The Cage Tightens
525 Words
The Cage Tightens
Days blurred into one another under the Emergency. Soldiers prowled the palace, every door locked, every movement reported. Aaliya tried to keep her dignity, her faith, her strength — but Seher made it nearly impossible.
Every time she asked to go to the temple, his soldiers refused.
“Captain’s orders,” they mumbled, refusing to meet her eyes.
When she tried to send letters to allies for her sister’s release, the letters disappeared before they ever left the palace.
When she lingered too long with a servant, she would find Seher’s figure suddenly there in the doorway, arms crossed, gaze sharp as a blade until the servant excused themselves and fled.
He was everywhere.
Like her own shadow.
Like her cage.
And yet, one afternoon, Aaliya thought she had finally escaped him.
The sun blazed over the courtyard as she stepped into the fencing arena her father had built years ago. Dressed in a simple white practice gown, hair tied back, she gripped the slender sword. The maids stood back, watching nervously as she began her drills — swift strikes, sharp turns, her feet dancing across the sand.
Every thrust, every parry was her rebellion. If she could not leave, if she could not write, if she could not breathe — then at least she could fight.
Her blade sliced through the air, sweat glistening on her brow. For a moment, she felt free.
Until a slow clap broke the silence.
Her hand faltered. She turned sharply.
There he was.
Seher Rathore.
Leaning against a pillar at the edge of the arena, still in his uniform, cigarette between his fingers, eyes gleaming like a predator amused by its prey.
“Impressive,” he drawled. “The rose has thorns.”
Aaliya’s chest rose and fell, her knuckles white on the sword. “Do you ever stop watching me?”
His lips curved. “No.”
He stepped forward, boots crunching against the sand, circling her slowly.
“You fight well… for someone who has never seen blood.”
“I fight to defend myself,” she snapped. “From men like you.”
He laughed, a deep sound that made her stomach twist. “Defend? Princess, I don’t want to kill you. I want to keep you.”
Her blade shot up, gleaming inches from his chest. “I am not yours.”
For the first time, his smirk faded. His eyes burned with something raw, unmasked. He leaned closer, until the blade pressed against the medals on his chest, and whispered,
“Then why do you tremble every time I look at you?”
Aaliya’s hand shook, but she did not lower the sword. “Because even a caged bird still dreams of flying.”
His jaw tightened, but then his smile returned — darker this time. He stepped back, unafraid of the sword still pointed at him.
“Dream all you want, Princess,” he said softly. “But remember… cages can be locked tighter.”
He turned and walked away, leaving her breathless, her sword shaking in her grip, and her heart pounding with equal parts fury and fear.
- Writer
