The Hidden Plot

Morning came to Darul Aman without its usual warmth. The sun rose slowly behind the rolling hills, yet its light was veiled by thin mist hanging in the air. From the palace balcony, Emperor Ahmad Putra Gani stood gazing at the waking city—merchants opening their stalls, guards changing shifts, and people going about their lives as if all was well.

But it was not.

This realm had just lost a great leader. And Gani knew: the time of mourning was the most dangerous moment for a throne.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him. Soldier Amir, his trusted guard and close contemporary, stopped and knelt on one knee.

“My Liege,” Amir said quietly, “Minister Hasan awaits in the small meeting chamber. He brings an urgent report.”

Gani nodded. “I shall go at once.”

He took a deep breath before stepping away. Since ascending the throne, he had barely slept—not from physical exhaustion, but because his mind swirled with unanswered questions.

The small meeting chamber lay on the western side of the palace, far from the great hall and bustling corridors. It was rarely used, reserved only for words meant for no other ears.

Minister Hasan sat waiting. His face looked more worn than usual, the lines on his brow deepened.

“My Liege,” he said, standing and bowing respectfully.

“Be seated, Minister,” Gani replied. “What have you found?”

Hasan did not answer straight away. He pulled a small scroll from beneath his robe and laid it on the table. Gani recognized the broken wax seal—the mark of the old palace.

“This is a copy of the royal physician’s report,” Hasan said softly. “The original… has vanished.”

Gani’s brows drew together. He read carefully, and a few lines made his breath catch.

“Poison?” he asked calmly, though his heart beat faster.

Hasan nodded. “Not a crude poison. A subtle one. Mixed slowly into his daily medicine. Without the most rigorous examination, his death would appear no different than natural illness.”

Gani closed his eyes for a moment.

“Who had access to my father’s medicine?” he asked.

“The royal physician. A few personal attendants. And…” Hasan hesitated, “…several ministers who often came and went from his study.”

No names were spoken, but Gani understood perfectly.

“Any clue as to who gave the order?” he pressed.

Hasan shook his head. “Not yet. But one thing is certain—this was no casual act. It was a long-planned scheme.”

Gani stared at the wooden table before him. His father’s words echoed once more: do not trust anyone at face value.

“Very well,” he said finally. “From this day, only you, I, and Amir shall know of this investigation. No one else.”

Hasan bowed deeply. “As you command, My Liege.”

By midday, the palace filled with guests once more. Envoys from various realms arrived, bearing condolences—and their own hidden interests. The great hall was lined with colourful robes, rich perfumes, and diplomatic smiles that told more than they showed.

Gani sat upon his throne, his back straight, his expression composed. Ministers stood in rows at his sides, as envoys from foreign lands stepped forward one by one to speak.

The envoy from Darul Sholah spoke with sincerity. Sultan Ibrahim sent messages of support and prayers, reaffirming his loyalty to their long-standing alliance.

But the mood shifted when the envoy from Darul Makmur stepped forward.

The man wore a deep blue silk robe stitched with gold thread at the sleeves. His smile was broad—far too broad.

“My Liege Emperor Gani,” he announced in a ringing voice, “Sultan Hasbi sends his deepest sympathies for the passing of the late Emperor. He also expresses his hope that Darul Aman and Darul Makmur may stand ever closer under Your Majesty’s rule.”

“What form of alliance does he propose?” Gani asked evenly.

The envoy smiled again. “All forms of cooperation, of course. Trade, defence… and a bond of kinship.”

Several officials exchanged glances. Gani remained silent.

“We have Princess Zahra,” the envoy continued, “a woman of noble character and great learning. Sultan Hasbi believes the time has come for Darul Aman to have a strong Empress to stand beside its young Emperor.”

The hall fell instantly quiet.

Gani did not reply at once. He met the envoy’s gaze with sharp, steady eyes.

“A weighty proposal,” he said finally. “Yet this realm still mourns. I shall make no decision of such consequence without careful reflection.”

The envoy’s smile did not fade. “Naturally, My Liege. We speak only of good intent.”

Good intent, Gani thought coldly.

Intent that came far too quickly to be genuine.

Once the meeting ended and the envoys had departed, Gani returned to his private chambers. Amir stood by the door.

“What is your judgment?” Gani asked without turning around.

“Darul Makmur moves too fast,” Amir answered honestly. “As if they seek to secure something before Your Majesty’s rule is fully established.”

Gani nodded slowly. “That is exactly what I think.”

He walked to the window, looking out over the palace grounds. Political marriages were nothing new in the world of kingdoms. But in these circumstances—too many interests tangled together.

“My father never forced marriage for the sake of power,” he murmured.

“Will Your Majesty follow the same path?” Amir asked.

Gani fell quiet for a moment. “I shall follow the right path. No matter how steep it may be.”

Night fell once more. This time, Gani did not rest. He summoned Hasan and Amir in strict secrecy.

“There is one thing we must do,” Gani said, his voice low. “We must see clearly who stands as friend, and who stands as foe.”

“How shall we begin, My Liege?” Hasan asked.

Gani looked between them. “I shall turn my attention to the small outlying lands of Darul Aman. Sometimes the truth speaks most plainly far from the palace walls.”

Hasan looked startled. “Your Majesty intends to go there yourself?”

“I do,” Gani replied firmly. “An Emperor must know more than his own throne.”

He recalled a brief report of the Chayanur region—a quiet district that rarely caused trouble, yet remained always stable. It was led by a young noble known for being resolute and just.

“Who governs Chayanur now?” Gani asked.

Hasan checked his small notebook. “Jaina Al’zina Chayanur, My Liege. The daughter of the late Lord of Chayanur.”

The name was spoken softly, yet it lingered sharply in Gani’s mind.

“Very well,” he said. “We shall start there.”

That night, behind the palace’s sturdy walls, a plan was born—quiet, hidden, and carefully calculated. The young Emperor of Darul Aman had no intention of waiting for his enemies to make the first move.

If this game had truly begun, Gani would make one thing certain:

He was no prize to be taken.

He was the one holding the pieces.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***