WALK OF ROYALTY

CHAPTER ONE

The guard bowed deeply before rising to stand tall, not daring to meet the Khalifa’s gaze. His eyes remained fixed on the floor as he spoke, his voice low and respectful, yet tinged with urgency.

“The princess has been causing quite a stir, my Khalifa. If we continue to indulge her whims, I fear she will stir chaos.” The guard remained at attention, his focus unwavering, his posture rigid as marble.

Zakir, seated comfortably on his ornate chaise, allowed a long exhale of smoke from the cigarette he had lit. The rich scent of tobacco lingered in the air, mixing with the faint floral aroma of the rosewood incense burning in a golden holder on the table beside him.

“At ease, Ghali,” Zakir said, his voice steady yet laced with authority. He leaned back, exhaling another plume of smoke into the air, letting it curl lazily before dissipating. “Only the one who has starved and still hungers knows the true value of food, don’t you think?”

Ghali’s brow furrowed slightly, unsure of how to respond. He kept his silence, the weight of the question hanging in the air like the lingering smoke. He was keenly aware of his place—his words were carefully measured.

“Tell me,” Zakir prompted, his tone shifting to something more serious.

“Aamira Hazera has started a rumor,” Ghali began, choosing his words with care. “She claims that you are involved in the Mafia, my Khalifa. If Sultan Asher hears of this, it could lead him to reconsider his decision. You already lack support in the Royal Court, and this could prove disastrous for you.”

Zakir’s eyes narrowed as he exhaled another stream of smoke, the glow of the ember flickering in the dim light of the chamber. He toyed with the idea of telling Hazera the truth, something so deliciously tempting. He had nothing to hide—after all, who was to say what a ‘mafia member’ truly was?

"Ghali," he began, his voice quiet, yet rich with meaning. "I’m sorely tempted to tell her that what she started isn’t merely a rumor, but the truth. Isn't she quite the reader of people? Perhaps I do look like a mafia member, after all."

“I beg your pardon, my Khalifa,” Ghali interjected, his voice trembling slightly. “But the Amira needs to be dealt with. She’s a threat.”

Zakir glanced at him, exhaling the final remnants of smoke from the cigarette and placing it delicately on the ornate ashtray beside him. “What do you suggest, Ghali?” he asked, his voice cool, yet laced with curiosity.

“I will announce that Amira Hazera requests an audience with His Majesty, the Khalifa, Your Excellency.” A voice announced from outside the Khalifa's Chamber.

Zakir nodded slowly. “Very well. You may take your leave. I will sort for you later .”

Ghali bowed deeply once more before retreating from the chamber, his steps silent on the thick, plush carpets. Zakir picked up the silver-plated device by his side—a small but intricate communication device, a testament to the kingdom's wealth—and pressed a button with practiced ease.

“She has been granted permission,” Zakir muttered to himself, watching the large doors of the chamber slowly creak open.

In no less than a minute, the familiar sound of stilettos echoed through the grand hall, their sharp clicks like tiny swords striking the floor with each deliberate step. The figure of Aamira Hazera emerged from the shadows of the opulent hallway.

She was dressed as always in black—an elegant gown of the finest silk. Her makeup was bold, smoky eyes and a subtle red lip, and her long black hair cascaded down her back in perfect waves. There was something intoxicating about her presence—an aura of power and beauty, mingled with defiance.

Zakir's eyes followed her as she entered the chamber, a half-smile playing on his lips. The air between them was charged, heavy with an unspoken tension.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Aamira Hazera?” he asked, his voice smooth and composed, as he set the cigarette aside, his fingers lingering for a moment on the porcelain plate, the cool surface a welcome contrast to the warmth of the room.

She sneered slightly, her dark eyes gleaming with disdain. “Khalifa Zakir, that title does not suit you. The Khalifa title is not meant for the likes of you,” she spat, her voice dripping with venom.

Zakir leaned forward slightly, his posture relaxed yet purposeful. “Easy there, angry bird,” he teased, a playful glint in his eye. “If the Khalifa title isn’t meant for me, I suppose the Sultan’s title would sound more appealing. But enough with the games. Get to the point, Hazera. I don’t enjoy small talk.”

Hazera’s eyes narrowed, the air between them growing thicker. “I’ve come to deliver good news, my Khalifa. The council has decided to meet again to reconsider their decision to appoint you Sultan in two months' time.”

Zakir chuckled softly, the sound low and dark. “You never give up, do you? This trick of yours is getting old. Why not come up with something more convincing, something that would ensure the council never even considers me again, Aamira? Such petty games don’t suit a woman of your caliber. You’re fierce, not this… small.”

“I won’t let you have the throne,” Hazera shot back, her eyes burning with resolve. “I swear it.”

Zakir stood then, the movement fluid and commanding, like a lion rising from its rest. He took one last, slow draw from his cigarette, savoring the taste before extinguishing it in the ornate ashtray. “Easy now,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Only make promises you can keep.”

“I’ll keep it,” Hazera responded firmly, her voice unwavering.

Zakir smiled, a slight curve of his lips. “I look forward to seeing you try,” he said, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that sent a thrill through the air. “You’re dismissed, Aamira.”

She turned sharply, her heels clicking louder against the polished stone floor as she walked away. But just as she reached the door, she hesitated. A familiar presence had appeared—one of her mother’s trusted confidants.

The Malikah's Chief Chamberer, whose eyes spoke of secrets and whispers of the palace. “May your reign be blessed with glory, Your Majesty,” she said, voice soft and respectful. “The Malikah commands your presence, immediately.”

Hazera’s eyes flicked to the maid, and without a word, she nodded. “Khadimatil Malikah, lead the way,” she said, her voice cold and regal, as she turned and followed the maid down the hall.

The Malikah’s chamber was a sight to behold—a room adorned with exquisite silk draperies, rich tapestries hanging on the walls, and thick carpets woven with golden threads.

“May you live long, Malikah,” Hazera said, her voice full of respect as she approached her mother’s throne. “I hear you request my presence.”

The Malikah, seated on a grand chair carved from dark mahogany, looked down at her daughters with a gaze that was both stern and calculating. “Privacy,” she commanded, her voice sharp. The maids filed out quickly, their footsteps soft and light as they vanished behind the ornate doors.

“You may sit, Aamira Hazera,” the Malikah said, gesturing to the cushions before her. “And you too, Aamira Hajara.” Hazera turned to find her twin sister, Hajara, entering the room, her movements graceful, her expression unreadable.

The air between the three women was thick with unspoken tension. The Malikah’s eyes hardened as she spoke. “I hear the two of you are at it again in the royal court, in front of all the prying eyes.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Hajara interjected quickly, her voice defensive.

“I wasn’t looking for the person at fault,” the Malikah cut her off, her voice icy. “Why do you two always fight? Need I tell you to settle your matters in private?”

The Queen paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the two of them as if weighing their souls. “When you want to bicker, do so in a way that doesn’t undermine the court. But when it comes to politics, you are a team.”

“I beg your pardon, Malikati,” Hajara replied, her voice steady. “But Hazera and I can never be a team politically. I stand with Zakir, and nothing will change that.”

Hazera scoffed, the sound dripping with disdain. “What a sly snake you are, Hajara. No surprise that the palace is filled with them—after all, you never know when one will strike.”

“Enough!” the Malikah snapped, her tone authoritative, silencing the sisters. “I do not wish to hear any more quarrels. From now on, I do not want to see or hear of your fights. You're dismissed."

They both walked out, Hazera catching upto Hajara.

"Aamira Hajara" Hazera called, her voice tinged with a mocking tone. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with the throne. What are you playing at?”

Hajara’s expression remained unreadable, her steps steady as she continued walking, not bothering to turn around immediately. “Nor am I interested in it, till date,” she replied coolly.

“Lies,” Hazera spat, her tone sharp as a dagger. “Why do you stand by Zakir more than your own twin sister? Why do you vouch for him, for the position of Malika? when you claim you have no interest in the throne? Tell me, Hajara. What’s your game?”

Hajara’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it was a smile laced with something darker, something that Hazera could not quite place. “I wish you could see beyond the throne, Hazera. But you’re too blinded by ambition to do so. Not everything revolves around power. People have hearts too.”

Hazera’s eyes narrowed. “And I suppose you’re telling me that you have genuine feelings for the Khalifa?” Her voice was almost incredulous, but beneath it lay an undeniable curiosity. “How convenient. You’ve let your guard down with me, Hajara. You don’t think I could use it against you?”

Hajara stopped in her tracks, turning to face Hazera with a knowing look in her eyes. “You can do as you please. And I’ll do as I see fit. After all, the palace is a game of chess. Survive while you can.”

With that, she continued walking, her pace swift and unbothered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Aamira Hazera I have pressing matters that demand my attention.”

“And those pressing matters are the Khalifa, I suppose?” Hazera’s voice was thick with challenge, but her sister’s back was already turned as she made her way further down the corridor, her maids trailing behind her.

Salma—One of Hajara's chamberers and by the looks of it an acquaintance fastened her pace moving a bit closer to the Aamira.

“Why did you tell her that, if I'm allowed permission to be curious, my Aamira?” Salma asked, her voice full of curiosity.