Chapter 58 Fifty eight

Chapter 58 Fifty eight
Leyla's POV

The performance began the next morning.

I woke before dawn, my body aching from the battles and the celebrations and the sleepless nights. Nadia's arm was draped over my waist, her breath warm on my neck. Samira's ink-stained fingers rested on my pillow, close enough to touch. Somewhere in the palace, the others slept too. My wives. My heart.

I slipped out of bed, dressed in silence, and became someone else.

The new Leyla emerged from my chambers with a soft, demure smile. Her steps were smaller. Her eyes were always downcast until they found Khalid. Then they lit up like he was the sun and she had been living in shadow.

It was sickening and absolutely perfect.

I found him in the breakfast hall, already seated, a scroll in his hand. I approached with the careful grace of a woman who had studied every movement. I placed a cup of tea beside his plate: chilled mint, his favorite, with just a touch of honey. I'd asked Yasmin about his preferences the night before.

He looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes before he caught himself. "Thank you, Leyla."

I smiled, tilting my head just so. "You work too hard, my husband. Let me take care of you."

The words were definitely fake but they looked like devotion.

Through the morning, I studied him. The way he held his pen, the slight frown when he read certain passages, the small sigh he made before tackling difficult correspondence. I noted it all. By midday, I could anticipate his needs before he voiced them. A fresh cup of tea when his first grew cold. A small plate of dates and cheese when he skipped lunch. A quiet word to a servant who was about to interrupt his concentration.

In the afternoon, we walked through the gardens. Yasmin was there, pruning roses. She looked up as we passed, and for one terrible second, our eyes met. The longing there nearly broke me. I looked away quickly, turning my adoring gaze back to Khalid.

"The roses are lovely this season," I said, my voice light. "Don't you think, my husband?"

Khalid played his part perfectly. He took my hand, lifted it to his lips, pressed a kiss to my knuckles. "Not as lovely as you."

Yasmin's shears paused for just a moment. Then she bent back to her work. No one but me saw the tremor in her hands.

At court that evening, I sat at Khalid's side, my hand resting on his arm. I laughed at his jests with small, musical laughs that drew approving glances from the nobles around us. I leaned close when he spoke to others, as if hanging on his every word. I brought him refreshments with eyes so full of adoration it made my stomach turn.

Samira was there, standing with a group of scholars. Her gaze found mine once, briefly. I saw the pain there, quickly hidden. Then I looked away, back to Khalid, back to the role.

Malek watched from across the room. I felt his eyes like spiders crawling on my skin. Every move I made was for him. Every loving glance at Khalid, every wifely gesture, was a message: See? Nothing to see here. Just a devoted wife. Nothing more.

When the evening ended, I walked with Khalid through the empty corridors. The masks dropped. He rubbed his temples, exhausted from the performance.

"You play this part frighteningly well," he murmured, a hint of genuine admiration in his voice.

We stopped near a window, moonlight silvering the stones. No one was watching. For now.

I met his eyes, and for a moment, I let him see the real me beneath the adoring mask. The hunter. The strategist. The woman who had seduced six wives and would burn an empire to keep them safe.

"It's just another type of hunt," I whispered back. "The prey just has to think you're something you're not."

His lips twitched, a small smile of respect.

The door at the end of the corridor opened. Malek stepped through, his oil-slick smile fixed in place, his eyes cataloging our proximity, our lowered voices, the intimacy of the moment.

Khalid's hand found mine, squeezed once in warning. I immediately softened my posture, leaned into him, looked up with adoring eyes.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening, my husband," I said, loud enough to carry.

Malek's gaze lingered on our joined hands. On my face, so close to Khalid's. On the easy intimacy between us.

He smiled. It was the smile of a man who had just found a thread and was beginning to pull.

"Forgive the intrusion," he said smoothly. "I was just seeking a quiet word with the steward. But I see the happy couple is enjoying a private moment." His eyes flicked to me. "You are a model wife, Lady Leyla. Truly inspiring."

The compliment was a knife wrapped in silk. I smiled back, my face a masterpiece of innocent gratitude.

"Thank you, Grand Vizier. I had an excellent teacher." I glanced at Khalid with adoring eyes. "My husband deserves nothing less."

Malek's smile tightened, just slightly. He nodded and continued down the corridor.

When he was gone, I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Khalid's grip on my hand relaxed.

"He's watching," I said quietly.

"He's always watching." Khalid looked at me, his expression grim. "The performance continues for as long as it takes."

I nodded. The night was cold, but inside I burned with the effort of pretending. Somewhere in the palace, my wives were alone, missing me, waiting for the moment we could be real again.

I would give them that moment. I would give them anything. Even this. Especially this.