The Voice of Azzam

From the highest balcony, the palace glowed like fire caught in marble. Inside, servants moved like clockwork, draping silk banners and setting gold-trimmed goblets in endless lines. Every corner smelled of lilies and sandalwood.

Kamil's Chamber

The air inside his suite was still, touched only by the scent of cedar and smoke. He stood before a long mirror, half dressed in ceremonial robes of white and gold. Liam sat on a nearby couch, still in pajamas, peeling an orange like it was any other morning.

Abel was already in uniform, flipping through a file. "You'd think the coronation of the Crown

Prince would make you nervous," he said.

"I'm not nervous," Kamil replied.

"You're quiet," Liam teased. "And quiet means thinking, and thinking means trouble."

Kamil glanced up at him through the mirror. "You two talk too much for this early."

Liam grinned. "Blame the nerves. It's not every day your best friend becomes the next King."

Kamil didn't respond immediately. His reflection stared back - the perfectly polished version of himself everyone expected to see.And yet, his mind wasn't on the crown.

It was on a bracelet.

A soft laugh.

He caught himself smiling faintly.

"See?" Abel said, pointing his orange slice like a weapon. "He's smiling again. Definitely trouble."

"Don't start," Kamil muttered, adjusting his cuffs.

Liam leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Speaking of trouble, Princess Jodha sent a note.

She said she'd like to personally congratulate you before the ceremony."

"Let her wait," Kamil said calmly. "It's my day."

Liam and Abel exchanged a glance - that familiar look that said we'll stay out of this one.

A chime rang softly - the coronation bell from the west wing.

Kamil slipped on his signet ring, then turned to them. "Let's go."

The Royal kitchen

Milan was on her feet before sunrise, folding napkins, arranging centerpieces, runnin errands she didn't sign up for. Her hands were sore, her hair barely pinned, and she hadn't eaten since dawn.

But every time she caught a glimpse of her wrist, her chest fluttered in quiet disbelief.

Her father had noticed it earlier that morning.

"Where did you get that?" he'd asked gently, wiping his hands on his apron.

Milan hesitated. "A gift."

"From who?"

She smiled. "A friend."Chef Hussein had looked at her long and hard, but he said nothing. Just smiled faintly, Now, as she rushed through the corridors with a tray of sweetmeats, the whole palace buzzed louder. The corridors were lined with petals; the guests were already arriving - ministers, foreign royals, noble families.

And in the distance, she caught sight of him.

Kamil, walking through the grand hallway in gold and white, a crown resting lightly in his hands, his expression calm but unreadable.

Her heart stopped.

That was Rami.

Her Rami - the man who had helped her carry linen boxes, who listened when she complained, who smiled without judgment.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She quickly turned away before anyone noticed her staring, clutching the tray to her chest like it could hide her.

But the moment she looked down half sad unconsciously humming, she realized the bracelet gleamed.

At that same moment, Kamil paused mid-step.

A familiar sound - soft humming - drifted from the servant's corridor nearby.

Barely audible, but enough to pull a faint smile to his lips.

**

From the highest balcony, trumpets sounded, their echo rolling across the courtyards like Azzam's council, nobles, and foreign dignitaries filled the Grand Hall.

At the center stood Queen Mother Samitra, poised like a statue carved from command. Age hadn't dimmed her sharpness; her presence alone could still still a room. To her right sat Queen Aisha, her expression soft, pride and emotion threading through every breath she took.When the procession doors opened, the crowd rose to their feet.

Kamil entered in full regalia - the royal robe heavy with the bloodline's crest, his crown resting in the hands of the High Cleric. 

"All rise for His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Abdul-Kamil Azzam, heir of the late King Ziyad, son of the throne, protector of the realm."

The chant rippled across the room.

From the side, Bashi watched, jaw tight. His smile was polite. He clapped with everyone else, though his hands lacked conviction. Beside him, his son Kaan leaned slightly forward, his gaze dark, unreadable.

"That crown should've stayed in Ziyad's bloodline," Kaan muttered under his breath.

Bashi's fingers brushed the air in warning. "Patience, son. The crown weighs heavy. Let it bend him first."

At the altar, Kamil knelt.

The choir quieted.

Queen Mother Samitra stepped closer, her voice carrying through the golden hall.

"By the blood that built Azzam, by the ancestors who guard our name, we crown thee -

Abdul-Kamil Ziyad Azzam - the rightful ruler of this kingdom. May your reign be just, your heart unshaken, your soul bound to peace."

The crown was lowered.

The hall erupted - a sea of voices, claps, cheers.

Kamil rose, the weight of the kingdom upon his head, the world shifting beneath his feet.

From her seat, Queen Aisha wiped a tear discreetly. Pride glowed on her face.  To her, this boy wasn't just a prince. He was family. A piece of her heart.

Beside her, Mirian smiled - perfectly poised, graceful, unreadable.

Her mother's eyes glowed with pride for Kamil, and Mirian didn't resent it - not truly. QueenAisha had always loved Kamil as her own, just as she loved her . But love didn't silence longing.

As the hall cheered, Mirian's gaze lingered on the man beneath the crown.

The way he never noticed how her heart changed whenever he entered a room.

She told herself this was his moment that she would not let anyone see what lived behind her calm smile.

Still, as the crown settled on his head, the thought burned quietly, secretly:

He's my brother in name... but my heart never learned the rule.

"Long live King Abdul-Kamil of Azzam!" the High Cleric declared.

"Long live the King!" the court echoed.

Even Liam and Abel, standing at the far end among foreign dignitaries, joined the cheer, their smiles genuine.

The new King bowed slightly to his people, but his eyes - for just a second - drifted toward the servant section of the hall.

Milan stood there, half-hidden behind the crowd, clutching a tray to her chest.

**

The night after the coronation, the royal banquet hall pulsed with low laughter, music, and the kind of conversations that always meant more than what was said.

King Kamil sat at the head of the long table, posture precise, voice calm, the weight of rule already settling around him like another layer of silk and steel. To his right, Queen Mother Samitra sat proud, To his left, Queen Aisha, glowing with quiet affection, occasionally whispered small reminders that only a mother would thin to say - eat something, smile, don't overthink.

Across from them sat the guests from Nalal and Princess Jodha, and her attendants. She was smiling.

Her eyes found Kamil often. And stayed there.

At the far end of the hall, near the columns, Milan adjusted the silver tray in her hands. She'd been reassigned to serve in the royal dining section - "temporary," they said, since the regular staff was handling the diplomatic guests.Temporary.

Yet her hands wouldn't stop trembling.

It wasn't the king that made her nervous - it was the memory of the man she'd met days ago.

Rami.

The quiet stranger who'd smiled faintly when she'd complained about the "spoiled prince."

And now, that "stranger" sat under a crown.

She hadn't dared to look directly at him since the ceremony. The few times she tried, her chest tightened and she turned away quickly.

"Stop fidgeting," one of the older maids hissed. "You're shaking the goblets."

"Sorry," Milan whispered, steadying the tray.

At the high table, Liam leaned toward Abel, voice low.

"She's staring at him again."

Abel didn't glance up. "Which one?"

"The princess, obviously. Look at her - she's two seconds away from proposing."

Abel smirked. "Or assassinating him. Can't tell with her type."

Kamil's voice cut through softly, without looking at them.

"I can hear both of you."

Liam grinned. "Then at least you know we're honest."

Queen Aisha chuckled softly at that, hiding it behind her glass.

Even Samitra's lips twitched.

But when Jodha leaned closer to Kamil, lowering her tone, "Your Majesty," she said smoothly,

"Nalal looks forward to a future where our two kingdoms are... bound.

Your father once spoke of unity. I hope we can fulfill that vision." Bashi, seated nearby, lifted his glass in silent approval. "A wise sentiment, Princess." Kaan smirked beside him. "And a beautiful one." Kamil didn't look away from Jodhabut his answer was measured.

"Azzam values its alliances. But we don't rush into vows - political or otherwise." 

Her smile froze just for a second.Across the hall, Milan felt her knees weaken. She'd just realized Jodha was looking at the king the same way everyone else did - like he belonged to her.

She didn't know why that thought stung.

He wasn't hers.

He was never meant to be.

And yet...

When she looked up and caught him glancing her way ,the world around her blurred.

Kamil's gaze lingered, subtle, unreadable.

Milan's breath caught. She quickly turned away, almost bumping into another maid.

"Careful!" the woman hissed. "You'll spill on the king!"

At the head of the table, Liam noticed and tried to hide a smirk.

"Still think it's just curiosity?" he whispered.

Kamil didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

The way his eyes followed her across the hall said everything words couldn't.

When the feast ended and the guests began to drift toward the ballroom, Kamil stood to leave. Jodha extended her hand first, but he only offered a polite bow before stepping past her.

Queen Aisha caught the small gesture, her eyes narrowing slightly - she knew that look.

She'd seen it once before, years ago, when first her late husband fell for a girl beneath his station. It never ended quietly.

From the balcony above, Queen Mother Samitra watched it all - the princess's failed charm, the glances Kamil thought no one saw, the subtle burn in Mirian's eyes as she watched, silent and beautiful.She turned toward Bashi, her tone soft but edged. 

"Power doesn't always fall from bloodlines, brother. Sometimes, it's stolen by the heart."Bashi smiled thinly. "Then perhaps your grandson should guard his."