CHANDRAMAHAL, PRESENT DAY:

"Abbu!" Rafiq's scream shattered the night.

His hand slipped from Yasmin's. He sprinted across the bloodied marble to his father's lifeless body, collapsing to his knees. Cradling the still-warm form, he rocked gently, whispers lost in the chaos.Something inside him shattered.

Before guards could reach him, Rafiq snatched his father's fallen sword. With eyes burning red, he plunged it straight into Yasmin's father's heart.The two men who had shaped their lives—gone in moments."Yasmin! Chalo!"Her mother's voice cut through the screams as she yanked Yasmin's arm, dragging her into the fleeing shadows."Rafiq! Rafiq!" Yasmin twisted back, arms outstretched, voice raw with desperation. But he knelt frozen, unmoved, lost to grief.

Rafiq jolted awake, chest heaving, eyes stinging with hot tears. The grand chamber of Chandramahal wrapped him in suffocating silence—moonlight slicing through arched windows, casting long shadows over silk tapestries faded by time. His silk sheets tangled around him like chains. Those memories again. Always the same nightmare. Faceless voices echoed in his mind, sharp and accusing.

He pressed a hand to his chest, where an old ache bloomed fresh. That night had stolen everything—his father, his innocence, her. The friendly prince who laughed with servants and dreamed under stars had died in the blood. In his place rose Sultan Rafiq Sulaiman—ruthless, silent, unbreakable. His every glance commanded fear. His rare words carried the weight of empires. No one dared approach the man with eyes like storm clouds.

But tonight, the walls cracked. Sorrow flooded in—regret for not pulling Yasmin back when she called. For letting rage blind him. Years had passed, yet the pain stayed sharp as that sword.

He rose, bare feet cold on marble floors, and wandered to the balcony. The palace gardens slept below, fountains murmuring like ghosts. Chandramahal still stood proud, but hollow without her laughter.A memory surfaced, soft against the darkness—not from that fatal night, but before. From simpler days.

"Toh aapke kehne ka matlab hai aapko apna naam hi pasand nahi?" Rafiq teased, leaning against a jasmine-covered pillar in the quiet harem gardens. Sunset painted her face gold.

"Hmm... hum chahte hain ki humaare shohar humaare nikaah ke baad humara naam badal dein,"Yasmin replied, eyes sparkling with mischief, twisting a rose between her fingers.

"Lekin aisa kyun?" He stepped closer, heart racing.

"Waqt aane par bataayenge kabhi," she said with a secretive smile.

"Toh kya chahti hain aap? Ki kya naam rakha jaaye aapka, Shehzadi Yasmin Zayna?" His voice softened.

"Pata nahi... aap bataiye." She tilted her head, waiting.

Rafiq paused, drinking her in—the way moonlight caught her kohl-lined eyes, her smile like mehtab. "Aapko dekh kar humare zehen mein toh ek hi naam aata hai... 'Aa'eedah."

"Aa'eedah?"She tested it, voice like honey. "Matlab?"

"Jo laut aati hai... reward, beauty, strength—sab kuch. Jaise aap." He reached for her hand.

She blushed, squeezing his fingers. "Phir wahi rakhna."

"huh?" he asks teasing her.

~~~

Rafiq gripped the balcony rail, knuckles white. Aa'eedah. The name he gave her. The promise they lost.

Down in the Sultanate, life moved on. But in his heart, something stirred—a pull he could no longer ignore. The heartless sultan felt alive again. Vulnerable. Ready to chase ghosts.

**********************

Chandramahal, Morning

Sunrise painted Chandramahal in strokes of gold, chasing away the night's shadows. Dew-kissed jasmine vines climbed the palace walls, their fragrance mixing with fresh breezes from the river. Courtyards bustled—servants polished marble floors to a mirror shine, cooks stirred fragrant biryanis, and birds sang from minaret tops. The air hummed with promise, but beneath it lay the weight of empire.

In the grand darbar, sunlight streamed through high jali screens, casting intricate patterns on silk cushions and gem-studded pillars. Ministers in flowing robes waited in tense rows, scrolls clutched tight. The throne—carved ivory and gold—stood empty at the hall's heart, flanked by peacock feather fans swaying gently.

Silence fell like a blade.Sultan Rafiq Sulaiman entered.Every eye dropped. His presence filled the room like a storm cloud—heavy, electric, unavoidable. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moved with predator grace. His sherwani hugged his muscled frame perfectly, deep crimson silk embroidered with gold threads that caught the light. The kurta beneath outlined every ridge of power earned in battles long won. His face? Razor-sharp—high cheekbones, chiseled jaw shadowed with stubble, lips set in a line that promised no mercy. Those eyes, dark as midnight oceans, scanned the court emotionless, ruthless. A man women whispered dreams about, fought wars for. He crushed those dreams without a glance.

Yet every morning, those eyes searched—for her. His Yasmin- his Aa'eedah. A ghost in every shadow. Always empty.

He reached the throne. The court bowed low as one. Rafiq sat, spine straight as steel. "Darbar ki karyawahi shuru ki jaaye," he commanded, voice low thunder.

Proceedings began.Vazeer Karim stepped forward, sweating. "Sultan, the border wells have dried up. kisaano ne dange (riots) shuru kar diye hain. vyapaar mein rukawatein aa rahi hain!."

Rafiq's gaze pinned him. "Kitne kuein (wells) hain?"

"Paanch hain, Huzoor. Paani bilkul khatam hai."

"Divert the eastern canal. Build reservoirs by monsoon. Tax relief for three months. Aur dange (riots)?" His tone iced over.

"sambhaal lenge Sultan." Karim paled, bowing deep.

Ministers murmured awe. Simple. Brutal. Brilliant. Problems that tangled others for days? Rafiq sliced them clean.
The darbar hummed efficiently under his shadow.

And Then—chaos.

A sewika burst through the doors, breathless, veils askew. She bows in front of the sultan, greeting him, "Sultan salamat rahein!"

She swallowed hard. "Ek buri khabar hai, Sultan."

Court froze.

"Badi Walida Sahiba ke rath par mahal wapas aate samay hamla ho gaya. Baaki sab salamat hain lekin..." She trailed off, trembling.

"Lekin?" Rafiq's voice dropped colder, deadlier.

"Sultan... woh Badi Walida... unka kuchh pata nahi chal paa raha,..woh Chandragiri ke jungle mein kahin kho gayi hain. Hum unhe kahin dhund nahi pa rahe." Her words stuttered out.

Silence exploded into gasps.

Rafiq's eyes flashed red—fury boiling beneath ice. Jaw clenched, veins pulsed at his temples, fists balled white-knuckled on throne arms. But his face? Stone. No roar. No outburst. Just controlled rage that chilled deeper than screams.

He rose—slow, towering.

The entire darbar surged to feet in respect, heads bowed.

Rafiq strode out without a word, cape billowing like dark wings. Straight for the stables. Chandragiri's jungle awaited. His mother needed him. No one touched his blood and lived.Behind him, whispers rippled: The heartless Sultan has a weakness after all.