The scent of burning flesh still lingered in the air, mingling with the acrid smoke that rose from the smoldering ruins of what once had been the palace of King Farhan. The golden city of Talhira, once vibrant and teeming with life, had fallen silent under the reign of death that swept through it with ruthless precision. Murtasim Khan, leader of the most feared clan in the region, stood at the top of the royal steps, his dark eyes surveying the aftermath of his victory with a cold satisfaction.
His black armor was stained with the blood of his enemies, the jagged edges of his sword still glistening with the life force of those who had dared to stand against him. The cries of women and children filled the courtyard as Murtasim’s soldiers rounded up the remaining survivors, dragging them from their homes and herding them like cattle to their fates. No mercy was given—only death or enslavement awaited those who lived under the banner of the slain king.
Murtasim’s lips twisted into a grim smile as he stepped into the grand palace that was now his. The echoes of his footsteps on the marble floors were drowned out by the shouts and commands of his men, claiming the riches and treasures that lay within the palace walls. But Murtasim’s mind was elsewhere, already racing ahead to the next conquest, the next kingdom he would crush beneath his heel. Talhira was merely a stepping stone in his rise to ultimate power.
As he walked deeper into the palace, his gaze fell upon the gilded arches and the intricate tapestries that lined the walls. They were remnants of a life now extinguished, a life that belonged to a man whose blood had soaked the earth at Murtasim’s feet. King Farhan, once revered as a mighty ruler, had fallen like all the rest. His kingdom had crumbled under the relentless onslaught of Murtasim’s forces, his soldiers slaughtered, his people subjugated.
But it wasn’t the palace’s opulence or its treasures that caught Murtasim’s attention. It wasn’t even the thrill of his victory. No, what had stirred something dark and primal within him was the woman he had glimpsed during the final moments of the battle. She had stood atop the balcony, watching the carnage below with eyes that burned with defiance, not fear.
Her beauty was unlike anything Murtasim had ever seen. She was like a flame—vivid, untamed, and dangerously alluring. Her long dark hair cascaded down her back in waves, contrasting starkly against the pale silk of her gown. Even from a distance, he could see her full lips set in a seductive curve, and the shape of her body hinted at sin and temptation. It was as if she had been crafted by the gods themselves, designed to torment and ensnare the souls of men. And Murtasim was not immune to her power.
His chest tightened with an emotion he did not yet recognize, something beyond the desire to conquer. For the first time in his life, Murtasim felt an overwhelming need to possess not just a kingdom, but a woman. A woman whose spirit seemed as unbreakable as his own.
Her name, he learned from the frightened whispers of the palace servants, was Meerab, the widow of the slain king. The last jewel in the crown of Talhira.
Murtasim’s mind was made up in that moment. He had taken Talhira, and now he would take her.
He motioned to one of his lieutenants, a man whose loyalty had been forged in the fires of battle. "Bring her to me," Murtasim ordered, his voice low and authoritative, laced with the command of a man who was not to be questioned. "Now."
The lieutenant hesitated, only briefly, before bowing and disappearing down the corridor.
Murtasim continued his slow, deliberate march through the palace, each step filling him with a sense of anticipation that he hadn’t felt in years. He pushed open the doors to the royal chambers, a vast room draped in rich silks and gold. A massive bed dominated the space, its canopy adorned with delicate lace that seemed so out of place in this house of war.
He moved to stand by the window, looking out over the city he now ruled, his thoughts consumed by the woman who would soon be brought before him. What would she do when faced with the man who had killed her husband and taken her kingdom? Would she fight him, scream at him, try to claw his eyes out? Or would she submit, recognizing the futility of resistance?
A flicker of excitement coursed through him at the thought of breaking her. Not in the same way he had broken her kingdom—this was a different kind of conquest, one far more intimate, far more dangerous. He would make her his in every way possible. She would belong to him, body, mind, and soul.
The doors to the chamber creaked open, and the lieutenant returned, dragging a reluctant figure behind him. Murtasim turned slowly, his dark eyes locking onto Meerab as she was brought before him.
Even in her disheveled state, she was breathtaking. Her gown was torn in places, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the soft skin beneath. Her hair, once neatly arranged, now fell wildly around her shoulders. Yet it was her eyes that captivated Murtasim the most—those defiant, smoldering eyes that seemed to challenge him even now.
“Leave us,” Murtasim commanded, his voice cold and unyielding. His lieutenant obeyed without question, leaving the two of them alone in the grand chamber.
Meerab’s chin lifted, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. There was no fear in her stance, no trembling in her body. Instead, she looked at him as if he were nothing more than a man, a man she despised.
“So you are the beast who slaughtered my husband,” she said, her voice soft but laced with venom. “The great Murtasim Khan, conqueror of kingdoms.”
Murtasim smiled faintly, his amusement barely concealed. “I am many things, but beast? No, I’m something far worse.”
Meerab’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “You are nothing more than a murderer, a man who hides behind an army and kills from the shadows.”
He stepped closer to her, his towering frame casting a shadow over her smaller figure. “You speak boldly for a woman who stands before the man who owns her now,” he said, his voice dangerously low.
“Owns me?” She laughed, a sharp, mocking sound that echoed through the chamber. “You may have taken my kingdom, Murtasim Khan, but you will never own me.”
Murtasim’s hand shot out, gripping her chin in a firm hold. Her skin was soft beneath his fingers, but her defiance remained intact. He tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’ve taken everything from you, Meerab. Your kingdom, your people, your future. And now, I will take you.”
She didn’t flinch, her eyes burning into his with a hatred that only fueled his desire. “You think you can break me?” she whispered, her voice steady. “I am not some delicate flower to be crushed beneath your boot.”
Murtasim’s grip tightened, his thumb brushing over her lower lip in a way that was both possessive and intimate. “I don’t want to crush you,” he murmured, his voice like silk laced with steel. “I want to consume you.”
For a moment, they stood locked in a silent battle of wills. Meerab’s chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing, her pulse quickening under his touch. Yet she did not pull away. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter.
“Is that what you do, Murtasim?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “You destroy everything in your path, and then take what remains for yourself?”
“I take what I want,” he replied simply. “And I want you.”
Her lips parted in a sharp intake of breath, her defiance faltering for just a moment. It was all the opening Murtasim needed. His other hand came up, trailing down her arm, leaving a path of fire in its wake.
“Do you feel it, Meerab?” he whispered, his lips dangerously close to her ear. “This pull between us? You can deny it all you want, but it’s there. You hate me, but you can’t deny that your body responds to me.”
She clenched her fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she fought the surge of heat that spread through her. “I will never be yours,” she spat, though her voice lacked the conviction it once held.
Murtasim’s lips curved into a dangerous smile as he leaned even closer, his breath hot against her skin. “We’ll see about that.”
With a swift motion, he released her and stepped back, his dark eyes never leaving hers. “You can hate me all you want, Meerab. But remember this—you belong to me now. And whether you like it or not, you will submit.”
Her eyes flashed with fury as she straightened, regaining her composure. “You may have won this battle, Murtasim, but the war is far from over.”
Murtasim’s smile widened, his teeth flashing in the dim light of the chamber. “Oh, Meerab,” he murmured, his voice filled with a dangerous promise, “the war was over the moment I laid eyes on you.”
With that, he turned and left the chamber, leaving Meerab standing in the middle of the room, her body trembling with a mix of anger and something far more dangerous.