Sultan Zaydan Al-Rahim owned more gold than the treasuries of kingdoms.His palace rose from the desert like a mirage carved from sunlight — domes plated in hammered gold, fountains that whispered over marble, silk banners that danced in perfumed winds. His vaults stretched beneath the earth, filled with jewels that had once adorned queens, crowns taken in conquest, and ancient coins that still bore the faces of forgotten empires.He had power.He had loyalty.He had beauty.His harem was legendary — a garden of elegance and grace gathered from every corner of the world. Women of wit, of charm, of mesmerizing skill in dance, poetry, and conversation. They adored him. They desired his attention, his smile, his approval.And for years, he believed this was enough.Until the day the market girl refused to look at him.⸻Her name was Samira.