Measurements

The following days slipped by in a blur as Wren’s voice and presence lingered in Khari’s mind. She tried to return to her regular routine, but it was hard. Wren disappeared, and Azim didn’t let her out of his sight for too long. Every time the door opened, she expected to see Wren there; she expected him to burst in and cause some sort of chaos. But he never did. At first, she was relieved. But now, she was starting to worry. The silence raised red flags and seemed too deliberate. Her stomach twisted into knots each time she stopped to consider what Wren might be up to.

She was about to open her bedroom door to meet Azim when she heard a persistent knock. Her heart raced as she opened the door. “Oh,” she exclaimed, taken aback as multiple people began to speak in unison. Their voices were overlapping as they pushed their way inside without her permission, “Hello?” she said, standing frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

“Good morning, Miss Khari,” a petite woman with a tape measure draped around her neck said as she and three other tailors stepped beside her. “We’ve come to take your measurements.”

“Measurements? For what?” she asked, her voice nearly lost in the havoc. Expensive clothing trunks were being opened, and garments were being held up to the light to check the quality of the fabric. She could hear the rustling of paper and people’s voices as they discussed their next project.

The woman pulled a piece of paper from her binder and held it up, “New garments,” she snapped the binder shut. They circled around Khari as she stood stock-still in the center of the room, stripped down to a slinky silk slip. The tailor and three seamstresses surrounded her, their measuring tapes flicking and snapping as they assessed her proportions. The tailor held up different fabrics and ran her hands over them, her eyes never leaving Khari’s figure. The seamstresses pulled out bundles of thread, clacking sheers, and color swatches of material. Khari held her arms out and tried to keep still. She felt the material swishing and brushing against her skin as they pulled fabric after fabric over her head. The attendants seemed to be in a world of their own, whispering details about each garment as they worked diligently to find the perfect fit.

Time dragged on as they pored over the items, trying to make their selection. A timid knock at the door broke their concentration. “It’s me,” Azim said, peeking around the doorframe. His gaze drifted from Khari’s pale face to the swathes of cloth thrown across the floor.

The room fell into an instant hush, and the attendants bowed low. “Prince Azim,” the tailor declared. “We just finished. This will be done in three days, Miss Khari,” she said as they all shuffled toward the door, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the expansive hallway.

The tailor, clad in white gloves, gave a sweeping bow before taking her leave with multiple garment bags draped over her arms. Khari heaved a sigh of exhaustion, feeling as if she had been on display all day. “I’m sorry,” Khari said softly. “I should have met you in the garden as I promised.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The sound of his voice trailed off as the tailor vanished through the doorway, ensuring their privacy. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking at her with furrowed eyebrows. “What was that all about?” he said.

“Measurements. Apparently.” Khari said, her eyebrows furrowed with a perplexed look. She hadn’t ordered any new garments.

“Measurements for what?” he asked.

Wren stepped into the room and paused, a mysterious glint in his eyes. He cleared his throat and said, “It’s for an important event coming up in a few days.” He proceeded further into the room, his confident stride echoing throughout.

Azim’s arms tensed as he crossed them, his skepticism evident. “And what event might that be?” he asked. “I don’t believe any planned events are coming up at the palace.”

Wren’s smirk twisted his lips into a knowing sneer as he fixed his gaze on Azim and then Khari. “Who said it’s a palace event?” His eyes sparkled with mirth as a sly smile played across his mouth.

Azim’s eyes were hard, and his jaw was set as he stared at Wren. “C’mon, spit it out. We don’t have time for your riddles.” The room seemed to tighten around them as the seconds passed.

“Alright,” he said, standing close to Khari. “I needed your measurements to make sure your lingerie was perfect,” he said in a gentle but menacing tone, “Because in three days, it will finally be the time to add you as my mistress permanently. The day when I finally make you mine.”

Khari’s chest tightened as she heard Wren’s words, and the weight of them seemed to press down on her. She swallowed and inhaled deeply, fighting back the tears that stung her eyes. She had known there would come a time when they would lay together, but hearing him say it stirred something inside her. “You said you’d never touch me because-”

“I was wrong,” Wren’s voice faded to a whisper, his eyes shimmering with regret. “I won’t let you go.”

Khari’s mouth opened slightly as she prepared to respond when Azim shot forward and cut him off with a sharp, “You can’t just claim her like she’s some piece of property.”

Wren slowly turned toward him, his face frozen in an expression of disdain. “Why not?” he whispered, his voice dripping with contempt. “That’s what she is. A possession, a possession that I own.”

Azim’s eyes flashed with anger as he thrust his finger into the air and stepped closer to him. His voice was low and menacing. “No. She’s a person with feelings. Feelings that are not too fond of you.”

Wren squared his shoulders and stepped closer to his brother, his eyes glinting dangerously. “You need to remember your place and stay in it, brother. Even if she has feelings for you,” he spat out, his jaw tight with restrained anger. “She’s mine, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Khari’s voice climbed higher, each syllable she uttered like a slap in the face. “By forcing me to sleep with you?”

“Khari,” Wren’s voice was a breathy whisper, and his hand reached out for her, but Azim was quicker. He stepped between them and folded his arms, blocking Wren’s advance. Wren’s eyes were narrowed, his chin jutting forward as he spoke unyieldingly. “I won’t let you be taken from me by my own brother,” he said, then slowly shifted his gaze toward Khari, “Tell me what needs to be done, and then we can work together to set this right.”

Azim’s mouth opened slightly in surprise, “Work on what?”

Wren’s gaze remained steady, his voice sincere, “Work on our relationship, of course,” he said.

Azim’s eyebrows arched as he leaned forward and smirked. “You think you have a relationship with Khari?” His tone was mocking, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.

“Of course we do,” Wren responded.

Khari’s lip curled into a sneer as she responded to Prince Wren’s comment. “You’re right. We do have a relationship,” she said, her words heavy and laced with sarcasm before her voice softened. “An abusive one.” Silence filled the room as the implications of her statement hung in the air.

“I apologize for everything I’ve done, Khari.” Khari slowly shook her head, her hair dancing in the warm breeze coming from the balcony. Exhaustion radiated from her as she shuffled outside, leaving Wren alone with Azim. Wren stood tall and met Azim’s gaze. His words were heavy with threat and finality, “Once she is truly mine, there will be no hope for you. Whatever feelings you have for Khari must stop because you will never have her.” With that, he spun on his heel and left the room.

“We’ll see about that,” Azim raised an eyebrow, his smirk hinting at something deeper than Wren could understand. Azim stepped onto the balcony and found Khari, head in her hands. Her eyes were red and puffy from tears she had yet to cry. He pulled her close and whispered comforting words as she finally let go, burying her face in his chest while her shaking shoulders heaved with sorrow.

He held her hands in his, their fingers interlaced. Speaking with clarity and conviction, he said, “Everything will be okay, Khari. I promise.” He felt his plan start to take shape. It was forming into something concrete, something reliable. This wasn’t only his battle - it was theirs. He wouldn’t let her go easily and was determined to fight for both of them.