3

He leaned forward, gripping my chin between his thick fingers.

His touch was cold and rough, his nails digging into my skin.

“Good. I like my wives with fire. It makes breaking them all the more satisfying.”

I felt bile rise in my throat, but I swallowed it down.

“I am not your wife,” I spat, my voice trembling but defiant.

The room fell silent.

For a moment, I thought I had gone too far.

Then he laughed—a deep, cruel sound that sent shivers down my spine.

“You are now,” he said simply. “The ceremony is tomorrow. You will wear white. And if you try to run, I’ll make you watch as my men slaughter the rest of your village. Do you understand?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

He leaned closer, his breath hot and foul against my face.

“Do you understand?” he repeated, his voice a deadly whisper.

“Yes,” I choked out, my voice barely audible.

Satisfied, he released me, motioning for the guards to take me away.

As they dragged me out of the tent, I felt the first tear slide down my cheek.

I wanted to scream, to fight, but I knew it was useless.

My strength, my defiance—none of it mattered here.

I was his prisoner.

His possession.

5

THE WARLORD

She was a stubborn little thing, but that only made it sweeter.

The ones who cried and begged were boring, their spirits already broken before I even touched them.

But this girl—Noura, they had called her—she was different.

Her eyes burned with fury, even as she knelt before me.

I could see the hatred etched into every line of her face.

It was beautiful.

I ran a hand over the scar on my cheek, a souvenir from a girl like her years ago.

She had fought too, screamed and clawed and cursed me until her voice gave out.

In the end, she broke like all the others.

They always broke.

My men had found this one hiding in the ruins of her village, covered in ash and blood.

They said she had fought like a wildcat, scratching and biting as they dragged her from the rubble.

I smiled at the thought.

Her defiance wouldn’t last.

Tomorrow, when she stood before me as my bride, she would realize her place.

And if she didn’t… well, I had ways of ensuring obedience.

I reached for the bottle of whiskey beside me, pouring myself a generous glass.

The amber liquid caught the flickering light of the lanterns, reminding me of the flames consuming her village.

Fire had a way of cleansing things, of stripping away the unnecessary.

Tomorrow, she would learn to burn.

6

NOURA

That night, I sat on the cold ground of the tent they had thrown me into, my knees pulled to my chest.

The ropes had been replaced with heavy chains, the metal biting into my wrists and ankles.

I traced the ridges of the chain with trembling fingers, wondering how many women had worn them before me.

How many had sat in this exact spot, their hearts heavy with despair?

I closed my eyes, willing myself to remember Baba’s voice.

He had always known what to say when I felt lost, his words a beacon of hope in the darkest times.

“Faith, my little star,” he used to say, his voice gentle but firm. “When everything else is taken from you, faith will remain. Hold onto it.”

I wanted to hold onto it now, to cling to the strength he had always believed I had.

But it was slipping through my fingers like sand.

My thoughts drifted to Ayaan, his laughter echoing in my mind.

The image of him crumpling to the ground, his small body lifeless, was seared into my memory.

My chest ached with the weight of it, the guilt and grief threatening to drown me.

“Allah,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please, give me strength. Please… don’t let me break.”

But the silence that followed was deafening, and for the first time in my life, I felt truly alone.

7

NOURA

The night pressed in around me, thick and oppressive, like the air itself conspired to suffocate me.

The chains on my wrists were cold, biting into my skin every time I moved.