> We provide premium-quality products with absolute ease and affordability. For any woman seeking an authentic, guaranteed way to secure her husband's absolute submission—I swear by Allah, my dear Madame, if you patronize Zuzeam Ventures, you will enjoy the absolute devotion of your partner. No matter how short-tempered or stubborn your husband may be, I swear by Allah, he will melt into absolute softness!
"Wow... so that girl actually exists in reality? It wasn't just a sensationalized rumor circulating on social media?" Salana, one of their secret intelligence officers, spoke up, his voice charged with deep fascination and excitement.
"There it is, they just announced her name... and by all indications, she is an exceptionally proud and high-spirited young woman. She has adamantly refused to step out to accept her awards; only her prized horse has been presented, which has completely captivated everyone in attendance," Barrak chimed in, keeping his eyes on the screen.
"Given how remarkably stunning and graceful that horse is, I am absolutely certain she is an extraordinary beauty herself... Wallahi, I am completely restless with anticipation just to see her face," Semere added. Semere was the type of man whose eyes constantly wandered, harboring a notorious weakness for women. This particular trait of his made it impossible for his own sister and Suhaim to ever get along or see eye to eye.
Semere held a profound, deeply rooted fear of Suhaim due to his intense, intimidating presence, whereas Suhaim rarely ever deigned to involve himself in Semere’s shallow affairs.
"Look, it seems that's her right over there... she is emerging from the right-hand side of the screen." The voice caught Suhaim entirely off guard; it was Omari. *What on earth had brought Omari into this circle of distraction?* Suhaim knew Omari’s character inside out; he was absolutely not the type of person to engage in such trivial viewing. However, the moment horses were mentioned, it made sense—Omari harbored a deep, profound passion for equestrian sports. In fact, it wasn't just Omari; their entire elite intelligence team shared this bond. It was an activity they had intentionally set aside as a wholesome, permissible source of recreation in their lives. Equestrian racing was a entirely lawful sport since the era of the Holy Prophet, so they had adopted it as a collective hobby, competing among themselves at the end of every week or month.
Every single member of the team was an expert and highly skilled rider; however, in the entire history of their personal races, Haisam (Suhaim) had never once been defeated or outpaced.
On numerous occasions, his teammates would playfully tease him, saying:
“He is a master of his craft! After all, from the time you were a mere infant, it was guaranteed that you were taught every single art pertaining to royalty within the Kingdom of Jimma.”
In response, Haisam would simply offer a subtle smile, layered with his signature innate charisma. He genuinely disliked anything that overtly emphasized his royal status, or reminded him that he was somehow distinct or elevated above regular people. He always preferred to live and feel like an ordinary citizen, and constantly wished his colleagues would stop treating him as a prince.
"It's her... Wallahi, it's really her!" The exact moment Semere uttered these words, restlessly adjusting his posture on his office chair, Suhaim turned the doorknob, pushed the door open, and stepped into the room. He voiced his greetings in his deep, husky voice, which carried a profound layer of gravity and composure. His sharp white eyes scanned the room to lock onto Omari. He intended to silently interrogate him with a piercing gaze: *Why have you abandoned your critical duties to sit here and indulge in this senseless distraction, given the high-stakes international operation looming directly ahead of us?* Fortunately, he spotted Omari standing slightly to the side, systematically organizing a classified operation file. This indicated that Omari had only entered the office to fulfill an official duty, just as Suhaim had.
Suhaim swallowed his reprimand, uttering silently within his heart:
“Subhanallah.”
He felt a renewed wave of absolute faith and conviction in Allah's wisdom. It was precisely for situations like this that the Almighty emphasized the vital importance of conducting thorough, deep investigations into all matters.
Suhaim's commanding entry caused every single officer in the room to instantly spring to their feet out of sheer respect, their hearts pounding with anxiety. They immediately began clearing out of the office one by one, as it was a strict, unwritten protocol among them to leave his presence unless he explicitly granted them permission to stay.
Recognizing the sudden tension and awkwardness in their demeanor, Suhaim simply chose to overlook it. He calmly accepted their respectful greetings and walked directly toward the secure area where their printers were stationed to begin operating the machine. Salana cautiously took a step closer to him.
“Sir... what do you need printed? Can I assist you?”
"It is a highly classified assignment," Suhaim responded calmly, raising his hand in a polite but firm gesture to halt him. Salana instantly understood the underlying command. He retreated back to his desk and subtly picked up the remote control, lowering the television volume to a faint murmur.
In an ultra-secure environment like their agency, no officer ever openly displayed a deep personal connection with another due to strict counter-intelligence protocols. The same rule applied to the relationship between Suhaim and Omari. Omari treated him with the exact same formal deference as everyone else, despite the fact that they were seen working together far more than anyone else in the entire ministry. Therefore, beyond the initial formal greeting, they did not exchange a single personal word.
Suhaim stood tall and steady, maintaining a rigid posture as he focused entirely on his work, ensuring that every single page of the intelligence brief printed out perfectly. Meanwhile, the rest of the officers kept their eyes glued to the high-stakes equestrian tournament taking place in the city of Niamey within the Agadez region. The international sports network was broadcasting the event live to a global audience.
"Oh my God!" Semere muttered, completely captivated, barely able to contain his excitement.
“Incredible, Subhanallah!”
“This is mind-blowing!”
“It truly is the Queen... even in the way her horse gallops, there is an unmistakable aura of majesty and absolute power!”
These hushed, awe-stricken exclamations rippled through the room in low, suppressed whispers, purely out of respect for Haisam’s presence. They falsely assumed he was completely oblivious to their commentary or unable to hear them; however, Allah had blessed Haisam with an incredibly acute, razor-sharp sense of hearing. He heard every single word, yet he intentionally feigned ignorance; he observed their actions, yet acted as though he saw nothing. He did this in a strict effort to embody the beautiful teachings of the Holy Prophet: *"Part of a person’s virtue in Islam is leaving alone that which does not concern him."* This was especially true since their idle chatter did not cross the line into open sin or directly violate the commands of the Creator.
Eventually, Suhaim grew weary of listening to their repetitive, shallow commentary. He pulled out a chair, sat down, and let out a deeply concealed sigh. His mind traveled far into the parameters of the upcoming mission. He chose not to utter a word of reprimand, knowing that not every environment or moment warranted his voice; to him, every word had its specific time, place, and purpose.
"It has been an incredibly long time since I witnessed an equestrian display that impressed me as profoundly as this," Omari remarked. He had abandoned his filing task, pulled up a chair among the men, and sat down to watch. Try as he might to prevent the sporting event from capturing his attention, he had failed completely; it was a magnificent spectacle that had seized the eyes of the entire world. It was a fiercely contested, historic race—the likes of which had not been seen in years—all due to a single woman competing valiantly among a sea of turbans: **AKHANAN MUHAMMAD HAMMUD**, the revered Queen of the Agadez region.
The simultaneous exclamations of *"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un"* (Surely to Allah we belong and to Him we shall return) and *"Subhanallah"* from Omari’s lips instantly broke Haisam’s focus. His hands froze over the pages of the classified documents he had just printed. Recognizing these powerful words, which carry immense spiritual gravity in the heart of any true Muslim, Haisam turned his head slowly and directed his sharp gaze toward the television screen for the very first time since entering the office.
The expansive, crowded race track of the grand stadium instantly met his gaze. A thundering pack of magnificent stallions filled the screen, desperately attempting to outpace one another alongside their riders. They were all collectively straining to catch up to a single, fiercely powerful, pure white horse that was rapidly approaching the finish line, on the verge of securing an absolute victory.
The rider was not merely seated upon the horse; she was standing tall in the stirrups, leaning forward in a posture resembling the Islamic prayer bow (*Ruku*). She gripped the reins with intense fervor, her entire body language radiating an insatiable, ravenous hunger for victory as she effortlessly outmaneuvered the elite male competitors pursuing her. The sheer velocity of the wind cutting against her speed caused her royal cloak to billow wildly behind her. This allowed the true contour of her figure and the tight skinny jeans she wore to be briefly exposed from the sides.
Haisam instantly averted his gaze, looking straight down at the floor while deeply reciting:
"Astagfirullah... astagfirullah." (I seek forgiveness from Allah).
A profound wave of irritation and disapproval washed over him. He reached out sharply, forcefully switched off the printer, gathered his classified intelligence papers, and let out a heavy, sharp hiss of pure annoyance that immediately drew everyone’s attention. The entire room watched in stunned silence as he marched out of the office in a visible state of anger. Before he could fully exit, an ecstatic shout erupted from Semere, drawing the team's attention back to the climax on the screen.
Even as he walked away, the echoing cheers of his team followed him down the corridor. Their ecstatic shouting confirmed that their favorite champion had indeed secured a flawless victory.
Alone in the corridor, Suhaim let out another deep, heavy sigh. He saw absolutely no merit or justification for a woman to participate in such a public sporting spectacle. Even if she hailed from a royal household that claimed to respect religion and traditional values, her display was inappropriate. While a woman riding a horse was not inherently forbidden in Islam, nor was it a shameful act in itself, it was strictly bound by sacred laws of modesty and privacy that had to be maintained. He let out a small hiss, intentionally pushing the irritating thought from his mind. At this moment, he had far more critical, life-or-death operational matters ahead of him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, noticing four missed calls from Nanay.
"Subhanallah," he murmured softly, walking slowly toward a bench in the corridor to sit down and return her calls. He had intended to call her first thing in the morning as part of his daily routine, but the overwhelming weight of today’s strategic preparations had left him without a single free moment.
### AT THAT EXACT MOMENT
### AGADEZ: THE PALACE OF SULTANE MUHAMMAD HAMMUD
"Time is precisely like a sword; if you do not cut it, it will cut you down. Just as time waits for no man, we cannot afford to wait for it either. Prolonged waiting is a grave mistake... it is reckless, and it is a complete waste of an extraordinary opportunity. In this day and age... in this century, Tamim, I feel I have reached my absolute limit. My patience has worn entirely thin, and my desire to possess those ancient treasures has reached a point that I can no longer endure," she declared firmly. She interlocked her fingers, locking her hands behind her back as she paced with measured, authoritative steps, her sharp eyes boring directly into Tamim, who kept his head respectfully bowed before her.
A subtle, deeply concealed smile played within the depths of Tamim’s heart, though his outward facial expression remained completely blank.
“There is still sufficient time... forcing a premature execution of the plan could end up blowing up the entire operation...”
"Tamim!" Mammina barked, cutting him off sharply as she unclasped her hands from behind her back.
"Look at me clearly!" she commanded sternly, widening her eyes as if desperately trying to read an elusive truth that had been obscured from her sight.
Tamim slowly raised his large, bloodshot eyes, fixing them intently on her face exactly as she demanded.
"Do you have any idea how many years I have left on this earth?" she demanded, maintaining intense eye contact. A heavy silence filled the space for a few seconds before Tamim slowly shook his head.
"I have given the Sultane a mere three years left to live in this world... only three years. How many days do I have left myself? If these ancient treasures... these lifelong dreams... this ultimate lifestyle do not manifest into my hands now, then when? Will they continue to remain hidden out there? Will they remain in their possession, slowly wasting away? Is that the absolute guarantee you hold regarding the **MOOTI**?" she demanded heatedly, gesturing broadly as if the answers to her grand ambitions were within arm's reach.
Tamim let out a heavy, deliberate breath. He adjusted his posture, settling comfortably onto the luxury carpet with a sense of complete ease—completely shedding the cautious, calculated restraint he usually maintained within the palace. He raised two fingers, studying them intently before redirecting his gaze back to her.
“This tiny distance between my two fingers... this precise gap is all that separates us from launching our entry into that country. Every single night, my grandest dreams culminate within that territory... every single day, my thoughts revolve entirely around this singular goal. If I say...”
"May Allah protect and assist your Highness!" The sudden, crisp sound of Tafisu’s voice cut straight through the heavy conversation between Mammina and Tamim from behind a thick curtain.
Mammina turned her head sharply in annoyance, though her inner composure remained perfectly intact. The heavy curtain served as a strict barrier to shield her private meetings with Tamim from any prying eyes, and Tafisu knew better than to take a single step forward from her designated boundary. Above all else, Tafisu was her most trusted confidante—a level of loyalty unmatched by any other domestic servant in the palace. Yet, Mammina was a ruler who strictly maintained rigid boundaries, ensuring every person remained in their exact rank, place, and status.
She took a long, stabilizing breath for a few moments before modulating her tone.
“What is it?”
"Maude has just arrived with an urgent message that he desperately wishes to present to your Highness," Yalwa reported with immense deference.
Maude was one of her most trusted intelligence operatives. Knowing that Tafisu wouldn't dare breach the perimeter of this private chamber unless it was a matter of extreme gravity, Mammina recognized the urgency. Without offering a verbal response to Tafisu, she simply cast a meaningful glance at Tamim, signaling him to wait for her return. She turned and walked toward the exit with her signature majestic, ruling stride.
She fixed her eyes on Maude after taking her seat. Maude remained silent, stepping forward respectfully to extend his phone toward her. Tafisu stepped in to retrieve the device from his hands, bringing it directly before Mammina’s face.
Mammina stared at the screen intently for ten continuous minutes. Just as she was about to instruct Tafisu to take the device away, the name **AKHNAN** flashed prominently alongside footage of her horse galloping at a terrifying, reckless speed—showing a complete lack of fear or any concern for the catastrophic injury that would occur if she were to fall.
"What exactly am I looking at?" Mammina muttered under her breath, finally pulling her eyes away from the screen. She knitted her brows tightly, tr
U'U L U'U (The Diamond)
*By HUGUMA.
> We provide premium-quality products with absolute ease and affordability. For any woman seeking an authentic, guaranteed way to secure her husband's absolute submission—I swear by Allah, my dear Madame, if you patronize Zuzeam Ventures, you will enjoy the absolute devotion of your partner. No matter how short-tempered or stubborn your husband may be, I swear by Allah, he will melt into absolute softness!
"Wow... so that girl actually exists in reality? It wasn't just a sensationalized rumor circulating on social media?" Salana, one of their secret intelligence officers, spoke up, his voice charged with deep fascination and excitement.
"There it is, they just announced her name... and by all indications, she is an exceptionally proud and high-spirited young woman. She has adamantly refused to step out to accept her awards; only her prized horse has been presented, which has completely captivated everyone in attendance," Barrak chimed in, keeping his eyes on the screen.
"Given how remarkably stunning and graceful that horse is, I am absolutely certain she is an extraordinary beauty herself... Wallahi, I am completely restless with anticipation just to see her face," Semere added. Semere was the type of man whose eyes constantly wandered, harboring a notorious weakness for women. This particular trait of his made it impossible for his own sister and Suhaim to ever get along or see eye to eye.
Semere held a profound, deeply rooted fear of Suhaim due to his intense, intimidating presence, whereas Suhaim rarely ever deigned to involve himself in Semere’s shallow affairs.
"Look, it seems that's her right over there... she is emerging from the right-hand side of the screen." The voice caught Suhaim entirely off guard; it was Omari. *What on earth had brought Omari into this circle of distraction?* Suhaim knew Omari’s character inside out; he was absolutely not the type of person to engage in such trivial viewing. However, the moment horses were mentioned, it made sense—Omari harbored a deep, profound passion for equestrian sports. In fact, it wasn't just Omari; their entire elite intelligence team shared this bond. It was an activity they had intentionally set aside as a wholesome, permissible source of recreation in their lives. Equestrian racing was a entirely lawful sport since the era of the Holy Prophet, so they had adopted it as a collective hobby, competing among themselves at the end of every week or month.
Every single member of the team was an expert and highly skilled rider; however, in the entire history of their personal races, Haisam (Suhaim) had never once been defeated or outpaced.
On numerous occasions, his teammates would playfully tease him, saying:
“He is a master of his craft! After all, from the time you were a mere infant, it was guaranteed that you were taught every single art pertaining to royalty within the Kingdom of Jimma.”
In response, Haisam would simply offer a subtle smile, layered with his signature innate charisma. He genuinely disliked anything that overtly emphasized his royal status, or reminded him that he was somehow distinct or elevated above regular people. He always preferred to live and feel like an ordinary citizen, and constantly wished his colleagues would stop treating him as a prince.
"It's her... Wallahi, it's really her!" The exact moment Semere uttered these words, restlessly adjusting his posture on his office chair, Suhaim turned the doorknob, pushed the door open, and stepped into the room. He voiced his greetings in his deep, husky voice, which carried a profound layer of gravity and composure. His sharp white eyes scanned the room to lock onto Omari. He intended to silently interrogate him with a piercing gaze: *Why have you abandoned your critical duties to sit here and indulge in this senseless distraction, given the high-stakes international operation looming directly ahead of us?* Fortunately, he spotted Omari standing slightly to the side, systematically organizing a classified operation file. This indicated that Omari had only entered the office to fulfill an official duty, just as Suhaim had.
Suhaim swallowed his reprimand, uttering silently within his heart:
“Subhanallah.”
He felt a renewed wave of absolute faith and conviction in Allah's wisdom. It was precisely for situations like this that the Almighty emphasized the vital importance of conducting thorough, deep investigations into all matters.
Suhaim's commanding entry caused every single officer in the room to instantly spring to their feet out of sheer respect, their hearts pounding with anxiety. They immediately began clearing out of the office one by one, as it was a strict, unwritten protocol among them to leave his presence unless he explicitly granted them permission to stay.
Recognizing the sudden tension and awkwardness in their demeanor, Suhaim simply chose to overlook it. He calmly accepted their respectful greetings and walked directly toward the secure area where their printers were stationed to begin operating the machine. Salana cautiously took a step closer to him.
“Sir... what do you need printed? Can I assist you?”
"It is a highly classified assignment," Suhaim responded calmly, raising his hand in a polite but firm gesture to halt him. Salana instantly understood the underlying command. He retreated back to his desk and subtly picked up the remote control, lowering the television volume to a faint murmur.
In an ultra-secure environment like their agency, no officer ever openly displayed a deep personal connection with another due to strict counter-intelligence protocols. The same rule applied to the relationship between Suhaim and Omari. Omari treated him with the exact same formal deference as everyone else, despite the fact that they were seen working together far more than anyone else in the entire ministry. Therefore, beyond the initial formal greeting, they did not exchange a single personal word.
Suhaim stood tall and steady, maintaining a rigid posture as he focused entirely on his work, ensuring that every single page of the intelligence brief printed out perfectly. Meanwhile, the rest of the officers kept their eyes glued to the high-stakes equestrian tournament taking place in the city of Niamey within the Agadez region. The international sports network was broadcasting the event live to a global audience.
"Oh my God!" Semere muttered, completely captivated, barely able to contain his excitement.
“Incredible, Subhanallah!”
“This is mind-blowing!”
“It truly is the Queen... even in the way her horse gallops, there is an unmistakable aura of majesty and absolute power!”
These hushed, awe-stricken exclamations rippled through the room in low, suppressed whispers, purely out of respect for Haisam’s presence. They falsely assumed he was completely oblivious to their commentary or unable to hear them; however, Allah had blessed Haisam with an incredibly acute, razor-sharp sense of hearing. He heard every single word, yet he intentionally feigned ignorance; he observed their actions, yet acted as though he saw nothing. He did this in a strict effort to embody the beautiful teachings of the Holy Prophet: *"Part of a person’s virtue in Islam is leaving alone that which does not concern him."* This was especially true since their idle chatter did not cross the line into open sin or directly violate the commands of the Creator.
Eventually, Suhaim grew weary of listening to their repetitive, shallow commentary. He pulled out a chair, sat down, and let out a deeply concealed sigh. His mind traveled far into the parameters of the upcoming mission. He chose not to utter a word of reprimand, knowing that not every environment or moment warranted his voice; to him, every word had its specific time, place, and purpose.
"It has been an incredibly long time since I witnessed an equestrian display that impressed me as profoundly as this," Omari remarked. He had abandoned his filing task, pulled up a chair among the men, and sat down to watch. Try as he might to prevent the sporting event from capturing his attention, he had failed completely; it was a magnificent spectacle that had seized the eyes of the entire world. It was a fiercely contested, historic race—the likes of which had not been seen in years—all due to a single woman competing valiantly among a sea of turbans: **AKHANAN MUHAMMAD HAMMUD**, the revered Queen of the Agadez region.
The simultaneous exclamations of *"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un"* (Surely to Allah we belong and to Him we shall return) and *"Subhanallah"* from Omari’s lips instantly broke Haisam’s focus. His hands froze over the pages of the classified documents he had just printed. Recognizing these powerful words, which carry immense spiritual gravity in the heart of any true Muslim, Haisam turned his head slowly and directed his sharp gaze toward the television screen for the very first time since entering the office.
The expansive, crowded race track of the grand stadium instantly met his gaze. A thundering pack of magnificent stallions filled the screen, desperately attempting to outpace one another alongside their riders. They were all collectively straining to catch up to a single, fiercely powerful, pure white horse that was rapidly approaching the finish line, on the verge of securing an absolute victory.
The rider was not merely seated upon the horse; she was standing tall in the stirrups, leaning forward in a posture resembling the Islamic prayer bow (*Ruku*). She gripped the reins with intense fervor, her entire body language radiating an insatiable, ravenous hunger for victory as she effortlessly outmaneuvered the elite male competitors pursuing her. The sheer velocity of the wind cutting against her speed caused her royal cloak to billow wildly behind her. This allowed the true contour of her figure and the tight skinny jeans she wore to be briefly exposed from the sides.
Haisam instantly averted his gaze, looking straight down at the floor while deeply reciting:
"Astagfirullah... astagfirullah." (I seek forgiveness from Allah).
A profound wave of irritation and disapproval washed over him. He reached out sharply, forcefully switched off the printer, gathered his classified intelligence papers, and let out a heavy, sharp hiss of pure annoyance that immediately drew everyone’s attention. The entire room watched in stunned silence as he marched out of the office in a visible state of anger. Before he could fully exit, an ecstatic shout erupted from Semere, drawing the team's attention back to the climax on the screen.
Even as he walked away, the echoing cheers of his team followed him down the corridor. Their ecstatic shouting confirmed that their favorite champion had indeed secured a flawless victory.
Alone in the corridor, Suhaim let out another deep, heavy sigh. He saw absolutely no merit or justification for a woman to participate in such a public sporting spectacle. Even if she hailed from a royal household that claimed to respect religion and traditional values, her display was inappropriate. While a woman riding a horse was not inherently forbidden in Islam, nor was it a shameful act in itself, it was strictly bound by sacred laws of modesty and privacy that had to be maintained. He let out a small hiss, intentionally pushing the irritating thought from his mind. At this moment, he had far more critical, life-or-death operational matters ahead of him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, noticing four missed calls from Nanay.
"Subhanallah," he murmured softly, walking slowly toward a bench in the corridor to sit down and return her calls. He had intended to call her first thing in the morning as part of his daily routine, but the overwhelming weight of today’s strategic preparations had left him without a single free moment.
### AT THAT EXACT MOMENT
### AGADEZ: THE PALACE OF SULTANE MUHAMMAD HAMMUD
"Time is precisely like a sword; if you do not cut it, it will cut you down. Just as time waits for no man, we cannot afford to wait for it either. Prolonged waiting is a grave mistake... it is reckless, and it is a complete waste of an extraordinary opportunity. In this day and age... in this century, Tamim, I feel I have reached my absolute limit. My patience has worn entirely thin, and my desire to possess those ancient treasures has reached a point that I can no longer endure," she declared firmly. She interlocked her fingers, locking her hands behind her back as she paced with measured, authoritative steps, her sharp eyes boring directly into Tamim, who kept his head respectfully bowed before her.
A subtle, deeply concealed smile played within the depths of Tamim’s heart, though his outward facial expression remained completely blank.
“There is still sufficient time... forcing a premature execution of the plan could end up blowing up the entire operation...”
"Tamim!" Mammina barked, cutting him off sharply as she unclasped her hands from behind her back.
"Look at me clearly!" she commanded sternly, widening her eyes as if desperately trying to read an elusive truth that had been obscured from her sight.
Tamim slowly raised his large, bloodshot eyes, fixing them intently on her face exactly as she demanded.
"Do you have any idea how many years I have left on this earth?" she demanded, maintaining intense eye contact. A heavy silence filled the space for a few seconds before Tamim slowly shook his head.
"I have given the Sultane a mere three years left to live in this world... only three years. How many days do I have left myself? If these ancient treasures... these lifelong dreams... this ultimate lifestyle do not manifest into my hands now, then when? Will they continue to remain hidden out there? Will they remain in their possession, slowly wasting away? Is that the absolute guarantee you hold regarding the **MOOTI**?" she demanded heatedly, gesturing broadly as if the answers to her grand ambitions were within arm's reach.
Tamim let out a heavy, deliberate breath. He adjusted his posture, settling comfortably onto the luxury carpet with a sense of complete ease—completely shedding the cautious, calculated restraint he usually maintained within the palace. He raised two fingers, studying them intently before redirecting his gaze back to her.
“This tiny distance between my two fingers... this precise gap is all that separates us from launching our entry into that country. Every single night, my grandest dreams culminate within that territory... every single day, my thoughts revolve entirely around this singular goal. If I say...”
"May Allah protect and assist your Highness!" The sudden, crisp sound of Tafisu’s voice cut straight through the heavy conversation between Mammina and Tamim from behind a thick curtain.
Mammina turned her head sharply in annoyance, though her inner composure remained perfectly intact. The heavy curtain served as a strict barrier to shield her private meetings with Tamim from any prying eyes, and Tafisu knew better than to take a single step forward from her designated boundary. Above all else, Tafisu was her most trusted confidante—a level of loyalty unmatched by any other domestic servant in the palace. Yet, Mammina was a ruler who strictly maintained rigid boundaries, ensuring every person remained in their exact rank, place, and status.
She took a long, stabilizing breath for a few moments before modulating her tone.
“What is it?”
"Maude has just arrived with an urgent message that he desperately wishes to present to your Highness," Yalwa reported with immense deference.
Maude was one of her most trusted intelligence operatives. Knowing that Tafisu wouldn't dare breach the perimeter of this private chamber unless it was a matter of extreme gravity, Mammina recognized the urgency. Without offering a verbal response to Tafisu, she simply cast a meaningful glance at Tamim, signaling him to wait for her return. She turned and walked toward the exit with her signature majestic, ruling stride.
She fixed her eyes on Maude after taking her seat. Maude remained silent, stepping forward respectfully to extend his phone toward her. Tafisu stepped in to retrieve the device from his hands, bringing it directly before Mammina’s face.
Mammina stared at the screen intently for ten continuous minutes. Just as she was about to instruct Tafisu to take the device away, the name **AKHNAN** flashed prominently alongside footage of her horse galloping at a terrifying, reckless speed—showing a complete lack of fear or any concern for the catastrophic injury that would occur if she were to fall.
"What exactly am I looking at?" Mammina muttered under her breath, finally pulling her eyes away from the screen. She knitted her brows tightly, tr