Mohsen, at twenty-six, was already one of the greatest warriors in the realm.

He stood guard over the magnificent palace with unyielding discipline—inflexible, feared, and the Shah’s most trusted servant. Rumors clung to him like shadows: that he was half-djinn and half-man, that he was a monster without a soul. Most of these tales were deliberate fabrications, spread to deepen the fear he inspired and to make him seem the perfect, inhuman guardian. His imposing frame and mastery of every form of combat—bare hands or weapons—only fed the legend.

In truth he was a man of few words. In the privacy of his rooms he read poetry and literature; in the palace gardens he watched birds and studied the colors and species of flowers. He never shared these quiet passions with anyone.

The time had come, the court decided, to find him a wife… or something far more satisfying.