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[color=ffce00]color:ffce00[/color]
-Grand Ball Room-
-[url=https://imgur.com/a/7kyqmR4]outfit[/url]-
-Interaction:[@Tae] Ranya [@princess] Dear Uncle Hafiz [@Remram] Askel [@AuthenticTomb] Aslam

[color=ffce00] "Whoa, whoa easy there, little sister. ‘Cast stones’? That’s adorable. I’m not here to judge, I’m here to keep you in one piece. I’ve been burned, badly, and you, of all people, know that. I’m not about to sit back and watch you walk into the same fire. I’d end him if I had to. Don’t look at me like that, you know I would.

Relax, I’m not building you a cage. I’m installing security. Big difference. Emotional chaos? Not on my watch. And spare me the ‘status’ speech, I couldn’t care less. That nonsense doesn’t move the needle for me. You’re my little sister. That’s the headline, the fine print, and everything in between. Your happiness? Non negotiable.

So yeah, I need to know, this prince you’re suddenly starry eyed over… is he actually worth it? I’ll give him this, so far, no red flags. Which, coming from me? Practically a standing ovation. And you know how ruthlessly [i]discerning[/i] I can be."[/color]

Munir let it all spill out in one rapid fire burst, his thoughts outrunning his filter. The air around them tightened, warmed, her shift in mood practically radiating off her.

Then it flipped again.

Two words from Ranya, and everything clicked. Their uncle. Of course. The shadow behind the throne. The man who circled the light of the Sultan but never quite touched it. Always second. Always watching.

Munir’s gaze slid sideways toward the vizier, sharp and measuring. Then, in their mother tongue, low and smooth:

[color=ffce00] "Hey, hey. Breathe, little sister. You’re fine. He’s fine. Nobody’s dropping dead at a dance tonight. Uncle’s bold, sure, but he’s not stupid. Making a move here? That’s a death sentence, and he knows it. Your prince? He lives to see the end of the night. And yes, you’ll get that dance you’ve been dying for."[/color]

As he murmured to her, calm and steady, he caught Hakim’s eye and gave a subtle flick of his fingers, send Zahra over. No words needed.

[color=ffce00] "You’re right, by the way. You are the Chosen. Act like it. Pull yourself together, Zahra’s on her way. Have her help you fix your sari and perhaps cover up the doings of that vile man with some makeup or whatever it is you girls do to be radiant all the time. I’ve got this. Come find us when you’re back to being you."[/color]

He leaned in, pressed a quick, soft kiss to her forehead, then turned and strode toward Askel, Aslam, and Hafiz.

By the time he reached them, Munir was exactly what they expected, what he always was. Effortless confidence. Bright, magnetic presence. A touch too arrogant, just reckless enough to make it interesting.

Hafiz wouldn’t dare try anything here. Not in the open. Not with eyes everywhere. That alone gave Munir a little extra spark, and he leaned into it.

[color=ffce00] "Uncle! Always a pleasure, truly. Wishing you outrageous health and even more outrageous success. Brother Aslam, surviving the festivities, I hope? Prince Askel, good to see you."[/color]

He’d caught the uncle’s veiled threat on the way in, but chose, very deliberately, to ignore it. Let it hang. Let it rot.

Munir snapped his fingers lightly, summoning a servant with drinks without breaking stride.

[color=ffce00] "What a night, hm? The [i]proxy of our father[/i], the [i]second most powerful man in Alidasht[/i], my brilliant brother, and of course, our esteemed prince, all under one roof. If that’s not worth celebrating, I don’t know what is."[/color]

The servant arrived; Munir plucked a glass of champagne first, easy, casual.

[color=ffce00] "So, what are we drinking to? The Sultan, obviously. May he reign forever. And may [i]his line[/i] continue to do so long after we’re all nothing but stories."[/color]

He raised his glass, a glint in his eye, waiting, daring, the others to follow.