On a warm afternoon in the kingdom's training grounds, the air was filled with the familiar clang of swords and the soft murmur of advisors discussing potential new recruits. The Sultan himself observed, his calm gaze fixed upon his young son Abel, who was sparring with him in a fierce display of skill and determination. Though still in his early teens, Abel was already showing signs of exceptional promise. He moved swiftly, his blade flashing under the sun as he matched his father’s every strike. Eventually, with a final, well-timed maneuver, Abel landed a touch, besting his father.

The Sultan raised his hands in mock surrender, a proud smile lighting his face. “Well done, Abel,” he praised, his voice steady yet warm. The advisors murmured approvingly among themselves. Few had seen anyone so young match the Sultan, much less emerge victorious, and it was clear to all watching that Abel was destined to be one of the Kalkan’s finest.

As the Sultan caught his breath and stepped back, an advisor approached, bowing slightly. “Your Majesty, if I may… we have a new addition to the training squad.”

The Sultan nodded, signalling for the newcomer to be brought forward. From the shadows of the colonnade, a girl stepped into view, her hair tied back and her movements cautious but assured. She was lithe and slender, yet there was a quiet strength in her posture. Maya, only a year younger than Abel, bore a gaze that was as sharp as her skills were rumoured to be. Born into a family of assassins, she had been left an orphan after the knights had put an end to her family's infamous legacy. Now, under the Kalkan’s protection, she was being trained not as an assassin, but as a skilled protector for the Princess.

Maya moved with an elegance that betrayed her lethal lineage. She glanced around the training grounds, her eyes taking in every detail with quiet observation, until they finally landed on Abel. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched him, still holding his sword with an air of unassuming confidence. This was the boy who had just bested the Sultan himself. Her admiration was instantaneous, and though she tried to keep her expression neutral, Abel noticed the flicker of respect in her gaze.

The Sultan beckoned her forward with a welcoming gesture. “Maya, welcome to the palace. Your skills have brought you here, and it is our hope that you will find purpose among us,” he said with a steady, reassuring tone. “You’ll have many duties ahead of you, particularly regarding the safety of my family. For now, though…” he looked at Abel with a slight smile, “perhaps a friendly spar with my son would be fitting.”

Maya nodded respectfully, and as she turned to Abel, she felt a hint of nerves prickling beneath her calm demeanor. Abel, however, seemed caught off guard. He had seen her approach, but as she came closer, he was struck by her presence—her delicate features, contrasted by the intensity of her gaze, left him momentarily at a loss. A faint blush crept into his cheeks, and he quickly averted his gaze, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Ah… yes, of course,” he stammered, his voice unusually soft as he tried to regain his composure. He extended his sword toward her with a slightly awkward smile. “I… look forward to seeing your skills.”

Maya tilted her head, a small, amused smile playing at her lips as she noticed his reaction. “Thank you, Prince Abel,” she replied, her tone formal yet friendly. She raised her own training sword, adopting a ready stance, and the two moved into the sparring circle.

For the first few moments, they circled each other, each studying the other’s movements with careful attention. Then, with a quick step forward, Abel made the first move, his sword cutting through the air toward her. Maya deflected it with ease, countering with a swift strike that Abel narrowly blocked. They traded blows, each one light but precise, testing each other’s limits without giving away too much.

Abel soon found himself caught up in the rhythm of their spar. Maya was fast—unbelievably fast—and her strikes were sharp and unpredictable. He grinned, feeling a rush of excitement as he blocked a particularly quick jab, his heart pounding with the thrill of the match. Maya, for her part, found herself impressed by Abel’s strength and control. Each time she pressed him, he matched her with effortless skill.

The two exchanged strike after strike, their movements growing faster and more intense. Each time Maya attempted to create an opening, Abel anticipated her move, countering with a swiftness that surprised her. As their spar continued, a quiet tension built between them—a mutual admiration of each other’s skills, as well as a deeper, unspoken understanding. They were both alone, each in their own way, and in this moment, there was a sense of connection that neither could quite put into words.

The Sultan and his advisors watched in quiet fascination. It wasn’t often that the young prince encountered someone who could match him so well. As they continued, the spar drew to a close with a final, mutual strike, their swords meeting in a deadlock before they both pulled back, breathing heavily but with smiles on their faces.

The Sultan clapped his hands together, breaking the silence. “Impressive,” he remarked, nodding to both of them. The advisors exchanged approving glances, whispering among themselves about the potential of these two young warriors.

After the spar, as they both caught their breath, Abel hesitated for a moment, casting a sideways glance at Maya. He wanted to say something, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. Finally, he cleared his throat and mustered his courage. “Would you… would you like to see the city with me sometime?” he asked, his voice filled with an uncharacteristic shyness. “I mean, assuming it’s not during your time watching over the Princess.”

Maya looked at him in surprise, a soft smile breaking through her composed expression. She could sense his nervousness, and it made him seem all the more genuine. She nodded, her voice gentle as she replied, “I’d like that.”

The warmth in Abel’s smile was unmistakable, and in that moment, a quiet understanding passed between them—a shared acknowledgment of the paths they were both on and the future that lay ahead.

A few years later, Maya sat across from Abel on a soft blanket spread beneath the blossoming trees in the palace gardens. It was a rare break in their training schedules, and Abel had surprised her with this picnic, complete with her favorite fruits and pastries. She leaned back on her elbows, savoring the sun’s warmth and watching him fidget with something in his pocket, clearly lost in thought.

"You're awfully quiet, Your Highness," she teased, breaking the silence. "Did I finally tire you out in our last sparring session?”

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Abel smirked, glancing up at her with that slightly shy look she remembered from when they’d first met. “I’m just… thinking,” he replied, his voice trailing off.

“Thinking?” She arched an eyebrow. “The Prince of Kalkan, known for his fearless swordsmanship, is now a thinker too? What’s the world coming to?”

Abel gave a nervous laugh before finally pulling something from his pocket—a small ring that glinted in the dappled sunlight. For a moment, Maya was taken aback, staring at the delicate piece of jewelry with surprise.

“Maya,” he started, his voice steady but filled with a gentle earnestness. “I wanted to ask if you’d let me… court you.”

She blinked, her eyes darting between his face and the ring, processing his words. She felt a rush of warmth spread across her cheeks, but she quickly masked it, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “Courting me, are you?” She raised an eyebrow. “I never took you for a fool, Abel. What would the prince gain from courting a bodyguard?”

Abel’s gaze softened, unwavering. “You’re much more than a bodyguard to me, Maya. One day, I’ll take the throne. And when that day comes, I want you beside me… as my queen.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it, her amusement genuine yet layered with the thrill of his words. “Is this your idea of a joke, Abel? Because if it is, you’re far braver than I thought,” she teased, though her heart was pounding. She never imagined he’d truly see her this way—especially with her lineage, her past, all the reasons she’d always kept her walls up.

Abel’s smile grew, unfazed by her deflection. “No joke, Maya. I want you by my side. Always.”

A sudden wave of joy washed over her, a happiness so profound it made her forget the teasing, the banter, and even her defenses. She threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around him in a spontaneous embrace, laughing as she clung to him. “You really mean it, don’t you?” Her voice was softer now, disbelief and hope mingling together.

He returned her hug, holding her just as tightly. “Of course, I do. I’ve never meant anything more.”

She pulled back, a smirk reappearing on her lips. “Fine. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because I’m your queen-to-be.” Her eyes sparkled as she slipped the ring onto her finger, the symbol of his promise settling into place as if it belonged there all along.

Abel chuckled, looking at her with a gaze full of warmth and admiration. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

They sat there a while longer, sharing laughter and quiet moments, basking in the simple joy of each other’s presence. For Maya, it felt like the end of a long journey and the beginning of something entirely new, as if everything she’d ever been through had led her to this moment with him.

Maya walked alongside Nahra, their steps echoing down the grand corridor leading to the throne room. They’d been talking about the future, about her upcoming marriage to Abel. The wedding had been postponed for months, a lingering sadness since the Queen's passing, but as they drew nearer to the throne room, Maya felt a spark of joy—she and Abel had almost made it through the darkness, with their love stronger than ever.

Nahra squeezed Maya's hand as they neared the towering doors. "You know, Maya, I’m just as excited as you are," she said, her voice soft and genuine. "You’ve always been there for me, and to think that soon we’ll be sisters… it’s like a dream.”

Maya smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. "You’re like a sister already, Nahra," she replied. "And knowing you’ll be there with us… it makes everything perfect."

But as the throne room doors opened, the atmosphere shifted. Courtiers stood in tight clusters, whispering among themselves, their faces clouded with confusion and shock. At the center of the room, the Sultan sat, his expression carved in stone, every line of his face a testament to the weight of his announcement. Maya sensed Nahra tense beside her, both of them bracing for whatever news awaited.

The Sultan’s voice was cold and heavy. "Today, I must make a grave announcement," he began. "My son, Prince Abel, has gone rogue. He has… betrayed the Kingdom of Kalkan." His words hung in the air like a blade suspended, ready to fall. "As such, Abel is hereby banished, cast out from Bulsi-Jan, stripped of his title and honour."

Maya’s breath caught in her throat, a sudden ache constricting her chest. It felt impossible, like a nightmare unfolding in the daylight. Banished? Gone rogue? She couldn’t reconcile the Abel she knew with the Sultan’s words. Her mind whirled, struggling to piece together any fragments of reason, any explanation for why Abel would do this… and why he hadn’t warned her.

Nahra clutched Maya’s arm, her own face pale with disbelief. "Maya…"

But Maya could barely hear her. She felt as if the ground beneath her had opened, leaving her on the edge of a chasm, her world falling away. Abel—gone without a word, without any sign, leaving her alone with nothing but the shock of his absence and a mountain of unanswered questions.

The Sultan’s gaze lingered on her, filled with a mixture of sorrow and authority, but his words blurred as Maya's heart pounded in her ears. She felt betrayed, as if Abel had severed their bond without even giving her the chance to understand why. The silence stretched, leaving her adrift in the pain of abandonment.

Her mind raced, searching desperately for some hint, some clue she might have missed, but there was nothing. Only the echo of the Sultan’s pronouncement and the shattering realisation that Abel had left her behind.

Maya's mind drifted back over the years as she watched Abel, her heart pounding with fear. She remembered those countless afternoons escorting Nahra out of the palace, seeing her excitement each time they went to that small bakery in the city. The baker boy, Malin—he’d been charming, full of life and hope, a little cocky, but undeniably sweet. She had always hoped Nahra would find happiness with him, a joy she herself had once thought within reach.

She wished Nahra’s love story would be different than her own. Abel, her Abel, had fallen so far. Word of his descent had reached her time and time again—whispers of reckless nights, drunken parties, empty faces, and hollow pursuits. He wasn’t the man she had loved. The memories of who he’d once been and the stories of what he’d become tore at her, but she kept faith, praying that Nahra’s story wouldn’t end in ruin as hers had.

When the news came that Nahra would be forced into a marriage with Aza, it had torn at her, a fate too bitter to bear. And when Malin revealed his secret plan to win Nahra’s hand, Maya had seized the chance, wanting nothing more than to see that flicker of hope ignite for the young princess. She wanted Nahra to have the joy she’d once dreamed of.

And then, when fate had brought Abel back into her life, she had felt those complex, unresolved feelings bubble to the surface. She’d never truly moved on. Seeing him now, determined to prove himself, a spark of the man she’d once known rekindled, she felt the faint glimmer of a new chance, a simple dream.

She’d thought of it often—this vision.

A future where Nahra would be happy, a queen beside the new Sultan, Malin. And she…she could live a quiet life in love with Abel, away from the palace and its darkness, exploring the world together, side by side. Adventures and laughter. Freedom.

But as she stood there, watching Abel fight for his life, she realised that some dreams weren’t meant to come true. She could see it now in his eyes, in the desperate fight that was slipping through his fingers. The dream she’d held onto was slipping away as Abel faced imminent death.

And then, she noticed it—her heart froze as she saw a hand emerge from the rubble. Malin’s hand, reaching, grasping for the Sword of Righteousness. It was there, within his reach. And maybe, if her dream couldn’t come true, she could make sure someone else’s could.