"Your Majesty!"

  Rasyid’s voice cut through the corridor, sounding like a man who had finally reached his breaking point. He stood before Nashr with a posture as rigid as a statue, though his dark eyes flickered with silent protest. Nearby, the faint scent of spices and fresh flowers drifted from Entya’s greenhouse as if mocking the advisor’s gravity.

  "You truly must teach her palace etiquette," Rasyid demanded while crossing his arms. He did not even need to mention a name because Nashr knew exactly who he meant. "This palace is not a wilderness where she can run wild as she pleases. She is the future Queen of Talrakia, Your Majesty. She cannot be wandering about with disheveled hair and such casual clothes. And she is planting chili peppers in the decorative urns! This cannot continue."

  Nashr only smirked with his eyes sparkling in amusement. He actually loved the changes. The new energy Entya brought, the chaotic joy and the little bursts of life, felt like morning dew in the middle of a monotonous desert. However, he knew Rasyid was right because there were boundaries that had to be respected.

  "Very well, Rasyid," Nashr nodded as his smile lingered. "I leave it to you. Find the best teachers for her. Actually, why not your own wives?"

  Rasyid blinked while genuinely caught off guard. It was a brilliant idea. Who better to teach the intricacies of palace etiquette than the women who lived it every day?

  And so, Entya’s etiquette lessons began.

  She was taken to a room adorned with thick carpets and silk cushions where she met Rasyid’s three enchanting wives. It was a unique situation. On one hand, she was the fiancée of the Great King of Talrakia, a mature and authoritative man who had no other partners. On the other hand, Rasyid, the King’s right hand man, already had three graceful wives who each possessed a distinct personality.

  There was Sima, the eldest, with inquisitive eyes that never stopped observing the nomad girl. Then there was Zahira, who was kind and warm while welcoming Entya with a sincere smile and stories of palace life. Finally, there was Aisha, the youngest. She was beautiful, but she clearly was not a fan of Entya. She kept her distance and her lips thinned every time Entya made a mistake. Entya, however, did not care because she had bigger goals than pleasing Aisha.

  The women patiently, or at least Sima and Zahira did, dressed Entya in traditional Talrakian attire. There were long silk gowns woven with gold thread and brocade cloaks with intricate embroidery and silver jewelry adorned with gemstones. They taught her how to walk with grace, step by step, while maintaining her balance as if she were carrying an invisible weight upon her head.

  "Think of it like your riding practice, Your Majesty," Sima suggested softly when she saw Entya struggling. "If you can ride a horse gracefully, I am certain you can handle a silk skirt."

  Entya exhaled while trying to tap into that same sense of balance she felt in the saddle. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and finally managed to walk with a bit of confidence.

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  From a distance, Nashr watched. Hidden behind a carved pillar, he observed Entya, usually so nimble and free, struggling with long skirts and measured steps. Seeing her pout and struggle yet refuse to give up made him smile. Rasyid saw a problem, but Nashr saw a transformation.

  Rasyid happened to walk by and catch sight of his King. He saw Nashr, usually stiff and dominant and guarded, now displaying a warm and gentle expression. There was an unusual softness in those amethyst eyes that appeared only when Nashr looked at or heard of Entya, his Little Queen. The King who had turned down every noblewoman in the kingdom was now completely fixated on a nomad girl.

  Rasyid just shook his head. The palace was definitely changing.

  The etiquette lessons did not get any easier. The layered desert gowns felt like a cage. After stumbling down the stairs for the tenth time, Entya finally snapped.

  "This is ridiculous!" she grumbled as she stormed into the hall where Nashr and Rasyid were in the middle of a meeting. "I am done with these clothes! I have almost fallen a dozen times! I feel like I am tied up!" She swatted at her skirts like they were an enemy. "I want my deel back!"

  Rasyid sighed. "A deel is not made for the desert, Your Majesty," he said in his typical flat tone. "It is too thick and too hot. You must adapt to desert clothing if you wish to live here." He gave her a look that said 'just accept the facts'.

  "But I am not comfortable!" Entya snapped back with her voice rising an octave. "I cannot move! How am I supposed to ride a horse? How am I supposed to do anything if I am constantly tripping over myself?"

  "You are a future queen, Your Majesty, and no longer a nomad running across the steppes," Rasyid countered with a rigid expression. "There are ethics and rules you must follow."

  Entya snorted with her teal eyes flashing in rebellion. "Then the rules are suffocating me!"

  Nashr had been quietly observing the bickering. He pressed a finger to his lips with his amethyst eyes narrowing as if weaving an idea. The room fell silent except for Entya’s heavy breathing and Rasyid’s frustrated sigh.

  Then, a thin smile touched Nashr’s lips. "Rasyid," he said calmly. "What if we made a deel using our lightweight desert silk?"

  Entya’s eyes lit up instantly. "Are you serious? For real?" Her anger vanished in a heartbeat. She practically ran over to Nashr while grabbing his cloak and tugging on it enthusiastically. "Really?"

  Nashr chuckled while entertained by her reaction. "If it makes you happy, why not?" He gently patted the top of her head. "You can choose whatever colors you like, Entya."

  "Hooray!" Entya cheered while letting go of his cloak and starting to count on her fingers. "Nashr, I want light blue, and turquoise, and pink... maybe a soft purple too!"

  Rasyid groaned internally. More work. He could already imagine the complexities that would arise from this custom order. But he did not dare argue. The look on Nashr’s face was a clear warning. Don't even try it.

  A few days later, Sima and Zahira dressed Entya in a new and lightweight silk deel. It was vibrant and perfectly tailored for movement.

  "Nashr! Nashr! Look at this! Look at me!" Entya jogged toward Nashr in the palace library while twirling until the turquoise fabric flared out around her. She looked like a spark of light against the old stone walls.

  Nashr set down his scroll with his amethyst eyes bright in amusement. "Perfect," he said while playfully giving her a nod of approval. "It suits you well."

  "This deel has pockets too!" Entya beamed while showing off the hidden pocket she had insisted on for her treasures.

  Rasyid, who was there to give a report, watched the scene with a mix of horror and amusement. He saw his King, the man who terrified his enemies and ruled with total domination, relaxing and smiling and even laughing like a normal human being.

  In Rasyid’s eyes, Nashr had changed. He was like a wolf in sheep's clothing who had forgotten he had fangs while playing with his prey. Or perhaps it was the sheep who had conquered the wolf.

  Rasyid did not know which was more concerning, but he knew one thing.

  Nashr was gone for her.