“Could you repeat that?” I asked, trying to make sense of her words.
Zara’s piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, their unfathomable depths stirring something deep within me. “Pasha Hassan insisted on the final challenge being with his son.”
“His… son?” The word caught in my throat, heavy and jagged, its weight sinking in slowly. It wove a tangled web of implications that I struggled to unravel. “What exactly are you getting at?”
“It’s the truth,” Zara said evenly. “Pasha Hassan is Roman Alexander’s father.
“Every trial set before you, every challenge, was meant to shape you both for what lies ahead,” he said, his voice unwavering. “Each one was drawn from your memories, shaping the path forward.”
My heart hammered against my ribcage, the word “flabbergasted” barely scraping the surface of the storm raging within. How had the world tilted drastically on its axis while I remained oblivious?
“Who are you?” The plea tumbled from my lips, raw and edged with a burgeoning fear of the unknown.
“I am bound to protect you,” Zara declared, her unwavering commitment resonating in every word she uttered. “For as long as breath fills my lungs, that vow shall never waver.”
“But you are the darkness,” I stammered. Images of our recent encounters flashed through my mind, her dark powers protecting and somehow transporting me to safety. “I saw with my eyes how you took me from one dangerous situation and brought me to safety.”
Zara’s expression hardened like a storm cloud gathering before a thunderous strike.
“Most darknesses have been poisoned and twisted by those who fear their power,” she said in a low, ominous tone. “But Malik and I are different. He has been under my tutelage. He was taught to use his darkness for good, to fight for the right side.”
Her words sent chills down my spine. The idea that not all darkness was inherently evil was foreign to me, yet Zara made it sound possible—convincing, even.
“Remember this, Olivia,” she continued, her gaze unwavering, her voice like a blade carving truth into the silence. “Not all darknesses are born evil. Many are made evil by those who seek to control them.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, the memory of flames licking at my flesh and her timely intervention merging into one. “For rescuing me and my baby from the fire... and for ensuring that Rosie and Reyna made it out too.”
“Think nothing of it,” Zara said, her expression softening briefly. “It was both my honor and my duty. We stand on the precipice of something great. You’re safe, Olivia—for now.”
Her assurance should have brought comfort, yet it left me with a fresh tide of unease. “Explain,” I pressed. “Please, I need to understand. Everyone keeps holding onto these secrets, and I’m so tired of being left in the dark.”
But Zara’s lips sealed shut like the tomb of a long-forgotten sultan, her expression an impenetrable mask.
“Some truths,” she whispered, a note of finality threading through her words, “are for another time.”
Impatience clawed at my insides. “So, you won’t tell me anything?
“I promise you, Olivia, everything will be revealed to you soon. Just stay patient for a little bit longer,” Zara said, her enigmatic smile shielding her mysteries.
“I want to see my husband,” I said.
“I will go and get him,” she replied, her voice calm, before exiting the room with a rustle of her simple yet elegant garments.
I rose from the majestic bed, my legs still unsteady. My mind raced with confusion in the grand, lavish room. Zara’s cryptic words echoed as I tried to understand it all. Roman and I had been under constant threat, yet now she claimed we were safe? My body still trembled from the fear and trauma of being captured by Pasha Hassan and his army. Could there be a new definition of safety that I was discovering?
I paced the opulent chamber, which felt more like a sultan’s palace than a mere bedroom. My feet sank into thick, ornate carpets that muffled my restless steps.
The light spilling into the room captured my attention, drawing me toward its source. I couldn’t fathom where it came from in a space seemingly shielded from the sun in this underground palace. Yet, the room was bathed in a warm, golden glow, casting everything in a hazy, ethereal illumination. I walked toward the light’s source—a diffuse, glowing orb near the ceiling. It floated effortlessly, suspended in midair, radiating light and warmth. Shadows danced on the walls, alive with movement. I reached out to touch it, but my hand passed right through as if it were made of mist.
I glanced around, searching for any other light source, but there was none. There was only the orb, filling the darkness with its gentle, comforting, and strange glow. Pulling my hand back, I saw the fine attire adorning my body. The caftan I wore was a masterpiece of crimson velvet trimmed with intricate gold embroidery. Its hem was embellished with delicate pearls that whispered of wealth and status. The sleeves billowed gracefully, edged with threads of silver, while a sash cinched at my waist, studded with jewels that caught the light like stars. This was the garb of a noblewoman of the Ottoman Empire, far removed from anything I had ever owned or imagined wearing.
I turned toward the full-length, ornamental mirror standing against the wall. The woman reflected at me, draped in elegance, her posture regal. But it was her eyes—my eyes—that betrayed her. They were not the eyes of nobility but of a woman hungry for answers, yearning to piece together the fractured reality around her.
The hardwood floor vibrated under the weight of approaching footsteps, growing louder as they neared my bedroom door. Excitement rippled through me at the thought of Roman’s imminent arrival. My heart thrummed with a heady blend of love, anticipation, and an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. The journey we’d embarked on together had transformed me and tempered me like steel forged in adversity. I hardly recognized the girl I once was in the reflection of this foreign world.
The mosaic of my experiences, each a piece of colored glass, had assembled into a vibrant picture of the person I had become—a warrior, a lover, a mother, a seeker of truths. Standing on the precipice of revelation, I ached to share this new self with Roman—to see his reaction reflected in those deep eyes that promised solace and adventure.
The heavy carved door swung inward, and Roman stepped across the threshold. My breath hitched at the sight of him. His caftan fell in rich, cascading folds, the deep azure fabric embroidered with gold thread that shimmered like rivulets of sunlight. A sash encircled his waist, its intricate brocade speaking of wealth and power, while his boots, turned up at the toes, gleamed with a polish that rivaled the ornate silverwork on his belt.
