The Emperor's Treasure

Sweat glistened on Amal's sun-kissed skin, the midday heat painting his bare torso in a sheen of gold as he moved with effortless grace. The garden hallways echoed with the rhythmic thud of bodies meeting the training mats, punctuated by his soft grunts and the occasional sigh of exertion. There he stood, a towering figure amidst his guards, demonstrating a grappling technique he'd mastered during his own rigorous training. His laughter was warm, his patience endless—even as his newest pupil fumbled the maneuver for the third time.

Then, like a shadow cutting through the sunlight, his advisor appeared. The man's expression was pinched, his fingers tightening around the emperor's wrist as he pulled him aside. Amal blinked, tilting his head like a curious puppy, his dark curls bouncing with the motion.

"One of your jewels is missing," the advisor hissed under his breath.

Amal's brows knitted together—only for a moment—before he shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling in dismissal. If he hadn't noticed its absence, how important could it be? There were far more pressing matters at hand—like ensuring his guards could properly defend the palace, or perhaps the upcoming feast his sisters had been pestering him about.

With a careless wave, he returned to his sparring, leaving his advisor to exhale sharply through his nose.