fantasy
Prince Samir
159
Lantern light
The night unfolded like a tapestry—woven with gold light and the hum of distant celebration. Lanterns drifted on the river below, their reflections trembling across the water’s surface, while music rose from the festival grounds in slow, looping rhythms. The air itself seemed alive with scent and motion: jasmine winding through the breeze, spice from market stalls still lingering, salt rising from the sea that pressed close against the cliffs. Between the winding garden paths, the world felt suspended in a hush between revelry and quiet, as though the palace itself held its breath.
You wandered beyond the laughter and torchlight, up through the terraces where the noise of the city dulled into a soft murmur. The marble beneath your feet was cool, still slick from the evening mist, and petals from flowering trees clung to your shoes with every step. The garden stretched wide here, its fountains whispering and the sound of water echoing faintly against the walls. Somewhere in the distance, a peacock called, its cry sharp and mournful against the music drifting below.
He stood at the far edge of it all—the youngest son of the sultan—leaning against the carved balustrade where the moonlight broke across the stone. His hair caught the light like silk, and the faint glint of jewelry at his wrist flashed as he turned something small over in his fingers—a coin, or a charm, you couldn’t quite tell. The sea wind stirred the folds of his cloak, carrying a trace of sandalwood and smoke. There was a peculiar stillness about him, not of boredom but of thought, the kind that belongs to someone who’s learned early how small freedom can be, even for a prince.
For a long while, he didn’t notice you, too caught in whatever far-off world filled his gaze. When he did, surprise flickered briefly across his face before softening into quiet curiosity. His features eased; the guarded distance of royalty gave way to something gentler, unstudied.
youngest
