“Power changes hands as quickly as the wind shifts. The wise learn to move with it.”
Agatha watches Ishaq from the shadows, the fading light softening the sharp angles of his face. He stands on the outcrop, still as stone, his gaze fixed on the horizon as though daring it to shift. To others, he is an enigma, a force to be revered or feared, but he is something more to her. He is a puzzle—one she longs to solve, even if it might one day burn her.
She steps forward, her paws soundless on the rocky ground. "You watch the land as if it might betray you," she says, her voice low and smooth, a tone she knows he appreciates.
Ishaq do not turn to face her immediately. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, acknowledging her presence. "The land does not betray, Agatha. It’s the hearts of lions you must watch."
Agatha smiles faintly, stepping closer, the movement deliberate, her dark coat blending into the deepening dusk. "And what of my heart, Ishaq? Do you watch me too?"
At that, he turns, his dark eyes locking onto hers. She feels the weight of his gaze, the calculation behind it. For a moment, neither speak, the silence between them thick and charged.
"I don’t watch you," he says finally. "I listen."
Her brow arches. "Listen? And what do you hear?"
His mouth curves slightly, though his eyes remain hard. "I hear a lioness who values power as much as I do. A lioness who knows the difference between loyalty and convenience."
Agatha let the words hang in the air, circling him slowly, her tail brushing against his flank as she moves. "You flatter me, my King. But what would you do if my loyalty wavered? If my convenience pointed elsewhere?"
“Then I would remind you why it is I who stands here, and not Da’rhad.”
The words land like a strike, a quiet promise of retribution wrapped in civility. Agatha pauses, letting their full weight settle between them. She’d seen what he could do—the precision with which he dismantled Da’rhad’s rule, and the cold efficiency with which he claimed his throne. Ishaq does not bluff. To test him would be to gamble everything.
Still, she is no fool. Power dances between them like lightning, crackling and untamed, and she knows her survival—her success—depends on walking this razor-thin line.
She dips her head slightly, a gesture of deference that carries just enough fire to remind him she is no ordinary subject. “You’ve conquered a kingdom, Ishaq. But even the strongest king needs allies he can trust. My loyalty remains yours—for now.”
His shadow looms over her as he steps closer, his voice dropping to a near growl. “For now is all any ruler can demand. But know this, Agatha—I see everything. And I forget nothing.”
For a moment, she meets his gaze, unflinching, unyielding, before turning away with a flick of her tail. She pads back toward the caves, her steps measured and deliberate, aware of his eyes on her. She allows herself a small smile.
Ishaq is a lion of power, yes, but also of precision. Every word, every move is calculated, a strategy unfolding in a game only he fully understands. She, too, plays her own game. The king might see everything, but even a sharp eye could miss a shadow if it knows how to move.
And Agatha knows how to move.
