Morning light spilled into the palace halls, softening the sharp lines of stone and shadow. The Queen stood at the balcony, watching the city awaken below, when familiar footsteps approached from behind.
"You should eat," her brother said gently.
She turned, surprised by the concern in his voice. "You remember such things now?"
He smiled, the kind that once chased her fears away as a child. "I have always remembered. You are the one who forgets yourself for this kingdom."
He gestured to the table where a simple breakfast waited—fresh bread, dates, warm milk. Nothing extravagant. Intentional.
She sat.
"You didn't have to come so early," she said.
"I did," he replied, taking the seat across from her. "You've been restless. The servants whisper."
She frowned. "I rule a kingdom. Let them whisper."
His expression softened. "You rule it alone."
The words landed heavier than intended.
"When Father died," he continued, voice lower, "they wanted me to take the throne. I refused because you were stronger. Kinder. I have never regretted that."
She reached across the table, placing her hand over his.
"I would not be here without you," she said quietly. "You stood between me and every blade meant for this crown."
His fingers tightened around hers. "And I always will."
Later that day, they walked together through the inner gardens, where fountains sang and jasmine perfumed the air. Guards followed at a respectful distance.
"Do you remember the old palace in the north?" she asked suddenly. "When I was afraid of the dark?"
He laughed softly. "You hid behind me every night."
"You told me monsters feared brave princes," she said with a smile. "I believed you."
He stopped walking.
"They still do," he said.
She looked up at him, searching his face. "You've changed."
He raised a brow. "Have I?"
"You carry more shadows now," she said. "It worries me."
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Shadows exist so the light can be seen. You are the light, sister. Let me be what I must."
Her eyes glistened.
"I trust you," she said.
He bowed his head. "That trust is my greatest honor."
That night, alone in her chamber, the Queen lit a single lamp and sat by her window.
She thought of her brother's hand on her shoulder.
Of his unwavering presence.
Of how safe she felt when he was near.
She whispered a prayer for him before sleeping.
Across the palace, her brother stood alone in a dark corridor, watching torches flicker against stone.
His expression was unreadable.
But when he finally turned away, his hand trembled—just once.
Blood bound them.
And blood, when tested, would decide the fate of Al-Zahra.