Nahra stepped into the bakery, and for a moment, the familiar warmth of the room wrapped around her, filling her senses with the comforting scent of fresh bread. But today, there was an unusual tension lingering in the air. Malin’s eyes met hers, and an awkward silence fell between them, each unsure of how to start. His mother, sensing the unspoken tension, gave Malin a knowing nod, quietly excusing him from his duties for the morning.
Malin untied his apron, setting it aside as he walked around the counter to join Nahra. They shared a brief, awkward smile, and he gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”
“Of course,” she replied softly, her voice almost hesitant.
They walked side by side, their steps in sync yet their words stumbling, each of them searching for something to say. Malin glanced at her, trying to find the right words, while Nahra occasionally looked his way, opening her mouth to speak, only to close it again. The silence stretched between them, filled only with the sounds of the bustling city around them.
As they neared the top of their favorite hill, a familiar view stretching out over the rooftops and winding canals of Bulsi-Jan, Malin took a deep breath, gathering his courage. He turned to her, stopping just short of the crest of the hill, the wind brushing past them in a gentle, almost expectant way.
“Nahra…” he began, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. “I know who you are. I know you’re… the princess.”
She froze, her eyes widening in surprise, her lips parting in shock as she took in his words. For a moment, she seemed to struggle to process what he’d said, as if the world had shifted beneath her feet.
Nahra blinked, still stunned, her eyes searching Malin’s face for some clue as to how he had pieced together her secret. “How… how did you know?”
Malin gave her a small, almost shy smile, a hint of their familiar banter slipping back into his tone. “You didn’t make it all that hard, Nahra,” he replied, his voice light but with an undercurrent of sadness. “The way you carry yourself, the way people look at you… it all added up. Besides, not every girl around here has a personal guard trailing after her.”
She rolled her eyes, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Oh, so now you’re some kind of detective, huh?”
He shrugged, that playful spark flaring for a moment. “I like to think of myself as observant.” But as quickly as it came, the humor faded, replaced by the weight of the moment. They continued the rest of the way in silence, both aware that something unspoken hung heavily in the air between them.
When they reached the top of the hill, they sat down together, as they had countless times before, side by side on the grassy slope that overlooked Bulsi-Jan. The city stretched out before them, a mosaic of rooftops, winding canals, and narrow streets bathed in the golden light of the morning sun. Malin reached into a small bag he’d brought and pulled out a piece of bread, breaking it in half and handing one piece to her.
They ate quietly, the usual easy chatter between them replaced by the stillness of the moment, each of them acutely aware that this might be the last time they’d share this simple ritual. The bread was warm and soft, comforting in its familiarity, and they savored each bite, drawing out the moment as long as they could.
After a while, Nahra broke the silence, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You know… my father’s chosen my future husband.” Her words hung in the air like a stone dropping into a still pond, the ripples of reality crashing over them both. She glanced at him, her expression pained. “It was supposed to be Alder, but now…”
Malin nodded, his expression grim. “I guessed as much.” He knew the weight of what she was saying, knew that her life was being shaped by forces far beyond her control.
A shiver of nerves ran through him, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to find the courage he’d carried in his heart for so long. He couldn’t let this moment slip by without speaking the truth. “Nahra…” he began, his voice unsteady. “I know I’m just a baker, but… I have to tell you. I love you. I have for a long time. And I don’t care if it makes sense or if it’s foolish. I just needed you to know.”
She looked at him, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of sadness and something deeper. “Malin…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I feel the same. I always have. But we both know the world won’t make room for this. Sometimes, hopes and dreams… they don’t come true, no matter how much we want them to.”
Malin managed a bittersweet smile, his voice soft. “For a baker to even get the love of a princess, even for a moment… that’s a dream come true on its own.” Nahra’s lips curved into a small, genuine laugh, the sound both beautiful and heart-wrenching.
They fell into silence again, but this time, there was a new tension between them, a charged feeling that neither of them could ignore. Their gazes met, the unspoken feelings swirling in the space between them. Slowly, they leaned closer, the distance shrinking, yet some invisible line held them back. They knew that a kiss would bind them too tightly, a promise they couldn’t fulfil.
Instead, they allowed their hands to overlap, their fingers brushing, finding each other in a quiet, delicate touch that spoke volumes. Together, they watched the city as the sun rose higher, casting a radiant light that reflected off the glass windows and gilded rooftops, illuminating Bulsi-Jan in all its splendour.
Nahra gazed out over the city, seeing her fate laid before her like a path she couldn’t stray from, knowing this life would take her far from Malin. She closed her eyes, letting herself savour this last, precious moment with him, committing it to memory as something she could carry with her forever.
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Malin, meanwhile, felt the warmth of her hand beneath his, and his heart burned with a fierce determination. He remembered the dream, The Son’s words echoing in his mind. He looked out over the city, a newfound resolve hardening within him. He didn’t know how, but he would find a way. He would make this dream come true, no matter the obstacles, no matter the cost.
For now, though, they sat together in silence, fingers intertwined, watching the dawn as it painted the world with new light, their hearts bound by a love neither of them could speak but both felt deeply.
They looked at each other, a warm, shared smile overtaking them as the weight of the unspoken passed between their gazes. But the intensity of the moment was too much for Nahra to bear. Her composure shattered, and tears filled her eyes, spilling over as she let go of the restraint she had held onto so tightly.
Before Malin could say anything, she threw herself into his arms, her body trembling as she sobbed, clutching onto him like a lifeline. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, feeling her heartbeat against his chest as she poured out the emotions she had kept buried for so long. Her hands gripped his clothing desperately, and he stroked her hair, whispering soft, comforting words as her muffled cries filled the air.
“I love you,” she choked out between sobs, her voice breaking. “I love you so much, Malin. I don’t want this… I don’t want any of this. It’s not fair. Why does life have to be like this? Why do I have to leave you?” Her words tumbled out in broken fragments, her fears and frustrations spilling over, raw and unfiltered.
Malin held her tighter, feeling the weight of her pain as if it were his own. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay, that he would find a way to make things right, but he couldn’t bring himself to offer promises he wasn’t yet certain he could keep. Instead, he simply held her, his presence steady and grounding, letting her know she wasn’t alone.
After a moment, he tried to lift the heaviness, giving her a small, gentle smile as he whispered, “You know, Nahra, it must be my famous bread that did this to you. I always knew it had magical powers, but I never imagined it could bring a princess to tears.”
She stilled, her shoulders shaking as a soft, surprised laugh escaped her lips. She pulled back slightly, wiping at her tears as she looked up at him, a faint smile breaking through her sadness. “Of course it’s the bread,” she said, laughing through her remaining tears, her voice trembling with lingering emotion. “Everything is always about your bread, isn’t it?”
They shared a laugh, the sound light and fragile, yet it lifted some of the sorrow hanging in the air. Malin took in her face, the glistening trails of her tears, the vulnerability in her gaze, the way her smile held both heartbreak and strength. In that moment, she looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her, and he knew he would carry this image of her forever.
They fell silent, letting the moment settle between them, each of them drinking in the presence of the other, knowing that it might be their last. The city stretched out below them, the sun casting its gentle rays across their faces, but for Malin, all he could see was her, Nahra, the princess he loved, the girl who had become his world.
On the horizon, Aza’s vessel cut through the shimmering waters with an effortless grace, an imposing figure against the dawn-lit sky. The boat was a vision of grand opulence, adorned in deep black lacquer, its sleek, powerful hull lined with intricate gold detailing that glinted in the sunlight. Delicate patterns, woven into the wood and metal like works of art, spiralled along the edges, combining elegance with a menacing grandeur that demanded attention. Carved wooden arches rose from the deck, forming a canopy adorned with deep red and black silks that fluttered in the breeze, a striking contrast against the gleaming gold embellishments.
Standing tall at the bow, Aza looked out over the city of Bulsi-Jan as the vessel glided through the canals between the islands, his expression one of deep satisfaction. He was handsome in a dark, almost haunting way, his features sharp and commanding, framed by long, midnight-black hair that cascaded down his shoulders in loose waves. His skin was smooth, pale with an unnatural, almost ethereal quality that marked him as something beyond human. His red eyes, piercing and vibrant, spoke of his pure vampiric ancestry, their intensity a deep reminder of his lineage.
Unlike Nahra, whose softer reddish eyes revealed only a hint of her vampiric heritage inherited from her mother, Aza’s full-blooded vampiric gaze gleamed with an unrestrained ambition. He saw himself as more than just a noble—he was power itself, wrapped in elegance and danger.
A warm, almost amused smile curled on his lips as he spoke to his servants, his voice low and rich, laced with charm yet carrying an undercurrent of command. Around him, his servants scurried, each one moving with purpose, yet it was clear they worked not out of respect but out of a fear they could not shake.
“Bring the supplies over here. I don’t want any delay in our arrival,” he ordered, his tone calm but brooking no disobedience. As he watched a servant struggle with a particularly heavy crate, his smile turned into something closer to a smirk, taking pleasure in their toil.
One of his servants, a hunched, aging man with a crooked back, caught Aza’s attention. He turned to him, his smile deepening as he addressed him. “You there,” he said, his voice honeyed with false warmth. “Go into the city and find me the most beautiful peasant girl you can—a young, unmarried one. Bring her here… let’s say, within the next half an hour. I have… needs to address before I enter the palace.” His red eyes flashed with a mix of cruelty and indulgence.
The hunchback servant bowed low, his loyalty unwavering despite the degrading request. “Yes, Master Aza,” he murmured, his voice filled with servility. “I will return shortly with the finest girl I can find.”
Aza nodded in approval, his gaze shifting back to the sprawling city before him as the servant scurried away to fulfil his task. He looked over Bulsi-Jan with an air of assured entitlement, his eyes glinting with a sense of ownership. This was a city he would one day rule—a kingdom he would shape and conquer, all with Nahra at his side, bound by marriage and tradition. She was a prize, a step in his grand plan, her vampiric heritage an asset to his lineage, though diluted by her human blood.
As his vessel drifted to a halt at a nearby dock, Aza stood poised, watching the bustling city with a quiet anticipation. His future lay ahead, gleaming with power, and he would seize it without hesitation for his Lord. He looked forward not only to meeting the Sultan but to seeing his dear friend and firm supporter, Bazzle, whose loyalty had been a valuable asset in his climb to power.
With a final glance over the city, Aza’s warm smile returned, though there was something unsettling in its depth. He would have everything he desired—his bride, his throne, and his empire. And as he waited, basking in his own ambition, he felt the thrill of what was to come.