her. She didn't realize it yet, but she was already mine.

A servant appeared before me, bowing low, interrupting my thoughts. "Prince Murat, there is... a situation in the east wing."

I stopped, my curiosity piqued. "What sort of situation?"

The servant hesitated, the flicker of fear in his eyes irritating me. "It involves the Sultan's guards... and a message for you."

I narrowed my eyes. A message? Delivered in such a way? It reeked of manipulation—or desperation.

"Take me there," I ordered, my tone sharp enough to make him flinch.

As I followed the servant, my mind whirred with possibilities. Was this a veiled threat? A warning? Perhaps even an attempt to test my limits. Whatever it was, they would regret underestimating me.

We reached the east wing, its dimly lit corridor exuding an eerie stillness. The servant motioned to a shadowed corner, then retreated quickly, leaving me alone. 

My eyes fell on a piece of parchment lying on the polished floor, weighted down by a dagger.

I approached, each step deliberate, and bent down to retrieve it. The dagger was finely crafted, its hilt embedded with rubies—a detail meant to catch my attention.

My pulse quickened, but I refused to let the unease show.

Unfolding the parchment, I scanned the words etched in bold, black ink.

"We know your weakness."

For a moment, the world seemed to slow. My grip on the dagger tightened as I reread the message, its simplicity a stark contrast to the storm it ignited within me.

They knew.

And if they knew, that meant Chavi...

My jaw clenched, my breathing steady but slow, a practiced effort to contain the rage building inside me. Whoever sent this had just signed their death warrant.

Because if they thought they could use her to get to me, they had no idea who they were dealing with.

Let the game begin.

I almost ran through the palace corridors, my chest heaving with a mix of rage and desperation. My so-called half-brother, the crown prince Sulaman—the Sultan's golden child—was behind this.

The message, the dagger, and the veiled threat to Chavi—it all reeked of his handiwork.

No, I wasn't jealous that he was the Sultan's chosen heir to the throne of Arub. I didn't care for the Sultan's favouritism or the royal charade. 

What I cared about was the fact that Sulaman was a twisted, power-hungry monster who'd stop at nothing to secure his claim, even if it meant killing his own blood. He'd tried to kill me countless times before.

Poisoned meals, rigged accidents, even a sword fight meant to "train" me as a boy—every attempt failed. I survived as my ammi the sultana already aware of his twisted plans, and that only seemed to fuel his hatred.

But now... now he had dared to target Chavi. The mere thought made my blood boil. She was my anchor in this storm, my one pure thing in a world of lies and betrayal. And Sulaman thought he could use her to get to me?

Not a chance.

My fists clenched as I reached his chamber. Without hesitation, I bashed the door open, the wooden frame slamming against the wall with a resounding crack. He was seated near the window, a goblet of wine in his hand, his smug expression barely shifting as he looked up at me.

"You've been busy, Murat," he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. "I heard you caused quite the stir in court today. But tell me, what brings you to my chamber so—"

My fist collided with his face before he could finish, the impact sending him stumbling back into his chair. The wine spilled across the floor, the crimson liquid pooling like blood.

He recovered quickly, his hand wiping at his split lip as his eyes narrowed. "You're going to regret that," he hissed before lunging at me.

We collided like wild animals, our movements fueled by years of suppressed hatred. His fist connected with my jaw, but I barely felt it through the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I responded with a solid punch to his stomach, doubling him over before he twisted my hand painfully.

"Is that all you've got?" I spat, smirking even as the pain shot up my wrist.

His response was an elbow to my chest, sending me stumbling back. But I recovered quickly, grabbing his collar and yanking him down with me as I tackled him to the floor.

 We crashed onto the cold marble, and I quickly straddled him, pinning him beneath me.

Before he could fight back, I pulled a small but razor-sharp knife from my belt and pressed it against his neck.

The blade's edge gleamed under the flickering lantern light, a thin line of crimson forming where it bit into his skin.

"Don't you dare involve Chavi in this," I snarled, my voice low and deadly. "I swear, Sulaman, if even a single strand of her hair is harmed, I'll slit your throat right here and now."

He stared up at me, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. And then, to my surprise, he laughed—a dark, guttural sound that sent a chill down my spine.

"You think you've won, little brother?" he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. "You think I'm afraid of your threats? You've already lost, Murat. The game was over the moment you let yourself care."

Something in his tone made my grip falter for just a second. And in that moment, his lips curled into a sinister smile.

"You don't even know, do you?" he continued, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Chavi... she's already—"

"Shut up!" I barked, pressing the knife harder against his throat, desperate to stop whatever he was about to say. But his grin only widened, the look of a man who had just won a battle I didn't even know I was fighting.

And that was when the door creaked open behind me.

I froze, my heart plummeting as I heard the soft, familiar sound of her voice.

"Murat...?"

Chavi.

I didn't dare look back. The knife trembled in my hand, my grip tightening as Sulaman's smile turned victorious.

"Looks like your weakness just walked in, brother," he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

I clenched my jaw, my mind racing as the room seemed to close in around me. Sulaman's laughter echoed in my ears, and for the first time in years, I felt the cold grip of fear.

And then, her voice again, quieter this time, filled with uncertainty.

"Murat... what have you done?"

My blood turned cold at the sound of her voice. Chavi. The one person I was fighting for, the one I wanted to protect at all costs, now stood in the doorway, her soft, trembling voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

"Murat," she repeated, the faintest waver in her tone. "What... what are you doing?"

I didn't move. Couldn't. My knife was still pressed to Sulaman's throat, his pulse pounding beneath the blade, and his wicked grin twisting my insides into knots.

"Go back," I growled, my voice harsher than I intended. "Chavi, leave. Now, PLEASE. "

But she didn't. Of course, she didn't. That wasn't who she was. She stepped closer instead, and I could feel her presence behind me, warm and soft and heartbreakingly familiar.

"Murat..." Her voice was gentler this time, like she was trying to calm a wild animal. "This isn't you."

"You don't know what he's done," I snapped, my grip tightening on the knife. "You don't know what he was planning to do to you."

"I don't care what he's done," she said, her voice firmer now. "I care about you. Put the knife down. Please."

Sulaman chuckled beneath me, the sound low and venomous. "Listen to her, brother," he drawled, his smugness cutting through my fury. "Be the hero she thinks you are. Walk away. Let her believe you're better than me."

I pressed the blade harder, a thin line of blood dripping down his neck. He winced, but his grin didn't falter.

"Murat!" Chavi's voice cracked, and the raw fear in it finally snapped something inside me. Slowly, reluctantly, I pulled the knife back, my hand trembling as I tossed it aside. It clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the tense silence.

Sulaman laughed again, louder this time, the sound grating against my nerves. "What a touching moment," he sneered, sitting up slightly as I pushed myself off him. "The great Murat, brought to his knees by a woman."

"Shut your mouth," I hissed, the venom in my voice only matched by the burning rage in my chest. But before I could lunge at him again, Chavi's hand found mine, her delicate fingers wrapping around my wrist like an anchor.

"Enough," she whispered, her eyes pleading as they searched mine. "This isn't who you are. Let it go."

I wanted to scream. To rage. To tell her that this was exactly who I needed to be if I was going to keep her safe. But the look in her eyes—soft, desperate, and laced with an unshakable belief in me—was enough to make the fight drain out of me.

For now.

I took a step back, pulling her behind me protectively as Sulaman got to his feet, brushing off his robes with infuriating nonchalance.

"You should listen to her, Murat," he said, his tone light but his eyes dark with malice. "She's the only reason you're still breathing."

I didn't respond, my entire focus on keeping Chavi close. But as Sulaman moved to the doorway, he paused, turning to look at us with a smirk that sent a chill down my spine.

"You think you've won?" he said, his voice dropping into something darker, more sinister. "This is far from over, brother. And when the time comes, she'll regret ever choosing you."

With that, he was gone, his laughter echoing down the corridor like a haunting refrain.

I stood there, my chest heaving, my fists clenched, and Chavi's hand still gripping mine. I turned to her, my heart aching at the sight of the fear and confusion etched across her face.

"Murat," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What did he mean?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because deep down, I knew Sulaman wasn't bluffing.

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