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"So, you are basically getting married," Ibrahim's voice came, light as usual, but there was this underlying seriousness that Amir Qasim could spot in it even from a mile away.

Amir Qasim sighed, as he carried on with his strides, one hand holding onto the reins of his horse, the animal walking slowly to match his steps as well. He and Ibrahim had just done their usual rounds at the field, and were now walking the horses back for they decided a stroll would be much better to discuss the issues at hand.

He had finally opened up to Ibrahim about the issue that has been bothering him—the same issue he could not exactly open up about the night before when he visited his house because a certain Fulani young lady has once again managed to entrance him, leaving him incapable of exploring such a topic that tore him apart internally. And that was the first response he got from Ibrahim who had quietly listened to him explain the situation to him—as his confidant and the only person he could open up to about what has been bothering him the most.

"I do not want to," Amir Qasim confessed earnestly, though not intending to give Ibrahim an excuse and was just expressing his sincere feelings.

Ibrahim offered him a small smile, the usual one he uses to lighten the situation. "You do not have a choice though the way I see it."

Amir Qasim sighed.

Ibrahim's smile widened slightly, though it was anything but amusing. In an attempt to lift some of his friend's burden, he then tried tease him. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I heard people say the Princess of Kubi is enchanting even. Wasu sunce kyawunta kaman na aljanu. It is that unreal. At least you will have a beautiful wife, yeah?"

Amir Qasim threw Ibrahim a look, somewhere in between wondering how the man would bring that up of all things, and once again rethinking his decision of them being friends entirely. When all he got in response was Ibrahim's usual light hearted expression, he shook his head, unable to share the man's mood. It appears Ibrahim does not quite understanding how he feels regarding this thing entirely.

"It is Kubi Caliphate we are talking about here," Amir Qasim stated, his voice stone cold. "The last thing I want, is to be entangled with them—especially not because of these so called responsibilities." He is not being ungrateful for the life he was born into, and never once has he complained of those responsibilities. It is just that this time around, those deep rooted feelings of his are being tested, and he was not sure if he could pass those tests. "A marriage is the most ridiculous thing ever in this case."

Ibrahim stared at Amir Qasim, not missing the look on his face, and the pure hatred that underlined his words. His smile wavered slightly, understanding the gravity of the situation. He of all people, as Amir Qasim's closest confidant, knows exactly how the man must be feeling at the moment—and thus knows no amount of advice he would give will actually go into the man's head.

But, that does not mean he would not give it to him.

"You know what, Yerima?" Ibrahim started, looking ahead as well as his hands held onto the reins of the horse he rode, and the sound of their steps along with that of the stallions was the only thing heard in the vast open space. "Whatever feelings you have against Kubi Caliphate should not influence the way you will treat her. After all, she is innocent in all of this. Do not let your emotions get the best of you. You are not that kind of person."

"It already has," Amir Qasim stated earnestly, his tone grim and cold, and Ibrahim almost flinched at the harshness in Amir Qasim's tone. The hatred he has for the Caliphate and those in it has extended to this innocent woman that would be thrusted into his life, and Ibrahim pitied the woman earnestly. Amir Qasim then turned his head around to look at Ibrahim. "She may become my wife, but Ibrahim you know that my heart only belongs to one woman."

Ibrahim narrowed his eyes at Amir Qasim, not sure he could ever get used to Amir Qasim blatantly confessing his interest towards his sister. He has been open about it for years now, never once wavering, and if he is being honest, then he would say he secretly hoped Amir Qasim would grow out of it—and this is all just a phase to him. Actually, no. He did not just hope—he prayed that Amir Qasim would grow to forget all about his sister and drop the topic.

And yet, two years later, there seems to be no sign of that. If Anything, the man's feelings only grows more evident, and he could not quite break the two since his sister seems fond of the man as well, unfortunately.

So, Ibrahim found himself sighing as he broke his gaze from Amir Qasim's, then looked ahead, before his voice followed. "Yerima..." He started, his tone though still soft as ever, lost its earlier lark. "...do you know why Baba has never allowed Mama and Nusaiba into the palace? And why he keeps them out of sight from the royal family entirely?"

Amir Qasim's brows drew in, then thought of the right answer to give. Truthfully, he had never thought deeply into it. He just thought it was because Malam Tukur is such a conservative man, that he keeps his wife and daughter out of sight to the extent that no one in the palace can actually say they know them. He never considered the possibility that there could be an ulterior motive.

So, Amir Qasim came to a conclusion, and then shook his head. "No, I do not."

Another sigh escaped Ibrahim's lips, and in that moment, he was not the child-like friend Amir Qasim knew him to be, but rather a man that could stand for his family. "Because the royal court is a dangerous place, and you know that more than anyone." His gaze found Amir Qasim's, and his frown deepened. "You more than any other person knows the type of life one lives in the royal palace. Our family may not have much, but at least we have peace of mind away from the politics of royalty. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

Amir Qasim's expression mirrored his friend's, a frown tugging the corner of his lips. "What are you trying to say, Ibrahim?"

"My sister is too innocent for a life there," Ibrahim stated, finally vocalizing his real thoughts regarding the entire thing to Amir Qasim. "She is from a humble home, way too innocent for the cruelty and life that awaits one behind the walls of the royal palace. Not just I, but if Baba and Mama are to hear of your intentions towards her, they will never agree. And even if they do, Yerima," He paused, a heavy weight pressing his heart down at the thought, "It is solely out of the respect they have for you, and thus, makes them unable to turn you down. But, not because they would want it as well."

Ibrahim does not have any problem with Amir Qasim—he can vouch for the man anywhere that he is a good person. And if he was not a royal, one of such high position, then he would be more than glad and honored to hand his sister over if she so desires. But, ultimately, the position and family Amir Qasim comes from---his poor, innocent, sister does not stand a single chance.

Amir Qasim was not quick to respond, it was obvious he was digesting Ibrahim's words and letting them settle in his mind. Truthfully, he had thought of that possibility, but hearing it from Ibrahim's lips made it sound even more real and serious, and he could not help but find himself in a state of doubt.

Ibrahim, upon noticing the state the man is in, then proceeded to add. "Not to mention, you will soon marry a Princess from a Caliphate as prominent as Kubi. Do you really think my sister stands a chance?"

"Ibrahim, she has my heart." Amir Qasim stated without a hint of hesitation, his words earnest.

Ibrahim offered him a sad smile. "But is that enough to guarantee her safety?" They both knew the answer. Ibrahim does not have any doubt that Amir Qasim adores his sister-he knows and believes that, but to be honest, in the real world, what exactly is love worth?

It is all but an emotion that is everlasting. Amir Qasim's love alone does not stand a chance against all the odds stacked against the young girl.

The man knew that as well, and hence, was rendered speechless by his friend's words. He is not one scared to admit his wrongs, and hence, cannot deny that Ibrahim's words were right. The man is indeed right—there are more cons to this than there are pros. But what can he do when even all these still does not make his mind sway? That it does not change the feelings he has for his Fulani?

"Ibrahim," Amir Qasim finally seemed to find his voice at long last, as he came to a complete halt in his strides, the reins in his hand making the stallion come to a halt as well. Ibrahim's action mirrored Amir Qasim's as they faced each other. "You are right, everything you have said, is right. But Ibrahim, you should know more than anyone what Fulani means to me. I will protect her, I always will."

Ibrahim held a hand to stop him, a crease forming between his brows as his frown deepened. "That right there," He pointed out, "That title alone is enough to throw my sister's life in a turmoil."

Amir Qasim may be saying it casually, and the said lady may take it as such but both he and Ibrahim knows what it means, anyone from the royal household knows what that title means. It is not just any small title that can be tossed aside here and there calmly.

When Amir Qasim did not say anything, Ibrahim found himself suspiring as silence lingered between them. It stretched for a couple of seconds more, before he eventually broke it.

"Yerima, as Nusaiba's brother, the only thing I ask of you, is to spare my sister from the cruelty of life within the walls of the royal palace." His expression then softened. "And as your friend, the only advice I can give you, is to accept what is preordained. Learn to love and cherish the woman that will become your wife. Forget her origin, she is the one meant to be your wife. The earlier you accept that, the better."

Amir Qasim's expression hardened visibly, and the fierce determination that flicked in his eyes was impossible to miss. "Ibrahim, they can send whoever it is they want—does not matter if she is from Kubi Caliphate or not, no other woman would ever have my heart, so long as it is not Fulani." It may seem like he is just saying it and that he might get over it eventually, but he knows what he feels. "The fact that the woman just comes from that Caliphate makes things worse."

It is not a feeling that will ever go away.

Ibrahim's shoulders slumped, "Yerima..." He tried to dissuade the man.

But, he was not having any of it. "Let us head back," Amir Qasim's voice came, though calm but that underlying cold lingered as he turned around and started leading his horse away. "It will soon be time for Asr prayers."

Ibrahim watched from where he stood as Amir Qasim stubbornly walked away, and he could only shake his head as he worried about what the future holds. He then found himself muttering, "I hope you do not regret this one day, Yerima." He mused to himself, before he started walking as well, so as to catch up with the stubborn man.

And just like that, the conversation died at that moment, with a fierce determination on Amir Qasim's side, and Ibrahim only hoping a day would not come where the man would truly regret his actions. And should that day come, then he hopes he would be able to right his wrongs. Hopefully.

~*~

A woman dressed in the typical royal maid attires rushed into the Queen's chambers, light and brisk on her feet, way too eager to deliver the news she has. No one dared to stop in her way, all knowing she is the Queen's favorite court maid, or as she would traditionally be called, her Jakadiya and right hand woman. She is the Queen's eyes and ears within the palace—or at least, the most obvious one.

Whenever she is spotted rushing over to the Queen's chamber, it could only mean one thing—something has happened and thus, she has important news to deliver. Today though, as if to ascertain the gravity of the situation, it was late at night, almost the time for the said Queen to retire for the night when she made her way there.

Given the Queen is already aware of her presence, Jakadiya found her in her living room, seated comfortably in one of the couches there, her back leaned and a book in her hand as she goes through it, a knot formed between her brows—a silent gesture that she has invested herself so much into the act. Even in such a calm and composed stance, there was this aura of dominance that she oozes, for in her delicate nature, lies a powerful woman that should not be messed with in the slightest—a general knowledge known to everyone in the palace.

The minute Jakadiya said the salaam and has made her presence known, she moved to the Queen's side, then dropped on her knees before she settled down, her head bowed. "Ranki dade, Giwa, barka da dare."

The first Queen, or Giwa as she is addressed within the Palace and beyond did not spare the Jakadiya a glance, though very much aware of her presence. Instead, when she parted her lips, she went straight to the point. "What did you find out?"

Jakadiya swallowed down a lump, too much bottled up anticipation to share the news with the Queen making her body slightly shaky. "Yerima is indeed seeing a woman." She confirmed the worried mother's suspicions.

If possible, Giwa's brows drew in, her frown deepening. She knew that, Amir Qasim was never one to hide things from her, not just because he is her eldest child, but because he is an honest man in all things he does. "And this lady is the reason why he does not want to marry the Princess from Kubi Caliphate?" He had already expressed his interest in another woman long ago, long before he made his firm stand regarding the arranged marriage, but he never specified who could be the woman. And that is what piqued her interest. "Who is the woman?"

"Malam Tukur's daughter," Jakadiya announced, "Ibrahim's younger sister."

"What?" The disbelief that masked Giwa's expression as hard to miss as she dropped the book aside, then turned around to fix her gaze on the maid there, as if the steel like gaze would make her retract her words. When the woman only cowered under the intimidating gaze of the Queen, Giwa released a scoff under her breath. "The daughter of a mere scholar?"

She had nothing against Malam Tukur, nor her son's relationship with Ibrahim. She normally stays out of the things Amir Qasim does, letting him have his own privacy and his decisions because she does not want to control him. But, when it comes to his marriage though...that is not something she takes lightly.

She only has a bitter feelings regarding this so called Princess her husband wishes to make him marry—and despite the cordial relationship she has with her husband on the surface, they still have lots of disagreements when it comes to Amir Qasim and his future. For one, she does not agree with the Princess from that specific Caliphate as well, but she would much more prefer her to that of a lowlife.

The position of the Queen is a very important one, if not, why do people always use the saying, 'Da ka haifi Sarki gwara ka haifi matarsa?'. That for one speaks of the power the Queen yields, and if done right, she has more power than the Sultan himself—another reason why her husband and her have disagreements because she has significant influence in court as well, despite it not seeming as so.

So, why would she let that power fall in the hands of a Princess from Kubi Caliphate? To give them more power in her turf? But, that aside, why should it fall in the hands of a peasant? She has her choices, and those women certainly aren't it.

Amir Qasim cannot quite possibly be serious about this girl, can he?

As if knowing the questions running through Giwa's head, Jakadiya parted her lips to speak, her words adding fuel to fire. "Ranki dade, I heard Yerima also fondly calls her..." She paused, leaning down to whisper the name out as if it is a taboo, "...Fulani."

"Fulani?" In the royal household, the Queens are traditionally addressed with various titles depending on the place and their choice. Her title, Giwa, was given to her by the people and not by her husband because when they got married, he was not fond of her. So, it was more of an authoritative name, than a fond one.

Fulani, on the other hand, despite it being an affectionate name Amir Qasim has for Nusaiba, is also one of the titles of the Queens. Indirectly, he has basically crowned her his Queen, and that will wreck more havoc than necessary. Giwa knows her son, he knew what he was doing when he gave her that title—he knew the implications, and still took the risk.

Giwa's hands fisted by her sides, her frown deepening even more upon realizing the situation is more serious than she had anticipated. It appears Amir Qasim has gone too far in this, and she does not like it one bit. She especially does not like the fact that a young girl like that has this much influence on her son.

"What should I do, Ranki dade?" Jakadiya inquired, needing the words from the Queen and she will have it executed as soon as possible.

"Nothing," Giwa responded after a while, her hand that was in a fist uncurling as she took in a deep breath, her earlier calm composure returning. However, when she did speak again—the underlying meaning, and gravity of her words is impossible to miss. "I will handle this myself." She stated, looking ahead as a plan formulated in her mind already.

She will put an end to this before it goes far—her way. If she has to make the girl disappear, so be it. When it comes to her son, nothing is too big, especially not her actions towards removing the thorns in his part.

And this girl, thisNusaiba, is the biggest thorn at the moment. But, she will pluck it right out,and leave no trace of it.

*~*

There is this heavy and dark loomy vibes that just follows Giwa truly, and it seems she is planning some dubious. What do you guys think it will be?

Is Ibrahim's worries valid after all? Is his sister truly in danger because Amir Qasim loves her?

And Amir Qasim, so this Fulani you have been singing up and down actually has a deeper meaning than on the surface, okayyyyyy this is getting serious tbh.

I keep telling you guys to sign up for therapy, i mean it. You might need it after all but if i decide to not be wicked --ha! who am I kidding, i will definitely be wicked. You might need therapy or popcorn, depending on the level of drama you can handle.

Wahala dey for this royal life o, ah ah!

Toh, I have been nice enough to give you guys three chapters straight, we shall meet Friday in shaa Allah before I finish my drafts like this. Now you have something else to look forward to on Fridays.

Share, share, and keep sharing!! Love love yall!

Love, Jannah Mia.