Chapter One: A Crown of Displeasure
Princess Aisha Al-Noor despised being summoned without explanation.
She stood in the Council Hall of Noor with her arms folded behind her back, her chin lifted in silent protest. The marble beneath her feet felt colder than usual, echoing her mood. Around her, courtiers whispered like sparrows, their eyes darting between the thrones as though expecting a storm.
“You should at least pretend to be calm,” Princess Safiya whispered beside her.
“I am calm,” Aisha replied coolly. “I am simply uninterested.”
Safiya suppressed a smile. “You say that every time diplomacy walks through the door.”
The doors opened.
Trumpets announced the arrival of the Kareem delegation, and Aisha immediately stiffened. She had heard enough stories about Kareem Kingdom—its rigid laws, its proud princes, its obsession with control.
At the center of the delegation walked Prince Muhammad Kareem.
He did not smile.
He did not bow too deeply.
And worst of all, he looked unimpressed.
Aisha noticed instantly—and disliked him for it.
Muhammad, on the other hand, was already irritated.
He had traveled for days to attend what he suspected was nothing more than a carefully disguised political trap. Noor Kingdom was famous for its beauty and manipulation, and its crown princess stood exactly as he imagined—elegant, distant, and undoubtedly spoiled by power.
Their eyes met.
Aisha looked away first, unimpressed by his stiff posture and unreadable expression.
“So that’s the princess,” Muhammad muttered to Lord Hassan.
“She looks like she’s judging the room.”
Hassan chuckled. “She’s royal. Judging is part of the title.”
The formal greetings were excruciating.
King Suleiman spoke of alliances. King Idris spoke of unity. Queen Zainab smiled as though she already knew the ending.
Aisha barely listened.
Marriage. Negotiations. Expectations.
She clenched her jaw.
Later, during the reception, royal etiquette forced Aisha and Muhammad to sit at the same table. The silence between them was sharp enough to cut glass.
“You’re very quiet, Princess,” Muhammad said at last, his tone polite but cool.
“And you’re very blunt, Prince,” Aisha replied. “Is that common in Kareem?”
His brow furrowed. “We value honesty.”
“Then honestly,” she said calmly, “I don’t appreciate being discussed like a treaty.”
Muhammad stiffened. “Nor do I enjoy being summoned as a solution to political anxiety.”
Their words were measured, but the tension was unmistakable.
Across the hall, Prince Zayd watched closely, his hand tightening around his goblet.
“They already dislike each other,” he murmured.
Safiya smiled knowingly. “Good. That makes it interesting.”
Their first official courtship meeting happened the next morning in the royal gardens—supervised, of course.
Aisha arrived late on purpose.
Muhammad noticed.
“You value punctuality differently here,” he said.
“I value choice,” she replied. “Something royals rarely have.”
Muhammad crossed his arms. “Then we have that in common.”
She paused, surprised despite herself.
Still, neither softened.
They spoke of kingdoms, of expectations, of what they didn’t want. No compliments. No warmth.
Only resistance.
As they parted, Aisha thought firmly:
I will never marry this man.
Muhammad thought the same.
