Chapter 67 Sixty seven

Chapter 67 Sixty seven


Leyla's POV

The throne room felt different this time.

We stood in the same place, before the same Sultan, surrounded by the same hungry nobles. But something had shifted. The air was thicker. The silence heavier. Malek stood at the center, but his posture was not that of an accuser. It was that of a mourner.

He looked at Khalid with sorrowful eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was soft, sad, full of false sympathy.

"My Sultan, I stand before you not as an accuser, but as a friend who has watched a great man stumble." He shook his head slowly. "Khalid al-Munsif has served this empire faithfully. His courage is unquestioned. His loyalty is beyond doubt."

The words were honey. Poison wrapped in sweetness.

"But a man can be brave and loyal and still be blind." Malek's voice grew heavier. "He can trust too deeply. He can see only the faces presented to him and miss the truth beneath."

I felt my stomach clench. This was a new tactic. He was not attacking Khalid. He was pitying him. Making him look foolish. Making us look like the deceivers.

Malek gestured to the priests. They stepped forward, their faces solemn, their robes rustling in the silence.

"These holy men witnessed the pilgrimage," Malek said. "They saw what happens when the masks slip. They heard the whispers in the dark."

The first priest spoke. His voice was calm, measured, dripping with concern.

"On the first night, I observed the wives gathering in the baths. A place of privacy, yes. But why at such an hour? Why in secret?" He paused, letting the question hang. "I heard music from within. A signal, perhaps. A cover for words not meant for faithful ears."

The crowd murmured. I kept my face still, but inside I was screaming. He had not seen us. He could not have. But he was weaving suspicion from shadows.

The second priest stepped forward. "I witnessed the botanist and the scholar together. Alone. In the gardens at dusk. Their touches were... familiar. More than friendship. More than sisterhood."

My heart pounded. Yasmin had tended Samira's headache. That was all. But stripped of context, it sounded like something else.

The third priest described Mia's music and Imani's reaction. "They exchanged looks," he said. "A silent understanding. As if they shared secrets no one else could know."

Another murmur. Louder this time.

The fourth priest spoke of the argument between Nadia and me. "They fought bitterly over the master's affections. Jealousy. Rivalry. These are not the bonds of loyal wives. These are the conflicts of women with divided hearts."

Each testimony was true. Each was twisted. The whispers in the dark became conspiracies. The glances became codes. The touches became crimes.

Malek spread his hands, his face full of sorrow.

"My Sultan, I do not accuse these women of actions. I accuse them of spirit. A rot that cannot be seen but can be felt. A house built on such sand cannot stand." His voice dropped, heavy with meaning. "For the kingdom's security, for the purity of our traditions, it must be... purified."

The word hung in the air like smoke. Purified. We all knew what that meant. Disband the household. Imprison the wives. Destroy everything we had built.

The Sultan's face was unreadable. He looked at Khalid, then at us, then back at Malek. The silence stretched, thin as a blade.

I felt Nadia's hand brush mine. A tiny touch. Gone in an instant. But it grounded me.

This was the moment. The final test. Malek had woven his web of sorrow and suspicion. He had made us look like deceivers without proof, without evidence, just insinuation and twisted truth.

And the court was listening.

I looked at my wives. Samira's face was pale but composed. Yasmin's hands trembled slightly. Imani's eyes were sharp, scanning, calculating. Mariam stood like stone. Mia looked ready to faint. Nadia's jaw was tight, her body coiled.

They were afraid. So was I.

But underneath the fear, something else burned. Determination. We had come too far to fall now. We had fought too hard to break.

The Sultan leaned forward. His eyes moved over us, slow and deliberate. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but it carried to every corner.

"These are serious words, Vizier. You ask me to destroy a noble house based on... glances? Whispers? Things that might have been?"

Malek bowed his head. "I ask you to protect the kingdom from a rot that, left unchecked, could spread. The appearance of impropriety is itself a poison. It weakens trust. It invites scandal. It gives our enemies ammunition."

The Sultan was silent for a long moment. Then he looked at Khalid.

"What say you, Lord Khalid?"

Khalid stepped forward. His voice was steady, but I heard the strain beneath.

"I say that my wives have been watched, judged, and found guilty of being women. Of caring for each other. Of living together in a household that values strength and loyalty." He looked at Malek. "The Vizier sees conspiracy because he looks for it. He finds rot because he brings it with him."

Malek's eyes flashed, but he kept his sorrowful mask.

The Sultan raised a hand. Silence fell.

"I will consider the Vizier's words," he said. "And I will consider the Lord Khalid's defense. The court is adjourned until dawn. At that time, I will give my judgment."

He rose. The room bowed. And we were left standing in the center of a storm, not knowing if we would survive the night.

As the crowd dispersed, I felt eyes on me. Malek's. He did not smile. He did not gloat. He simply watched, his face full of that sorrowful satisfaction.

He believed he had won.

I turned away, gathered my wives, and walked out into the gathering dark. The night ahead would be long. The judgment at dawn would decide everything.

But as we left the throne room, Nadia's hand found mine again. And this time, she did not let go.