The Voice of Azzam

Sunlight spilled over the marble driveway of Azzam as black cars name it limousine , g-wagon.....rowed in perfect formation. The scent of oud drifted faintly through the air - warm, regal, intoxicating.

And then, through the slow sweep of the palace gates, stepped Prince Kamil Azzam.

For a moment, it felt as if the world hesitated - like the air itself forgot how to move.

He wasn't just handsome. He was otherworldly. His presence seemed sculpted - tall, lean, and cut in the quiet precision of a prince who carried both grace and command. His skin held a soft bronze warmth that glowed under the sun, his dark hair slicked back just enough to

reveal lashes too long for a man. Even his silence spoke of a power that needed no announcement.

The cameras flashed in rhythm.

Somewhere, someone whispered, "He looks like his father." His Father- the late king died 10 years ago along side his mother -the late queen . kamil had just clocked 9 in a fatal accident that was too glaring it was a set up.

Liam whistled under his breath as he stepped out beside him. "Man, are you sure you're

human?" Abel chuckled, adjusting his blazer. "Half-angel, half–family money."

Kamil's lips curved, just barely. "Try to behave," he murmured, walking ahead, the faintest smirk trailing behind his words.

The massive glass doors of the palace glided open as if summoned by his presence. Everything about Azzam Palace screamed wealth .

"Behave?" Liam muttered under his breath as they entered. "Bro, I don't even know how to

walk in a place like this. Do I salute the walls or what?"

Abel gave him a side-eye. "Just don't trip over the carpet. It probably costs more than your

car."Kamil laughed softly - a low, clean sound that somehow made the maids look up and smile.

The Grand Hall looked like a dream dipped in diamonds.

White marble floors stretched endlessly beneath the glow of a chandelier that looked big enough to light a city. Soft music hummed from the far corner as maids in silk uniforms

moved gracefully, arranging gold trays and flower vases.

At the far end, upon the raised dais, sat Queen Ayisha (Kamil's stepmother) - her beauty soft and timeless, her eyes warm as she watched the entrance. Beside her stood Princess Mirian( her first daughter for her first late husband), poised and elegant in a champagne gown that caught the light like spun glass. Her smile was gentle.

And below them, almost bouncing with energy, was Princess Yaya(her second daughter for the king) barely able to stand still. Her white lace dress sparkled as she tugged impatiently at her maid's hand.

"Is he here yet?" she whispered. "He promised to call when he landed!"

Before the maid could answer, the guards' voices rang out:

"His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Kamil Azzam!"

The golden doors opened again.

Kamil entered, the light catching on the fine silver threading of his suit. The entire room

shifted, like gravity itself bent slightly toward him. Yaya squealed, broke free, and sprinted across the floor. "Kamil!" Her voice echoed through the hall like a song.

Kamil smiled - really smiled this time - and knelt slightly just in time to catch her. "Easy,

little one," he said, his tone smooth and warm. "You'll ruin my royal reputation with all this hugging."

"You didn't call!" she scolded, tiny fists hitting his chest.

"I wanted to see that face," he teased, brushing her nose lightly. "You'd have sounded too excited on the phone."She pouted, but the giggle escaped anyway.

Queen Ayisha rose, arms already open. "My son." He bowed before letting her embrace him. "You've kept this place alive, Mother."

"And you've brought its heart back," she replied softly.

Then came Mirian, gliding forward - a year older, perfectly collected. She kissed his cheek lightly, her perfume rich and expensive. "Welcome home, brother." Kamil smiled politely. "It's good to see you again, Mirian."

Her fingers lingered briefly on his shoulder before she stepped back, her expression unreadable.

A stir went through the room as Queen Mother Samitra (late king's mother) appeared - regal in a flowing silver robe, a trail of maids behind her, their heads bowed. Her jewels caught the light like tiny stars as she walked with the easy confidence of someone who'd ruled too long to ever be questioned.

"Welcome home, my crown," she said, her voice deep and commanding. "Azzam breathesagain."

Kamil bent slightly in respect. "It's an honor to return, Grandmother." Her eyes softened, though her lips barely moved. "We'll see how long that honor lasts."

From the side entrance came Lord Bashi - Samitra's younger brother - and his son, Kaan,

both returned fresh from a council meeting.

"Ah, my prince," Bashi said, voice smooth like polished metal. "Azzam is brighter with your return." "Let's hope it stays that way," Kamil replied lightly.

Kaan's eyes locked with his, a polite smile hiding the sharpness beneath.Behind Kamil, Liam leaned toward Abel. "So, uh, do we bow or-?"

"Don't," Abel hissed.

Liam attempted a half-nod that looked more like a twitch. A few guards coughed to hide their laughter. Kamil exhaled, amused. "They're my friends," he said quickly. "They don't do royal etiquette." Even the Queen Mother smiled faintly.

For a fleeting moment, the palace - all its gold, its glory, its history - felt light again.

And just like that, the crown prince of Azzam was home.

The morning light crawled across the cracked wall, washing the small room in gold. A kettle

whistled faintly from the kitchen, followed by a sharp voice.

"Milan!"

Amy's tone was clipped - a warning dressed as a call.

Milan stepped out, already dressed for school, her neat braids tied with a faded ribbon. "Yes,

ma'am."

Amy turned from the counter. "You're late. Again."

"I woke early-" Milan cooed.

"Don't answer back," Amy cut in. Her gaze lingered on Milan's face, that calm softness that mirrored the woman she could never forget. Hussein had broken his vows for that face once - for Sofia, the woman Amy still despised.

She had left him then, twins barely two years old. But when Sofia died, Amy came back, all

smiles and forgiveness. Only Milan knew the truth: she hadn't come back for love, she'd

come back for vengeance cloaked as responsibility.

Amy's voice dropped lower. "If you must speak, keep your voice low. You sound too much like her."

"Yes, ma'am."she replied .

Mikel strolled into the room, tapping at his phone, barely glancing her way. "Try not to slow us down today," he muttered.

Mabel followed, bright eyes darting nervously toward Amy. "Ignore him," she whispered. "He

woke up cranky."

Milan smiled faintly. Mabel squeezed her hand once before letting go.

Outside, the air was warm, filled with the sound of traffic and life.

"Dad said he might come home next week," Mabel said.

Milan smiled softly. "He said that last month."

"Then maybe this time he'll mean it."

Milan didn't reply. Her father, Chef Hussein, worked in the royal kitchens of Azzam Palace.

She hadn't seen him in weeks. Every time his call came, Amy answered first.

At school, Hiba leaned across Milan's desk the moment she sat down. "You look tired," she said.

"I didn't sleep much."

"Let me guess - Amy?"Milan's silence was answer enough. Hiba huffed. "You should've stayed when my mum offered. We'd have spoiled you by now." She has been her childhood friend . Milan smiled, small but grateful.

Then Hiba's tone shifted, playful. "Anyway, big news! The Crown Prince is back!"

Milan blinked. "Oh."

"Oh?" Hiba gasped. "That's all you have to say? He's literally the most beautiful man in the country!"

"I don't faint for strangers," Milan said, and they both laughed.

That night, the world felt quiet.

The city lights flickered faintly in the distance, and the hum of cars faded as the hours deepened. Amy had gone to bed. The twins' room was silent.

Milan slipped out to the small yard behind the house. The jasmine vines along the fence

swayed in the night air, heavy with scent.

She sat on the old bench, looking up at the pale slice of moon. Then, without thinking, she began to sing.

It was a soft hum at first, then words.

🎶I could tell what peace is but it hasn't found me ,

🎶I could tell what life is but it hasn't breath in me.

🎶If anyone finds it , Tell it Milan need it

🎶My mother was me before the night day goes dark

🎶My mother named me wishing I would be her

🎶And I realized I was her before the day goes dark.

Her voice was low, delicate, yet it carried emotion that filled the small yard. Not loud enough for the world - just enough for her heart to stop aching for a while. When she finished, she stayed silent, the echo of her

own song still hanging in the air.

Later That Same Night - Across the City

Kamil had already settled back into palace life that week, but tonight he'd escaped for a few

hours - meeting Liam and Abel at his private penthouse downtown.

Liam's music thundered through the sleek glass walls, echoing off marble floors that gleamed under soft golden light.

Kamil arched a brow from the bar counter. "Liam, I said play music, not host a concert."

Liam grinned, tossing a chip into his mouth. "For a prince? You deserve the concert."

Abel, sprawled across the velvet couch, snorted. "More like the encore." Kamil shook his head, laughter slipping through.

"Bro, did you see the headlines?" Abel said, scrolling on his phone. "The Crown Prince

Returns. They make it sound like you just ended a war."

Kamil groaned. "I miss being ordinary."

"You were never ordinary," Abel said. "You just had better disguises."

The three of them laughed - the kind of laughter built on years of shared secrets and

trouble.

Then Liam smirked. "So... back to royal duties, huh? Let me guess - Grandma's already

talking marriage?"

Kamil's silence was answer enough.

Abel leaned forward. "Oh, she definitely did."

"I'm not talking about it," Kamil said simply."Which means you're absolutely thinking about it," Liam teased. Kamil threw a pillow at him.

It was past midnight when Kamil finally decided to head back. The convoy moved smoothly through the quiet city. The window was half open; the night breeze rolled in, warm against his

skin.

He leaned his head back, watching the lights blur past . Then, through the hum of the engine, a faint sound drifted in.

A melody.

Barely audible .

He turned toward the sound - a small neighborhood, a yard faintly lit by the moon. He couldn't make out the words, only the tone: soft, aching, beautiful.

Then it was gone, swallowed by the road's hum.

Kamil stared out for a moment longer before exhaling quietly.

"Everything all right, Your Highness?" the driver asked.

"Yes," he said after a pause. "Just thought I heard something."

It was barely six, yet the day had already begun. Maids glided quietly through the halls, carrying trays and linens. Guards stood at attention near the grand staircase, boots gleaming under the soft amber lights.

The royal convoy eased into the courtyard.Kamil stepped out first - tall, composed, the crisp white of his shirt catching the dim morning glow. The guards bowed in unison.

"Your Highness," one greeted.

Kamil acknowledged with a brief nod and walked past, his presence calm yet commanding . His private wing lay on the east side of the palace, separated from the rest by glass corridors and a stretch of still garden.

Inside, his chambers opened into quiet opulence - smooth marble floors, warm amber lamps, and soft Persian rugs. It was the kind of room that felt like a five-star suite, except it breathed with his scent, his books, his rhythm.

He loosened his cuffs and rubbed the back of his neck, the faintest trace of exhaustion shadowing his features.

A soft chime sounded - the discreet tone from the intercom near his door.

"Your Highness," came the aide's voice, polite and steady. "Her Grace requests your presence in the east hall for breakfast. She said it's important."

Kamil glanced at the clock - 6:02 a.m. A short exhale escaped his lips. "At dawn?"

"She insisted, Your Highness."

"Of course she did." He straightened his sleeves, his expression smoothing into composure before stepping out.

The east hall glowed under crystal light. Long curtains framed the wide windows, and the scent of jasmine tea filled the air. Every detail of the table - gold-trimmed china, glass pitchers, folded napkins .

At the head sat the Queen Mother Samitra, her silver hair swept neatly beneath a pale silk scarf. Even in stillness, she radiated command.

Beside her sat Queen Ayisha, her beauty serene, the warmth in her eyes softening the edges of the room.Mirian sat quietly near her, posture perfect. And standing by the tall window was Bashi .

The room shifted subtly as Kamil entered.

"Grandmother," he greeted, bowing slightly before leaning to kiss her hand.

Samitra smiled faintly. "You were out late."

"Just helping my friends settle in at the penthouse," Kamil said, lowering himself into the seat opposite his grandmother.

A faint hum of approval left her lips as a maid refilled her tea. Around them, the dining hall shimmered. Every movement was quiet, practiced, expensive.

"Still loyal," Samitra murmured. "Your father would've liked that."

Bashi lifted his gaze from his cup. "Loyalty is good. But timing is better. The council will be expecting you to sit in today's session."

Kamil turned his head slightly. "I wasn't aware the council needed me for minor trade discussions."

His uncle smiled thinly. "They always need to see their prince." Before the tension could sharpen, a familiar voice filled the hall.

"Kamil!"

Everyone turned as Princess Yaya dashed in, her pink robe swishing behind her like a cape. Her slippers tapped against the marble as she ran straight to him.

"You're eating without me again!" she exclaimed, half scolding, half laughing.

Kamil chuckled, reaching out to pull her close. "You were still asleep, little one."

"I wasn't! I woke up when the maids started talking about your meeting."

"Then you're even earlier than the sun," he teased.Samitra's stern expression softened. "Let her be, Kamil. She's been waiting since dawn, insisting she'll have breakfast only if it's with her brother."

Yaya tilted her chin proudly. "Because he promised to take me riding after the council."

"I remember," Kamil said with a soft smile. "And I keep my promises."

Council Hall – Later That Morning

The council chamber was already alive with quiet murmurs when Kamil entered. The soft click of his polished shoes echoed against marble floors, and the faint scent of oud drifted through the air.

"Your Highness," the councilmen chorused as they rose.

He acknowledged them with a nod and took his place at the head of the table, every movement controlled.

"Let's begin," he said.

Bashi cleared his throat, his voice as smooth as his smile. "Today's agenda concerns the northern trade routes. Kaan has prepared a proposal."

Kaan rose slightly, his tablet glowing faint blue. "The routes have stalled," he began. "Private investors are offering funds to speed construction. In exchange, they'll share partial management of the trade sector."

Several heads nodded, the sound of shifting papers filling the silence. Kamil's gaze remained on the projection. "Partial management," he repeated, tone light but measured. "Meaning we hand over what belongs to the crown."

"Not hand over," Kaan corrected, his grin deliberate. "Partner. Their expertise could push the economy forward."

"And what happens," Kamil asked, "when the partner decides Azzam's pace no longer suits their profit?"

Kaan's grin faltered, just slightly."The crown doesn't trade stability for speed," Kamil continued. "If expansion is slow, we strengthen what we have until it grows on its own. No one outside these walls should have the power to dictate how we build."

Even Bashi paused, the pleasant mask on his face barely moving.

An older councilman shifted forward. "The prince speaks wisely. Sovereignty is not a commodity."

Kamil leaned back, fingers interlaced. "The internal board will handle the routes. I'll review the new proposal before it reaches the council again."

Kaan's tone softened, but his eyes stayed sharp. "Of course, Your Highness."

The doors opened quietly, and Queen Mother Samitra stepped in. She didn't speak - just observed as the council rose again.

"Your Highness," one of them said, "shall we adjourn?"

Kamil's gaze stayed forward. "Yes. The matter's settled."

When the last of the councilmen left, Samitra moved closer. "You handled them well," she said. "Your father would have been proud."

Kamil's jaw eased. "Let's hope the council shares his opinion."

"They will," she replied. "You just made your first decision as the next king."

He smiled faintly, almost to himself. "Then maybe it's time they start listening like subjects."

Her eyes glinted with approval.