The sun bathed the Assab port in soft golden light, casting long shadows across the worn stone roads and the freshly painted customs house walls.
Azenet stood on the balcony overlooking the harbor, the salty breeze teasing the edges of her linen shawl.
She was alone.
But in her heart, Khisa was always there.
She remembered the first time she saw him, dusted in red clay, his hair wild, his voice softer than what her father told her. She expected someone a bit older and a seasoned general.
He spoke neither like a conqueror nor a prince. He had simply offered her tea. A smile. A gentle question about her thoughts on architecture.
He gave her a chance to be what she could only ever utter in her dreams. Gave her an opportunity to use the skills she so carefully crafted. In the palace, what she learnt was never meant to be used—she expected to be married off as soon as she reached of age.
Political marriages were commonplace.
