On Entya’s first day in Talrakia, the palace was buzzing like a beehive. The handmaidens couldn't hide their curiosity and crowded around her. It wasn't just because she was a young future queen, but because of her unique appearance. She had an East Asian look they had never seen before. They were mesmerized by her eyes, which shimmered like larimar gemstones flecked with emerald green, and her hair, which was charcoal black with a bluish sheen like freshly mined coal.

They bathed her in warm water scented with jasmine, rose, and orange blossoms. The sweet fragrance soaked into her skin, making her feel clean and smooth, which was a huge change from the smell of the grasslands. When it was time to get dressed, Entya rejected the palace silks and brocades. With her head held high, she chose the deel from her village, a deep red garment with pastel pink patterns. Though it had been washed clean, it still felt like a piece of home.

When night came, the temperature dropped quickly, making the air freezing cold. Entya was shown to her new quarters, which were much grander than she had expected. Located on the eastern wing of the stone palace, it had a rich Middle Eastern feel. There were large, patterned carpets on the floor and soft, colorful pillows in the corners. In the middle stood a huge canopy bed. There was also a balcony with strong stone pillars. The candlelight made the expensive fabrics and rugs look warm, but the whole place still felt very foreign to her.

The room was much bigger than the tent she had shared with her aunt—and it was much lonelier.

Entya sat on the edge of the bed. It felt too soft and strange. She looked around and realized this luxury wasn't a gift; it was a beautiful golden cage.

She remembered the promise she made to herself: Learn. She wasn't here to be a puppet or a trophy for the king. She was here to understand her enemy and find their weaknesses so she could reclaim her freedom.

That King, Nashr, with his amethyst eyes that seemed to look through her soul, clearly wanted something from her. Whether it was her power, her race, or something else. But Entya knew she wouldn't give it to him easily.

She wasn't a helpless lamb; she was a wolf from the east. She might be alone, but her fangs were still sharp. The man could bring her to his palace and dress her in silk and jewels, but he would never own her soul. If Nashr tried to force her, if he tried to take what she was unwilling to give, she would bite—and she would bite hard.

Suddenly, Entya felt a strange vibration—an energy approaching the room, carrying hints of curiosity and excitement. Her body tensed; her instincts kicked in immediately. She moved fast, pulling out the dagger she had hidden in her deel.

When the door opened and a tall shadow stepped inside, Entya was ready. Nashr, with those piercing amethyst eyes, appeared. Without hesitation, Entya lunged, her blade aimed straight for his throat.

Nashr moved with incredible speed. With a fighter's reflex, he grabbed her wrist just before the blade touched him. His grip was firm, yet he did not hurt her.

"Whoa, easy there," Nashr murmured, a small smirk playing on his lips. He looked amused, as if this were a game. "I’m not going to hurt you. Our future queen is quite aggressive, it seems."

"You won't get what you want from me," Entya snapped. Their energy resonances clashed, thick with an aura of hatred and tension. It felt like an electric shock—a warning of danger.

Nashr sighed, his smirk fading into a serious expression. "Entya, I'm not going to hurt you, and I won’t let anything happen to you." He looked her in the eyes, looking for a trace of trust. "Can you calm down so I can explain?"

Entya hesitated. Her hand was still tense in his grip, her dagger still raised. Her eyes were filled with suspicion. She could not trust the promises of the man who had kidnapped her. The resonance between them still felt like sparks ready to ignite.

Slowly, Nashr let go of her wrist. With a gentle motion, he sheathed the sharp blade at her side. Then, he took her hand gently.

"I didn't bring you here just for my own interests," he said softly, trying to calm the storm inside her. The resonance shifted slightly, turning from violent sparks into a gentle, confusing hum. "The people of Talrakia have a problem that maybe only you can solve."

Entya pulled her hand away, looking disgusted. "I don't care about your people! You kidnapped me and took me away from everyone I love. Do you think I'm just an object?!" Her anger boiled over, and the resonance flared again, radiating a searing heat.

Nashr stayed calm. "Calling you my future wife is a way to protect you. Without that title, I wouldn't be able to keep you safe in this palace," he explained. His voice regained its authority, but it was soothing. Their resonance shifted once more; this time, Entya felt a wave of calm, unshakable strength from him, as if he were a sturdy pillar capable of weathering any storm.

The words made her soften. Slowly, her rage ebbed away, replaced by confusion and a sliver of hope. The wave of resonance coming from Nashr felt like a promise of protection.

"You may view it as a political marriage, we aren't actually married. I will not touch you as a husband, especially since you're still a child," Nashr continued, emphasizing his vow. "But I will look after you and ensure your safety here."

He looked at her with a sincere gaze. "Will you help me, Entya? Help my people."

Entya fell silent, weighing his words. The resonance she felt now was a mixture of sincerity and hope. She felt a sense of purpose in his words. "Can you explain it to me?"

Nashr smiled, looking relieved. He took her question as consent—a bridge successfully built. "It would be better if I showed you. Wait for my call tomorrow, we are going outside the palace."

He looked at her warmly. "Thank you, little nomad. Sleep well."

He turned and left the room, leaving Entya alone. The door clicked shut, his footsteps faded, and the resonance that had filled the room slowly dissipated. The room felt empty and cold again.

Entya slumped onto the carpet, releasing all the tension. She felt a slight sense of relief after hearing his explanation. The weight on her chest had lifted slightly, though a heavy burden remained.

Fortunately, her friend Gerel had been hiding behind the door and came out as soon as Nashr left.

"Entya, are you okay?" Gerel asked.

Entya looked at Gerel and burst into tears. All the bravery she had shown Nashr crumbled instantly. Without a word, she hugged Gerel tightly. They both sobbed, comforting each other in their grief.

"Gerel... I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to mourn Jochi with you," Entya whispered.

"I'm sorry too, that all of this had to happen to you," Gerel replied, holding Entya just as tightly.

That night, in a foreign palace room, they comforted each other. They said their goodbyes to the loves they had lost and the past that could never return. Exhausted, they finally fell asleep on the thick carpet.

Goodbye, Jochi. May Tengri be with you.

Farewell, Yul. May fate protect you wherever you are.

As Nashr stepped out of Entya’s room, the heavy door clicked shut behind him, cutting off the resonance between them. He walked down the grand palace hallway with his usual confident stride, but inside, his mind was a mess.

He touched his neck, right where Entya’s blade had nearly cut him. It wasn't the physical threat that bothered him; it was the intensity of her energy. He had felt her burning anger, her hidden fear, and her deep loneliness. Somehow, those feelings had reached a part of Nashr that had been frozen for a long time.

When he first walked into the room, he had expected her to fight. He was ready for the dagger and the look of pure hatred in her eyes. But when she finally stopped struggling and he saw how fragile she looked, he felt a strange sensation. The power he usually found so attractive now felt like a desperate cry for help. He didn't just see a difficult future queen anymore; he saw a terrified child who had been ripped away from her home.

He realized he had softened.

The way he held her wrist had changed from a controlling grip to something much gentler. Even his words, which were usually carefully planned and strategic, had come out with a warmth that surprised him. He was amazed that he—a king who had built his empire with an iron fist—was even capable of being that kind. It was a genuine feeling, coming from a heart he didn't know he still had.

"I didn't bring you here just for my own interest."

That was a lie—or at least, it wasn't the whole truth. He had definitely brought her here for her power and her ability to save Talrakia. That was a matter of state. But when he saw the tears in her eyes and heard her accuse him of stealing her freedom, he felt a new urge: the need to protect and comfort her.

"Calling you my future wife is a way to protect you."

That part was true. Without that title, Entya would be an outsider and an easy target for palace intrigue or enemies. It was a shield he was placing around her. When he noticed her shoulders relax and the suspicion in her eyes fade slightly, he knew he had made the right choice.

Tonight, let the nomad girl sleep peacefully. Let her feel a bit of calm in the storm she never asked for. Nashr would give her time to adjust, to learn his ways, and to see that he wasn't her enemy.

That resonance, which now felt much softer, was his greatest gamble. And for tonight, he wanted her to have sweet dreams in her new home. He would make sure of it. He would keep her safe.