The Scheme Behind the Scenes

Morning in Darul Aman felt colder than usual. The sun rose as always, gilding mosque domes and palace roofs, yet within the royal walls, the mood was far from warm. Officials moved with measured steps and spoke in hushed tones, as if every wall had ears.

Emperor Ahmad Putra Gani sat alone in his private study. The great desk before him was piled high with scrolls: reports on grain movements, letters from border lands, notes from foreign envoys, and discreet accounts from palace scouts.

All led to one conclusion:

Darul Makmur was not waiting. They were advancing.

Gani re-read the latest dispatch. It was brief, but dangerous.

Several leading merchants in the eastern provinces had received secret funds from Darul Makmur.

They were told to drive up prices—and blame Darul Aman’s policies.

Gani let out a long breath. “Undermining the people’s trust…” he murmured. “The foulest tactic—and the most effective.”

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Enter.”

Amir stepped in, his face grave. “My Liege, the ministers are gathered in the small chamber. Just as you requested—only those who can truly be trusted.”

Gani stood. “Very well. We begin now.”

The secret meeting room lay behind the palace’s old library. Its walls were thick, its windows narrow, and it was lit only by oil lamps. This was where the most fateful decisions were often made—far from the ears of flatterers and traitors.

Four men waited there: Amir, Minister Hasan, and two senior officials whose integrity had stood unchallenged for decades.

Gani wasted no time.

“Darul Makmur means to use marriage as a chain,” he said. “One that will tighten slowly around our throats.”

“If Your Majesty rejects them too firmly,” Minister Hasan warned, “they will provoke open conflict.”

“And if I accept without terms,” Gani replied, “they will rule this palace from within.” He met each gaze in turn. “So we shall do neither.”

Silence fell over the room.

“We shall set the stage,” Gani went on. “And let them reveal their true faces themselves.”

Amir frowned. “Your Majesty means…?”

“I shall spread word that I am considering several candidates for Empress,” Gani said calmly. “Not only from Darul Makmur.”

“That is dangerous,” one advisor cautioned. “Many will feel threatened.”

“Exactly,” Gani replied. “Those with honest intent will wait patiently. Those with ill will grow hasty—and make mistakes.”

He unrolled a small scroll.

“Meanwhile, I want a quiet investigation. Who takes foreign gold? Who stirs unrest among the people? And who within this palace speaks too often on Darul Makmur’s behalf?”

Minister Hasan nodded slowly. “Your Majesty does not merely defend… You strike back.”

“Not strike,” Gani corrected gently. “Purify.”

By late afternoon, Gani left the palace with no grand ceremony, accompanied only by his most trusted guards. He did not head for distant provinces, but to a place the court had all but forgotten: the Alamanda Forest.

It was more than just woods. Here his father had once sought peace. Here Gani had learned archery, riding, and—most of all—to think without the mask of royalty.

He dismounted and walked across damp earth. The calls of birds and rustle of leaves were the only witnesses to his presence.

Deep in the forest, something made him stop.

Footprints.

Not random tracks. The stride was steady, the spacing even. Too light for an armoured soldier, too purposeful for a common hunter.

Gani knelt to touch the soil. “Not from the palace,” he whispered.

He followed his instinct onward. A short distance away, he found an arrow embedded in a tree trunk—dead centre of a small circle drawn in charcoal. The shot had come from far off, the angle perfect.

Gani stood motionless for a long moment.

“A master archer,” he said softly. “And a woman.”

He could not say why he was so certain. But his intuition rarely failed him.

Back at the palace that night, Gani did not rest. He summoned Amir privately.

“I want you to survey the borderlands,” he said. “Especially those places rarely visited by the court, yet steady and safe.”

“To what end, My Liege?”

Gani paused. “I seek someone who leads not by title… but by merit.”

Amir looked at him with undisguised curiosity. “Is this related to the search for an Empress?”

Gani gave a faint smile. “It is related to the future of Darul Aman.”

Several days later, the Darul Makmur envoys returned. This time their manner was warmer, their smiles broader, their words sweeter.

“We hear Your Majesty weighs many options,” they said. “That is wisdom indeed.”

“Wisdom demands time,” Gani replied.

“Of course. But time also leaves room for emptiness.”

Gani met their gaze unblinking. “Emptiness is only dangerous to those who seek to fill it by force.”

The envoy laughed lightly, though his eyes remained cold.

“We only hope Darul Aman chooses well.”

“As do I,” Gani answered.

That night, Gani sat alone in the palace prayer hall. The lamps burned low. All was quiet. He knelt in long prostration, his prayers no longer for victory—but for clarity.

“O Allah,” he whispered. “If You have destined me to lead this land, show me the right path… and the people who will walk beside me, not above me.”

Outside, the wind sighed softly.

Beyond the palace walls, in lands rarely marked on great maps, the threads of fate began to shift.

And though Gani did not yet fully know it,

the answer to his prayer was drawing near—bearing sword, bow, and a resolve as strong as his own.

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