The town of Gazban was a blessed city, populous, and one of the towns people were proud of.

They had a great kingdom, unmatched in size and beauty. The king of the town was a just ruler—no matter a person’s wealth, it was never enough for him to oppress the weak. If he ever heard of injustice, he took action.

King Umar loved his people dearly, and they loved him in return. What was astonishing about this king was his youthful appearance; though he was 76 years old, if you didn’t know, you would think him a man of 50, for there were no signs of aging on him. Whether it was wealth or authority, he was among the greatest of kings. Truly, this was a mighty kingdom, greater than any that came against it.

King Faruk had only one wife, an elderly woman called Dada. What was surprising in all his reign was that he had only two children, both boys: the elder was Ahmad, and the younger was Abbas. They grew up together and shared a strong bond of brotherly love.

But in the laws of the land, if a king ruled for more than forty years, his own son could never inherit the throne. Instead, the throne would pass to the king’s eldest grandson. Only if there were no male grandsons would a king’s son ascend the throne.

When his sons came of age, King Faruk chose wives for them. Ahmad married the daughter of the King of Agadez, Princess Bilkisu. Abbas was given the daughter of his late cousin, Princess Sadiya.

Within the royal palace, each man and wife were given their own quarters.

They lived peacefully with their wives. Princess Bilkisu was patient, God-fearing, generous, and a lover of people.

Princess Sadiya was the opposite. She disliked the common folk and despised them. The only thing restraining her was her husband’s firm nature—he was much like his father. But despite this, she vowed that she would be the first to bear a male child.

Unfortunately for her, Princess Bilkisu was the first to conceive. Sadiya was deeply troubled, for she herself had never even experienced a missed period.

Ten months later, Bilkisu gave birth to a baby girl. There was much joy in the palace—so much that even Sadiya rejoiced, for it was not a boy. The naming ceremony was celebrated lavishly, with wealth poured in from both Gazban and Agadez. The child was named Asma’u after Dada, but she was called Husna.

Three years later, Bilkisu gave birth again, this time to a handsome baby boy, who resembled his father closely. The celebration was unmatched—so much that even the people of the kingdom felt the blessing. King Umar gave out abundant charity.

But Princess Sadiya could not hide her bitterness. She went to her husband, Sultan Abbas, who was happily on the phone spreading the good news. Sitting beside him, she spoke in frustration.

“My king, why are you rejoicing that your brother’s wife has borne a son? Do you not realize that he could be the heir to the throne after the king?”

Abbas looked at her with surprise. “Sadiya, surely you are not jealous of my brother’s joy?”

She frowned. “Why would I be jealous of him? But see—I have not even conceived once, and now it seems your nephew will inherit the throne. Shouldn’t our son be the one to inherit?”

Abbas looked at her sternly. “Sadiya, know this: I love my brother with all my heart. I care not who inherits the throne—his son is as much mine as my own. And as for children, Allah gives to whom He wills and withholds from whom He wills. I have not lost hope; if it is written, I too shall have children. But never again speak such words. Let this be the last time.”

Sadiya stood in anger. “I knew you would never understand me. But one day, you will.” With that, she stormed out of the room.

Abbas shook his head with regret. “May Allah guide you, Sadiya.”

At the naming ceremony, the boy was called Umar, after the king, but fondly called Suhail.

Suhail grew up pampered, loved by his parents, grandparents, and even his uncle Abbas, who cared for him as his own. The only exception was Sadiya, who secretly despised him, pretending affection only in front of Dada. In her heart, she wished him dead.

From the age of three, King Umar himself would summon Suhail to the palace, seating him by his side. Thus, Suhail became deeply attached to his grandfather.

Two years later, Princess Sadiya finally conceived. The joy in the palace was immense. She was showered with love and care from everyone—King Umar, her husband Abbas, and even Princess Bilkisu. She prayed earnestly that it would be a boy. At the same time, Bilkisu was also carrying a child.

Nine months later, Sadiya gave birth to a girl. She was bitterly disappointed but later accepted her fate. The palace celebrated her birth, and she was named Sumayya. Sadiya vowed, however, that by all means, her daughter would marry the crown prince.

Three months later, Bilkisu also gave birth to a girl, named Rahama after her mother.

From then on, neither woman conceived again. Sumayya and Rahama grew up inseparable—sharing everything except their beds.

Prince Suhail inherited much of King Umar’s character. He was compassionate and respectful, though reserved and quiet, preferring solitude and avoiding unnecessary chatter. To those who didn’t know him, he could seem proud, but he simply disliked noise. He never sought power, though his mannerisms reflected his royal upbringing.

From childhood, his closest companion was Shahid, the son of the vizier. They attended both Islamic and Western schools together.

After completing secondary school, Suhail expressed his wish to study abroad. King Umar opposed at first, arguing that since Suhail would inherit the throne, there was no need. But after much persuasion, he agreed. Suhail traveled to India, where he studied medicine, specializing in surgery.

Two years later, Princess Husna married the son of the town’s chairman. The wedding was celebrated like never before in Gazban. Suhail wanted to attend but his parents insisted he stay and study.

Sumayya and Rahama grew closer, but with different personalities. Sumayya was arrogant, despised commoners, and associated only with royalty and the wealthy. Rahama was the opposite—humble, kind, and friendly with everyone, which often caused quarrels between her and Sumayya, even at school.

Four years later, Suhail completed his studies and returned home. He had grown into a strikingly handsome young man, noble in appearance, his reserved nature even stronger. His return brought great joy to King Umar, his parents, and the people of Gazban. Shahid, too, rejoiced, having missed his friend dearly.

Preparations were made to celebrate his return. The palace bustled with activity, cooking and decorating. A grand feast was held, attended even by commoners.

When Sumayya laid eyes on Suhail, she declared he was the only man she would marry. She confided this to her mother, who was overjoyed, for she too had long hoped for such a union. She advised Sumayya to take the matter to Dada.

Sumayya did just that, going to Dada’s quarters. With humility, she greeted her grandmother, then confessed shyly, “Dada, I have long loved Suhail. I am afraid to tell him, for he may reject me. But I love him with all my heart.”

Dada was overjoyed. “Mashallah! This has been my hope as well. Do not worry—Suhail will accept. He cannot refuse one of his own. We shall speak to him and to the king.”

Sumayya was elated, thanking Dada before leaving. Everywhere she passed, servants and attendants greeted her respectfully, fearing her temper and her mother’s influence. But that day, they were surprised to see her smiling instead of stern.

Dada later shared the news with King Umar, who was equally delighted. “We shall speak with them tomorrow,” he said.

Meanwhile, Suhail lay on his bed while Shahid chatted beside him. Suhail answered only with “hmm” and “uh-huh,” focused on his phone.

Annoyed, Shahid snatched the phone. Suhail simply closed his eyes, unbothered. Shahid, used to this behavior, sighed.

Just then, a guard entered and bowed deeply. “Your Highness, His Majesty requests your presence in his chambers.”

Suhail, without opening his eyes, waved his hand dismissively.

The guard bowed again and left.

Shahid chuckled. “Ah, so the throne stirs at last...”