Prologue

Qasr-e-Varenshah, Northern Highlands — 1195 AH

The night was quiet, but the wind moved like it was whispering something forgotten.

In the garden of Qasr-e-Varenshah, red roses shook gently in the breeze. Under the strange red moon above, the drops on their petals looked almost like blood. The sky was clear, yet heavy, as if it carried a deep sadness buried long ago.

A single lamp glowed in the tallest tower of the palace. Its light danced on the walls made of carved stone. Inside that tower, Nawab Kaif uz-Zaman Varenshah stood quietly. He wore a long black robe and a dark turban. His hand rested on the sword at his waist—the same sword passed down from generations, marked with the family’s symbol: a crimson rose wrapped around a crescent moon.

His eyes were tired, full of sleepless nights and heavy thoughts. The curse on his family was growing stronger. He could feel it in the cold corners of the palace, in the strange way echoes returned even when no one spoke. For years, the Varenshah family had lived with this darkness.

Tonight, the red moon would rise fully for the last time in this cycle. The blood oath would demand its price.

Kaif closed his eyes. He could still hear the voice of Chand Sultana—not Mehrunisa, the woman he was going to marry, but his ancestor who had died long ago and whose curse still haunted the palace.

"My prayer was never finished..." her voice echoed in his mind. "And his love was lost forever..."

He turned to face a faded painting behind him. It showed Chand Sultana sitting near a rose fountain, holding her hands in prayer, eyes full of sorrow. She had fallen in love with someone she was never supposed to marry. Because of that forbidden love, her story ended in tragedy. Before her death, she spoke a final curse, and since then, the family had suffered.

The curse said: No heir of Varenshah will find peace until he marries for love and truth—not for power or pride.

But none of the Varenshahs had broken that curse yet.

Suddenly, someone knocked softly at his door.

“Nawab Sahib,” came the weak voice of Bibi Sarwat, the palace's oldest caretaker. “The girl has left her home. Insha’Allah, she will reach the palace before sunrise.”

Kaif didn’t reply. His heart felt uneasy. The girl’s name was Mehrunisa bint Farid. She belonged to a noble warrior family that had once been close to the Varenshahs—but later became enemies. Now, a marriage between her and Kaif was their last chance at peace and forgiveness.

He had never seen her face. But he knew one thing: the moment she entered the palace, everything would change.

---

Far from the palace, a caravan moved quietly through the hills. Small lanterns lit the path as it made its way to the mountains. At its center, inside a covered palanquin, Mehrunisa sat calmly. She held a small wooden tasbeeh in her hands, her lips quietly remembering Allah.

Beside her sat her maid and friend, Saliha, who peeked outside the curtain.

“They say the roses only bloom under the red moon,” she whispered.

“They say the roses bloom for the one chosen by the curse,” Mehrunisa replied, her voice soft.

“Do you think the curse is real?” Saliha asked nervously.

Mehrunisa looked down at the old letter her father had once written to her before he disappeared.

> “My daughter, you must go. The sins of our ancestors still follow us. What began with blood must end with mercy. The boy, Kaif uz-Zaman, is not your enemy—he is your test. May your nikaah be your strength.”

“I believe,” Mehrunisa finally said, “that people call things curses when they don’t want to face the truth.”

---

In the palace’s garden, the air turned colder.

Maulvi Kareem, the palace imam, stood silently in the masjid. He hadn’t spoken in years. The last bride who entered the palace had died under strange circumstances. Since then, he only read the Qur’an and rarely spoke.

Tonight, he quietly read:

> “And We send down from the Qur’an that which is a healing and a mercy to those who believe...” (Surah Al-Isra, 17:82)

He felt the cold creep in. Last night, even he had dreamed of Chand Sultana. In his dream, she had said:

“When the red moon rises, and a girl with a prayer in her heart enters, the curse will begin to lift.”

He looked outside at the garden. The roses had started to bloom—wide and red, giving off a smell heavier than any perfume.

Something was about to happen.

---

Back in the tower, Kaif lit a small candle before the painting of Chand Sultana.

“I’m not asking for freedom,” he whispered. “I just want her to be safe.”

Suddenly, the wind blew out the flame.

Far away, under the blood-red moon, the first petal fell from a rose.

A/N:: Assalam-o-alikum readers.

How are you??

As the shadows of Varenshah deepen and secrets stir beneath moonlit silence, Kaif and Mehrunisa take their first uncertain steps toward a bond neither of them fully understands. But destiny, cloaked in centuries-old sorrow, has only just begun to whisper its tale…

Will be waiting for your reply.

Till update Allah hafiz.

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