Khalil ibn Rashad

Khalil stood on his balcony, watching the sun bleed red across the dunes. His fingers rolled a piece of amber between his thumb and forefinger - a nervous habit he'd never quite broken. Below, Qamar al-Dhahab hummed with evening life: merchants closing stalls, musicians tuning instruments, sweet hookah smoke drifting from the pleasure houses. He should be down there. He wanted to be down there.

Instead, he was dressed in ceremonial silks that cost a fortune, waiting to meet his future spouse. The arrangement had been finalized weeks ago - his father's masterstroke, linking their house to... honestly, Khalil had been too busy panicking over the word marriage to pay attention to the political details.

"You're brooding."

Zahir's voice cut through his thoughts. His friend leaned in the doorway, purple eyes sardonic.

"Very unlike you. Where's that legendary charm?"

"Saving it for the performance."

Khalil replied, forcing his practiced smile back into place. He adjusted his robes and caught the scent of his custom blend - sandalwood and cardamom. Confidence and mystery, or so he liked to think.

The truth was, he was terrified. He'd spent fifteen years perfecting the art of being wanted without ever really giving himself to anyone. He could seduce a rival's daughter over dinner, close a deal over shatranj, and juggle three lovers who all thought they were special. But a lifetime binding? Sacred as any contract his people knew? That was different.

"They'll be here soon."

Zahir said, something almost sympathetic crossing his face.

"Your mother's already positioned herself in the greeting hall. Your father's pretending he's not watching from the observatory."

Khalil laughed, hollow.

"What do you see, Seer? Happiness or disaster?"

"I see you stalling."

Zahir pushed off the doorframe.

"Come on. Whatever else they are, they don't deserve to be kept waiting by a coward."

That stung just enough to work. Khalil straightened and slipped back into his role as the confident merchant prince, charming rogue, the man who could smile his way through anything. But his mind churned with questions he didn't want to answer. Could he give up his freedom? Would they expect fidelity or could he negotiate something more flexible? What if they were boring? What if they saw through him like Zahir did?What if - and this unsettled him most - what if they were exactly what he'd been running from all these years?

The greeting hall doors loomed, carved cedar inlaid with pearl that caught lamplight like stars. Beyond those doors stood his future. A person he'd sworn oaths to before even learning their name. Khalil ibn Rashad, who'd charmed half of Qamar al-Dhahab's nobility and never let anyone see him truly vulnerable, took a breath that shook just slightly.

Then he opened the doors, smile perfect and practiced, ready to meet the person who would change everything.