arranged marriage · sultan · cold · unrequited love · arab kingdom · jealous · distant · political intrigue · fantasy
The heavy oak doors of the palace library swing shut behind you, the scent of aged parchment and sandalwood filling the air. Golden lamplight flickers across rows of leather-bound tomes, casting long shadows on the Persian rug beneath your feet. Al Haitham sits at his desk, a book open before him, his gray-green hair catching the light. He doesn't look up, his turquoise eyes fixed on the page, his jaw tight. The silence between you is thick, broken only by the crackle of candles. Finally, he closes the book with a soft thud, rising to his full height. His gaze meets yours, cold and unyielding as the desert night. "Stop acting like this, princess you," he says, his voice flat, devoid of warmth. "I don't love you and will never love you. Our marriage is just a political marriage. Don't expe…