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Tara, who had been clinging to Oman, released his hand and dashed toward Fatima, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Fatima, in return, hugged her more tightly, her composure cracking just slightly as she buried her face in the girl's hair.

"Fatima, what are you doing here?" Oman asked, his voice tinged with concern as he approached them.

Before Fatima could respond, Kasim spoke.

"She asked me to help you. That's why I sent my men to rescue you," he explained, his tone matter-of-fact.

As the words sank in, everything began to make sense to Oman. The sudden appearance of Kasim's men—it was no coincidence. Perhaps they had tracked his trail even before Shahbaz's forces did.

Oman turned his gaze back to his sister. "It's a long story, Oman," she said softly and reached out. Oman instinctively placed a protective hand on her head.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, the worry in his eyes clear.

Fatima nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips.

But as Oman looked into her eyes, he saw the pain she was trying to hide.

"Tara, you come with me," Fatima said, taking Tara away from them.

Kasim gestured for him to sit. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken tension.

"You've come to ask for my help," Kasim said, not wasting any time on pleasantries. His voice was edged with curiosity, suspicion, and perhaps a hint of something else—an old rivalry that had not yet faded. "Why now? What drives a man like you to seek out an old adversary?"

Oman met Kasim's eye.

"Shahbaz is hunting me, and you know that Sultan is supporting him with the aid he needs to track me.

And he is not stopping till he finds me.

I need your help to escape the borders. I appreciate that you helped my sister whatever the situation had been, and I would like to ask for one more favor from you.

" He was about to speak further when Kasim held his hand up to command him to stop speaking.

Kasim leaned back, folding his arms across his chest, his expression unreadable.

"And why should I help you? The last time we met, you were the Sultan's commander, keeping my men off your borders, thwarting our every move. Now you want a favor?" His voice was calm, almost cold, but there was a challenge in his eyes, daring Oman to justify himself.

Oman remained calm. "I did what was required of me. I served the Sultan, but that was before I had responsibilities of my own."

Kasim's eyes narrowed, his tone turning serious. "I understand. But tell me, What do you offer in return?"

Oman paused, choosing his words with care.

"What do you want?"

A slow smile crept across Kasim's face, ambition flickering in his eyes. "You were a commander, Oman. You know how to raise an army and mold men into fierce fighters. I want you to do the same for my men. Build me an army of my own."

Kasim knew Oman could offer knowledge and experience as a commander. He knew the Sultan's army, its strengths and weaknesses. He was the only person who could help him raise an army capable of challenging the Sultan's best forces.

Omanchuckled in a sarcastic tone.

"You even know what you are saying? You want to defeat the Sultan and his army. Fucking seriously?"

He continued.

"You presume much, Kasim. Your people are strong, but not numerous. The Sultan's army is vast, and raising an army against him is no small feat. Why should I risk everything for your cause?"

Kasim nodded, but then his gaze turned steely.

"Because it is not just my cause. It is the cause of every man, woman, and child who suffers under the Sultan's rule.

You've seen it yourself—how the people struggle, how they're crushed under his rule.

This isn't just about revenge or power. It's about justice.

You've fought for all these years and tried to keep people safe.

But safety is fleeting under a tyrant. You couldn't save them from the rule itself.

But you followed his command like a blind man," he gritted his teeth at the end.

"But with me, you have a chance to end his tyranny once and for all."

Oman stared at him, the weight of Kasim's words sinking in.

The Sultan had become a tyrant, bleeding his people dry with taxes and cruelty. But could Oman really trust Kasim and believe there was no other intention?

Oman hesitated before speaking, his gaze shifting away. "Let me think," he muttered.

"Take your time, but as you know, we don't have much left. And you have no other way to turn." Kasim's words were firm, almost as if he were nudging Oman towards the inevitable answer he wanted to hear.

Oman nodded, a silent agreement, and rose to his feet.

"My man will show you where you'll spend the night," Kasim added, signaling to one of his men, who immediately stepped forward and gestured for Oman to follow.

As they left the tent, the night sky stretched endlessly above them, the stars gleaming bright but cold, offering no warmth in this foreign land.

Oman's eyes scanned the camp, seeing only groups of men gathered around fires; their faces turned to look at Oman like their eyes were studying him.

Oman ignored them and called out to the man leading him.

"Where's my wife and sister?" He demanded, his voice carrying a note of authority.

The man turned slowly, his expression slightly annoyed but respectful. "Your wife must be with Fatima. It's late—you should sleep," he suggested, gesturing towards the tent they were heading to.

Oman wasn't having it. "Where are they?" he repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

The man sighed, clearly exasperated, and nodded towards another tent a short distance away. "They're over there," he mumbled, his voice laced with irritation.

Without a second thought, Oman started walking toward the tent.

Behind him, the man cursed under his breath, "You can see them tomorrow, for god's sake. What is wrong with this guy?"

But Oman ignored him. He reached the tent and, without hesitation, brushed the curtain aside and stepped inside.

Inside, a small lantern illuminated the space. Fatima was sitting with Tara, and another girl Oman recognized from earlier was also there.

Fatima noticed Oman's entrance.

"Oman?" Fatima asked, her surprise evident.

Tara, sitting beside her, looked up at Oman with wide, worried eyes and the concern etched on her face.

But Oman's attention quickly shifted to his sister, his tone slightly stern.

"We need to talk, Fatima," he said, his voice carrying a hint of frustration.

He desperately wanted to know what Fatima was doing at a place like this.

Layla, who had been lounging comfortably on a carpet, shot up, her eyes blazing.

"Can't you see it's already late? And you can't just barge into a ladies' tent like this! Do you know your fingers can be chopped off for such disrespect? Don't tell me you're ignorant of the rules here," she said.

She looked like a rebellious queen with fire in her eyes.

Tara's eyes widened at her statement and she wasn't liking the way Layla was looking him in the eyes.

Oman glanced at her, his expression unchanged. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I didn't barge into anyone's tent. I came to see my sister. Now, if you'll excuse me." His voice was polite but firm as he turned back to Fatima.

Layla stared at him, momentarily speechless. Oman wasn't rude at all—but there was something commanding about the way he carried himself and the way he spoke. His broad shoulders and tall frame were hard to ignore, and for a brief moment, she found herself intrigued by this strange man.

"Fatima?" Oman said going in one corner of the tent.

Fatima replied trying to keep the peace. "Oman, it's already late. Tara's sleepy, and you should get some rest too. We're safe here," she said, offering him a reassuring smile before glancing at Tara.

Oman's eyes followed hers and landed on Tara. The girl was indeed tired, her eyelids drooping as she fought to stay awake.

He let out a sigh, his anger softening. "Let's go, Tara," he said, extending his hand to her.

But what happened next took him by surprise. Fatima stared at him as if he'd just sprouted a second head, while Layla's eyes darted between them, suspicion growing.

"As I said, Oman, you don't need to worry about her. Tara will be sleeping with me from now on. I'll take care of my child," Fatima stated, her tone firm as she leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Tara's forehead.

Oman froze, the realization hitting him like a cold wave. Of course. Fatima still believed that he hadn't accepted Tara as his wife and that he saw her as nothing more than a child under his protection.

Tara, oblivious to the undercurrents of tension, blinked up at Oman with her big, innocent eyes. "Is it okay if I stay with Fatima tonight?" she asked softly.

She wanted to sleep with Oman, but she had just reunited with Fatima. After months of wondering if she'd ever see her again, how could she leave her now?

Fatima gently cradled Tara's cheeks and smiled at her.

"Of course, Tara," Fatima cooed. "You'll be sleeping with me from now on."

The idea of being away from Oman, even for one night, left a hollow feeling in Tara's chest. Here, Fatima was saying she will be sleeping with her from now on.

Her eyes welled up.

"Don't cry, Tara," Fatima said unaware of the reason for her crying. Perhaps she went through a lot of things.in these past months.

She turned to Oman, her expression soft and filled with appreciation. "Thank you so much, Oman, for taking care of her. You've done so much for her—more than anyone else could have. I'm so grateful." Her eyes glistened with tears of gratitude.

Oman's heart sank to his boots.

'Fuck' Oman cursed under his breath.

How was he supposed to explain to his sister that he hadn't just taken care of Tara—he had fully accepted and, well, consummated their marriage?

He wanted to tell Fatima that she was his. But he didn't know how Fatima would react when she will came to know about the sinful things he had already done.

He cursed silently under his breath, the situation becoming more awkward by the second. The words were stuck in his throat, refusing to come out.

Oman nearly choked on his own breath. "Oh, um, you don't have to—" he started, but Fatima cut him off.

"You've done enough, Oman. Now she is my responsibility. I will take care of her and handle her. I'm sure this little djinn has been a bit of a handful for you," she added, her tone teasing.

Oman ran a hand over his face, trying to compose himself. "Fatima, I... um, actually, there's something I need to—" Layla interrupted him, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

"Commander, if you are done, then you can leave, or do you need me to call someone to escort you?"

Fatima chuckled a little while keeping a hand on her mouth.

Oman locked eyes with her. "You don't have to," he muttered, glaring at her. His gaze briefly shifted to Tara, then back to Layla. She was certainly fierce.

He gave a slight nod to Fatima, then ducked out of the tent, feeling Layla's intense gaze following him until he was out of sight.

Once outside, he let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. "Fucking hell. What is all this now?" he muttered to himself.

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