Chapter 3
1193 Words
The garden behind the Markos estate was quiet—too quiet. The kind of stillness that settled only after secrets had been spoken aloud. The moon hung low and swollen, casting silver shadows over the rose bushes. Amira paced beneath the fig tree; arms wrapped around herself. The air was too cold for the thin cotton blouse she wore, but her thoughts burned hotter than any flame.
She hadn’t meant to tell him.
But when Lukas showed up at the staff gate with a brown paper bag of cough syrup and crushed ginger—“For your mum”—the dam broke. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She has been trying to act strong and tough, but seeing Lukas with the medication was her undoing.
Now he stood in front of her, his brows drawn tight, jaw clenched. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his worn jacket, but the tension in his body was unmistakable.
“Tell me you’re not really considering this,” he said, voice low, urgent. “Tell me Juliana’s plan is just some sick test.”
Amira looked away.
Lukas exhaled sharply, stepping closer. “Amira. This isn’t just a lie. It’s—dangerous. Once you do this, there’s no going back.”
She swallowed the knot in her throat. “She’s holding Mama’s life over me, Lukas. There’s no choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” he snapped, then softened. “Just not always a fair one.”
They stood in silence for a beat.
The scent of night-blooming jasmine floated between them. The same scent that clung to Amira’s mother’s pillow. Lukas reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, and for a moment, she felt like a girl again—not a pawn, not a shadow, not a sacrifice.
Just Amira.
***
She met Lukas Ekena at fifteen—two weeks after her family lost everything.
She had been crying behind the old public library, too proud to beg, too tired to walk. Lukas had spotted her from across the street. Tall, lanky, with untamed curls and half-eaten meat pie in his hand.
“Hungry?” he’d asked, offering her the rest.
She’d hesitated.
“I’m not a creep,” he said, grinning. “Just a guy who knows what a bad day looks like.”
They became friends that afternoon.
Lukas lived with his aunt, a widowed tailor, in one of the backstreets of East Zandria. He worked part-time at a printing press and spent his nights sketching portraits of people he wished he could help. He was bright—smarter than most—and blunt in the way only the wounded knew how to be.
But with Amira, he was gentle.
He never pitied her. Never treated her like charity. He studied with her when she could still attend night school. Bought extra bread rolls when he knew she hadn’t eaten. Waited outside the Markos estate every Friday to walk her halfway home so she wouldn’t be alone in the dark.
He became her compass in a world that had lost all direction.
They never kissed. Never crossed that invisible line.
But there were nights—like now—when the air between them changed. Tightened. Sparked.
***
“I can’t let her die, Lukas,” Amira whispered now, blinking back tears. “You’ve seen her. She’s fading.”
“And you think this will save her?” he asked, voice shaking. “You think becoming Elina for one night will fix all this?”
Amira looked at him—really looked at him. At the boy who once stitched her torn school blouse with fishing line. At the man whose eyes now held more fear than anger.
“It’s one night,” she murmured. “That’s all.”
Lukas shook his head slowly. “No, it’s not. It’s everything.”
A pause.
Then, softer: “If the Palace finds out about the deceit, it would be disastrous for you. I don’t want to lose you.”
His words hit her chest like a stone. For a second, her resolve cracked.
But then she remembered her mother’s cough. The empty bottles. The silence between meals.
She stepped back.
“I already made the choice, Lukas,” she said, trying to steady her voice.
He stared at her, something breaking in his expression.
Then he turned to leave.
But halfway down the path, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. “If anything goes wrong—if you need anything—Look for me.”
And then he was gone.
The moon watched silently as Amira stood alone, the wind stirring the surrounding leaves.
She had chosen her path.
But even now, it didn’t feel like hers at all.
But halfway down the path, he paused, glancing over his shoulder.
“If anything goes wrong—if you need anything—look for me.”
And then he was gone.
The weight in her chest pressed heavier now—because Lukas wasn’t the only one who had tried to stop her.
Earlier that week, Miranda John, her childhood best friend and once partner-in-debate at the community youth forum, had pulled her aside behind the chapel.
“This isn’t you, Amira,” she had said. “You’re the girl who stood up to Principal Gwanza when he made us kneel in the sun. The one who taught me how to sharpen my tongue and never dim my voice.”
Miranda’s voice had cracked, her eyes glossy. “You’re not a sacrifice. You’re a fighter. This—this isn’t your fight to fight this way.”
But what choice did Amira really have?
Her mother’s cough had deepened. Her weight had dropped. Nights were a prayer against death. The pharmacies no longer extend credit. Juliana’s voice was colder by the day.
What was dignity when your mother couldn’t breathe? Or what is honour if you lose the only parent you have left just because of fear?
So, she had smiled weakly at Miranda. Lied with her eyes. Hugged her too long. And left.
She had chosen her path.
But even now, it didn’t feel like hers at all.
Only like a cliff she was being asked to jump off—eyes shut, mouth closed, and heart screaming.
But her hands are tied.
She was just twenty-two years old, and she was already facing a major life challenge.
When will this challenge end?
She can overcome this, right? Or was there no hope?
Deception against the crown is a capital offense already.
The crime she was about to commit is beyond a capital offense - it goes beyond what the kingdom stands for. It could mean a major setback for the entire kingdom if a non-virgin princess is married and crowned.
But what was she supposed to do now? There is no help from anywhere, except she accepts that of Juliana and her daughter, Elina.
She would bear the consequences when it arose, but she could not watch her only living parent die, without trying her best to save her, even if it meant sleeping with a prince, disguised as another!
- Writer
