Novel Full Chapter 418: Love Is War
Chapter 418: Love Is War
***
{Inside The Projection}
“…Good afternoon.”
Azeem twitched awake, blinking hard before glancing to his left.
Malik stood over him, his gaze flatter than usual, making it obvious that he’d been staring for a while.
“G—Gooood-Gooooooooood—”
In his rush to stand, Azeem tripped over his own foot, bit his tongue, and stumbled the rest of the way up.
“Afyeryoon.”
He held his jaw in pain, barely getting himself straight.
“Breathe, boy.”
From Malik’s shoulder, Sinbad let out a chuckle.
“He’s a funny one~.”
“We’re late!”
Azeem didn’t “breathe.”
“We’re late to the public visit! The crowds will be waiting!”
Malik gave one slow shrug, as if that meant nothing to him, which it didn’t.
Azeem, barely stopping himself from sighing, quickly lowered himself in front of his Lord and looked up at him, his eyes big and pleading.
“Please, Sultan—can we… take this with more urgency? Just for today?”
Malik’s gaze slid to Sinbad, who only looked back at him with a smirk in his pinks.
After a long pause, Malik nodded.
“Great.”
Azeem allowed himself to sigh with relief.
“Okay, so… we can’t go with the original plan. Not now. If the people find out there was an assassination attempt on you the moment you tried to greet them—”
He drew in a deep breath.
“We need a reason, something nice and public.”
Malik tilted his head.
“Which is?”
Azeem’s grin was almost mischievous.
“You, my Lord… and Lady Layla… will go on a date.”
Malik went still.
“In the open… in the Holy City’s markets. You’ll smile, you’ll walk together, and the people will see a Sultan who treats his wife well. We were late because she wanted to join you, and you, the dutiful husband, delayed the visit so you could take her.”
“…Sure.”
Malik’s answer was quiet.
“Good luck getting her to accept.”
Azeem chuckled under his breath.
“Oh, I’m sure she will.”
…
She did.
Malik and Layla stood in the middle of some market street.
His face was its usual unreadable mask, while hers was surprisingly red, and not from Malik taking her out on a date, at least not directly, but from the hundreds of eyes stealing glances—or outright staring at them.
The two had stopped in front of a kebab stall.
It should have been nothing—just another food stall in the Holy City, but for Malik, the sight stirred an old, faint thread of memory.
Back in Zawaya, back when his ribs showed and the streets spat him out, kebab stands were the territory of men who would chase him away with sticks.
He had once dreamed about buying one with his own coin.
A dream so small, so ordinary… that he had never done, not even once.
Khamal had given him some before, long ago, but it wasn’t the same.
It couldn’t be the same… he had to buy one with his own money for it to be so.
Malik hadn’t come here for that, however. He didn’t care for sentimentality, and even less for hunger. Layla was the one who had pulled him to the stall, claiming that she was hungry for a little something.
It should’ve been a simple transaction, pay, grab, and go, yet an… issue had proped up.
“Oh—oh no, I’m so sorry, my Sultan, my Lady!”
Even now, with all the money in the world at his disposal, the universe seemed determined to keep his not buying a kebab streak alive.
“Only one skewer left—just the one!”
The stall owner was in a flurry of apologies.
“I swear, it’s never like this! It’s the Shams—people eat early—plus my cousin was supposed to bring more lamb, but the fool got caught in traffic from the eastern market, and my helper went home sick, spices—uh, the spices—and the—”
Malik raised one palm, and the man’s waterfall of excuses stopped mid-stream.
“It’s fine.”
He turned to Layla.
“You can have it.”
Layla mirrored him immediately:
“No. You should.”
Malik’s eyes narrowed.
“You said you were hungry.”
“And you’ve never had one from here.”
She countered, remembering that tidbit about him.
“It’ll mean more to you.”
“It means nothing.”
Malik denied flatly.
“Exactly, it means nothing.”
Layla replied.
“So take it.”
He blinked once.
“You’re stubborn.”
“You married me.”
She lifted her chin at it.
“Take the kebab.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You’re wasting time.”
“You’re wasting food.”
The stall owner’s eyes darted between them, holding the lonely skewer like it was a cursed relic.
“It’ll taste better if you eat it.”
Malik stated.
“It’ll taste better if you eat it.”
Layla shot back.
“Unlikely.”
“You’re impossible.”
“That I am.”
“Think of it as diplomacy.”
She folded her arms.
“People love seeing their Sultan enjoy street food.”
“I’m already here. That’s enough diplomacy.”
“It’s not. You need the whole image—bite, chew, swallow. Preferably in that order.”
“You do it. Your smile’s better.”
“Your glare’s more memorable.”
“I don’t eat for theater.”
“Then eat for me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll enjoy it more.”
“You’ll remember it more.”
“I don’t want to remember it.”
“Exactly why you should.”
“Flawed logic.”
“Perfect logic.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I am.”
“Then eat.”
“You eat it, and I’ll buy myself one later.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Fine—two later.”
“That doesn’t make a difference.”
“Three.”
“No.”
“Four.”
“Your numbers are meaningless.”
“And your resistance is ridiculous.”
“It’s a waste of effort.”
“It’s a waste of perfectly good lamb if you keep standing there arguing.”
“You started the argument.”
“You could end it by eating the kebab.”
“Or you could.”
“Or you could.”
Malik’s jaw tightened.
“We’ll stand here all day.”
Layla’s eyes narrowed in mock challenge.
“Try me.”
Finally, the vendor groaned, wrapped the skewer in paper, and thrust it toward Malik.
“Here. Take it. Free. Go.”
Malik looked at the man for a moment, then took the kebab without another word.
He reached for Layla’s hand, turned, and walked them both away from the stall as the smell of grilled meat trailed behind them.
***
{Outside The Projection}
It was incredible how twisted this relationship was.
They were actually fighting right there, but for the general public?
It looked like a cute romantic moment.
An argument that wasn’t really an argument but playful, almost intimate flirting.
A Sultan and his wife, bickering before a stall, her cheeks flushed, his voice warm.
The way Layla leaned forward, refusing to back down, the way Malik stood his ground, unshaken, like nothing could move him but her.
And yes, that was how they always ’fought.’
All of this felt like a knot of iron.
Layla’s hypocrisy with wanting coin for being the Sultan’s wife, but not wanting a gift directly from him, while Malik actually confusing her excuse of showing him around the market stalls for her being actually hungry.
Layla’s stubbornness wasn’t just stubbornness; it was armor to protect her soul, her emotions too fragile. Malik’s patience wasn’t patience; it was a refusal to worsen this tragedy, knowing he could do so at any moment, with any mistake.
It was incredible to watch but also so incredibly sad.
Especially so for Layla.
She had a love-hate relationship with Malik.
Because yes, and again, even then, she felt ’something’ for him.
Her love was beginning to return just by being there next to him.
Back then, this love wasn’t something that she could completely get rid of, no matter how much she wanted to… she just couldn’t pull it out without tearing herself apart.
The fact that she believed him to be her father’s killer only made it worse.
What kind of curse was it, to find your heart bound to the hand that you thought destroyed your life?
Yeah, it made her feel disgusted, and that disgust made this little ’fight’ commonplace.
Because, well, that self-loathing bled into their every exchange, and the more she caught herself staring—at his stance, his wide back, his thick forearms, at the shape of his jaw, at the way he could silence a man with a single look—the more she despised herself.
The more she despised herself, the sharper her words became.
That, in turn, made them ’fight’ more, and the cycle repeated itself.
This was their relationship, one built on a thousand misunderstandings.
It was funny in a twisted way, hilarious even, but again, so incredibly sad.
The world wasn’t sure they were watching a love story or a slow, endless war.
Well, whatever it was, it was theirs—messy, tangled, and impossible to look away from.