The engagement was no longer a whisper.
It had a date. A weight. A shape that followed me through the palace.
Every morning, attendants spoke of fabrics and fittings, of guest lists and ceremonial smiles. Measurements were taken again, as if my body itself needed reminding of what it was being prepared for. I stood still while they worked, my thoughts far away, drifting toward the one thing I was not supposed to think about.
Fahad.
He was meant to be nothing more than a business partner. That was how everyone framed him—safe, acceptable, unremarkable in the way that kept questions away. But nothing about him felt small to me anymore.
We met in the council room that afternoon. Papers were spread across the table, voices steady and formal. I tried to focus, I truly did, but every time Fahad spoke, his calm grounded me in a way I hadn't realized I needed.
"You're tense," he said quietly when the others stepped away.
"I'm fine," I replied, out of habit.
He didn't argue. He just looked at me, the way one does when they see through politeness and choose silence instead of exposure. That was Fahad's danger—not force, not insistence, but understanding.
Later, as I walked through the garden alone, I heard footsteps behind me. I didn't need to turn to know it was him.
"I won't stay long," Fahad said. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."
I stopped walking. "You shouldn't worry about me."
"I know," he answered. "But I do."
The space between us felt smaller than it should have been. Not because he moved closer—but because I didn't step away. The jasmine scent hung heavy in the air, sweet and almost suffocating.
"The engagement is close," I said, my voice barely steady.
"Yes," he said. "That's why I'm careful."
Careful.
Not distant.
Not gone.
I turned to face him. For a moment, I forgot the palace, the expectations, the future waiting to claim me. There was only Fahad—standing there, restrained and sincere, holding something unspoken between us.
"I remember the rules," I said.
"So do I," he replied.
And yet, neither of us moved.
When I finally walked away, my heart was racing—not from fear, but from how close I had come to wanting more. Fahad didn't follow this time. He let me go, and somehow that choice pulled him even closer.
The engagement was approaching.
So was the truth.