VIRGIN VILLAGE NURSE RISKED HER LIFE TO SAVE AN INJURED MAN — UNAWARE HE WAS A BILLIONAIRE PRINCE

In the heart of a secluded village, where the air was thick with the scent of earth and the whispers of the wind, a scream shattered the night. The sound echoed through the trees, a desperate plea for help that pierced the stillness like a knife. Nia Johnson, a dedicated village nurse, was on her way home after a long shift at the clinic when she saw the flickering flames dancing in the distance.

Her heart raced as she dropped her satchel and sprinted toward the source of the fire. **What she found was a twisted black luxury car, flames licking at the hood, smoke billowing into the sky. Inside, a man coughed blood against the steering wheel, his face contorted in pain.**

“Help! Somebody! Help me!” His deep, broken voice rasped into the night, igniting a fire of urgency within her.

Without a second thought, Nia rushed forward, her mind blank with fear and adrenaline. The shriek of metal and the hiss of fire filled her ears as she clawed at the jammed door, her bare hands splitting against the cold steel. **But it wouldn’t budge.**

Desperation surged through her veins. She grabbed a fallen branch and smashed the window, shards of glass raining down like glittering stars. Reaching inside, she felt the weight of the man’s body, heavy and lifeless. His blood soaked into her uniform as she dragged him free just moments before the car exploded, the heat throwing sparks into her hair.

He groaned, eyelids fluttering open, revealing dark, commanding eyes that locked onto hers. “No hospital,” he croaked, his grip surprisingly strong as he clutched her wrist. “Hide me! Promise!”

Nia blinked, a mixture of disbelief and determination coursing through her. **“Are you insane? You’ll die if I don’t get you help!”** But he was unconscious again, his head lulling back as smoke filled her lungs. Sirens howled faintly in the distance. If she left him here, strangers might finish what the wreck had started. Something deep inside her whispered that this man was not just any stranger.

With no time to question her instincts, Nia ran to the tool shed near the clinic, grabbed two long planks of wood, and lashed them together with rope, weaving her grandmother’s torn bed sheet between them. The makeshift stretcher groaned under his weight, but she heaved until her arms screamed. **“Lord, give me strength,”** she muttered, planting her heels into the dirt.

Inch by inch, she dragged the man down the rutted road, sweat blinding her eyes. Dust choked her throat, but she refused to stop. Each time the stretcher jolted over a rock, his chest rattled with ragged breaths, reminding her that his life hung by a thread. Halfway to the village clinic, his hand twitched, fingers curling around the sheet as if fighting unseen enemies.

Words slipped from his lips in a language she didn’t recognize—royal, commanding, fearful. She shivered. **“Who are you?”** she whispered, pulling harder. No answer, only the sound of crickets and the faint roar of another vehicle somewhere in the night. Finally, the faint glow of the clinic lantern appeared, relief rushing through her, but it was short-lived.

## The Threat

A sleek black SUV slowed on the highway, its tinted windows rolling down just enough for her to feel the weight of unseen eyes. Nia froze, heart hammering. The man on the stretcher groaned again, gripping her wrist with bruising strength. **“Don’t trust them,”** he whispered, barely audible, and then he went limp.

Nia’s breath hitched. Whoever this man was, she had just dragged him out of fire and into a storm far greater than she could imagine. With headlights turning down the dirt road, bearing straight toward her, she realized she might already be too late.

With Grandma Mabel’s help, she wrestled him onto the narrow bed in her room, his blood seeping into the quilt. The dim glow of the oil lamp revealed a face both beautiful and intimidating—sculpted cheekbones, lips pressed in a grim line, even in unconsciousness. His shirt, torn at the shoulder, revealed the hard plains of a chest not used to labor but to privilege.

“Child, you’ve dragged a storm into this house,” Grandma Mabel said, pressing a damp cloth into Nia’s hand.

“He would have died out there,” Nia whispered, wiping soot from his face. “I couldn’t leave him.” Her grandmother’s eyes softened, but her tone remained firm. “Then you better pray you know what you’re doing.”

## A Dangerous Secret

For the next hour, Nia cleaned wounds, stitched a gash on his arm with trembling hands, and cooled his fever. The stranger groaned, eyelids fluttering, but never fully woke until at last a deep voice rasped from the bed. “Where am I?” Nia jumped, nearly dropping her needle. His eyes were sharp and assessing despite his weakness.

“You’re safe,” she said quickly. “In my home. I’m a nurse. You had an accident.” He pushed himself up on one elbow, ignoring the pain that twisted his features. “Take me to a hotel. I’ll pay you.”

Her brows shot up. “You can’t even stand, and you think I’m carrying you back out? You’re not going anywhere until I’m sure you won’t die on me.” Something flickered in his eyes—annoyance, but also surprise. He wasn’t used to being refused.

“You don’t know who I am,” he said slowly, almost as a threat. “Should I?” Nia shot back, tying off her stitch. “All I know is you’re bleeding in my bed, and you’ll follow my rules if you want to live.” For the first time, the corner of his mouth twitched as though he might laugh.

Instead, he leaned back, gaze roaming over her small room, the peeling wallpaper, the shelf lined with medical textbooks, the vision board of her dream clinic pinned above the desk. **“You want more than this life,”** he said, voice low. “A clinic of your own, a big dream for a village nurse.” Heat rushed to her cheeks.

“How do you know about my journal?” she asked, startled. He interrupted smoothly, “And you left it open.”

## Whispers of the Village

That evening, a cluster of children from the village spotted Malik limping along the path outside. Their eyes went wide at the sight of his expensive shoes and regal bearing. “Mister, can you play ball with us?” one boy asked shyly, holding out a battered football. Malik raised a brow. “I don’t…”

But before he could finish, another child tugged his sleeve, and somehow he found himself awkwardly tossing the ball. The children erupted in laughter when he fumbled the catch, and to his own surprise, a laugh broke from his chest too—rough, unpolished, but real.

Nia stood at the clinic doorway, watching him with arms folded. The prince who carried himself like steel looked almost human surrounded by children. When the game ended, Malik returned the ball, his lips still curved faintly. He caught Nia’s gaze and walked toward her, his limp more pronounced now. “You saved me,” he said quietly. “Not just from the fire.”

“From myself,” Nia blinked, thrown by the sincerity in his tone. She opened her mouth to respond, but headlights suddenly swept across the road. A sleek SUV slowed in front of the clinic, tinted windows lowering just enough for her to see the glint of a camera lens. Malik’s expression shifted instantly, the softness gone, replaced by a cold edge. He gripped Nia’s arm, pulling her back inside as the car idled outside.

“They found me,” he whispered, eyes hard as stone. Nia’s breath caught. She realized with a chill that whatever he’d been running from had finally reached her doorstep, and she was no longer just a nurse protecting a patient. She was in the middle of something far bigger than her village could contain.

## A Dangerous Encounter

The black SUV lingered outside the clinic all night, its engine humming like a predator in the dark. By sunrise, it was no longer alone. Three more vehicles rolled into the village, glossy and armored, their tinted windows swallowing the morning light. Nia froze by the clinic door as men in dark suits spilled out, earpieces glinting.

Their movements were precise, military. At their center stood a tall man with a badge clipped to his belt. “Target located,” he said into a mic. His eyes landed on Malik, who had risen shakily from the cot. “Your Highness.” The words cut through the air like a blade. Nia blinked, certain she’d misheard, but the men dropped into bows, and the one in front stepped forward.

“Prince Malik Ober Williams, your family has been searching for you day and night. We must escort you home immediately, Prince.” The words slammed into her chest. She turned to Malik, her voice trembling. “What did he just call you?” Malik’s jaw tightened. He glanced at her, regret flickering across his face, then away. “It wasn’t safe to tell you.”

“You lied to me,” she whispered, heat rushing to her cheeks. “All this time, you let me think you were just some lost businessman when really…” her voice broke. “You’re a prince.” Outside, the village stirred like a kicked anthill. Neighbors spilled into the dirt road, craning their necks. Mothers pulled children close.

Someone whispered, “Prince! Did she say prince?” Then came the click of cameras. News vans had followed the convoy, reporters shoving microphones forward. Flashes erupted, blinding in the morning haze. “Nia, step back!” one guard barked, moving to shield Malik. But she couldn’t move. She felt every eye on her, every whisper burrowing under her skin.

## The Aftermath

The quiet nurse from the pines harboring royalty in her bed. Shame and anger warred in her chest. Malik limped toward her, ignoring the guard’s protests, his hand closed gently around hers. “I never meant for you to be dragged into this. You saved me, Nia, and I’ll repay you. Whatever you want, your clinic, your future, I’ll make it happen.” Her throat tightened. “I don’t want your money. I wanted honesty.”

His eyes softened, but the guards pressed closer. “Your Highness, time is critical. We must leave now.” Malik’s grip tightened on her hand as though he wanted to resist. For a moment, his gaze held hers with a promise she didn’t understand. Then, with a pained breath, he released her.

The convoy swallowed him, doors slamming shut, engines roaring. Within minutes, the motorcade disappeared down the dusty road, leaving only churned gravel and silence. The villagers turned on Nia, voices rising in a storm. “She hid a prince under her roof. Who does she think she is? Did she think she could catch him like some trap?” Nia’s face burned as she stumbled back inside the clinic, shutting the door against their voices.

Her hands pressed to her chest, trying to hold together the pieces of her heart. The bed was empty now, the sheets still stained with his blood. All that remained was the echo of his words. “I’ll repay you.” But the echo gave no comfort, because what she wanted wasn’t repayment. It was the truth. And the truth had been taken from her the moment those black cars carried him away.

Yet deep inside, she knew this wasn’t the end. Princes didn’t simply vanish from a village nurse’s life; they dragged everything into their orbit—love, danger, and storms far beyond her control. And for better or worse, Nia had already stepped into the storm.

## The Confrontation

The convoy sped away from the village until red dirt roads gave way to smooth black highways and finally the towering gates of the Ober estate. The palace rose like a monument to power, its marble spires gleaming in the late sun. To Nia, it was a world far beyond reach. To Malik, it was a gilded cage.

The moment the car doors opened, Queen Mother Immani swept forward, robes of gold and crimson flowing, jewels heavy at her throat. Her face was carved from stone, her eyes sharp as the blade of a knife. “Malik Ober Williams,” she thundered, her voice carrying through the grand hall. “Do you know the shame you’ve brought on this family?” disappearing for days, leaving the kingdom to wonder if their future king lay dead in a ditch.

Malik bowed his head, but his jaw was tight. “Mother, I was attacked. I barely survived.” Immani’s nostrils flared. “And yet you survived in a village hidden among peasants. Do you realize what the press is saying? What enemies are whispering?” He met her glare with steel in his eyes. “Those villagers saved me. A nurse saved me.”

Immani’s lips thinned. The very mention of Nia’s existence sparked disdain. “You will not bring shame upon our name by entertaining nonsense with some village girl.” Behind her, Prince Jabari stood silent, his hands clasped in feigned humility. But as Malik passed, Jabari’s gaze followed him with quiet calculation.

Later that evening, in the shadowed chambers of the east wing, Jabari poured himself a glass of brandy while a tall, elegant woman leaned against the balcony rail. “Selena Dubois, sharp-eyed, radiant, and dangerous as fire.” “So the prodigal prince returns,” she purred, swirling her wine. “The world thought him dead, but instead he was hiding in a shack with a nobody nurse.” Jabari smirked. “That nurse could be our greatest gift. Malik has already drawn scandal by disappearing. Imagine what the world will say when they learn he shared a bed with a village woman.”

Selena’s smile was slow, predatory. “And imagine what I could do with her face on the front page.”

## The Turning Point

The next morning, Malik sat at his desk, the palace walls pressing in on him, documents piled high, advisers waiting outside. But his mind was far from the politics of state. He saw instead the dirt-streaked face of a young woman dragging him from fire, the steady hands that stitched his wounds, the eyes that blazed when she called him a liar. He had never met a woman like Nia.

A servant entered, bowing. “Your highness, the gala tonight. Lady Selena Dubois has already confirmed her attendance.” Malik’s mouth set in a grim line. “Of course she has.”

That night, the chandeliers of the Ober ballroom glittered like a thousand suns. Nobles, tycoons, and foreign dignitaries waltzed across polished marble. When Malik entered, the room hushed, whispers chasing him like shadows. Selena appeared from the crowd in a gown of scarlet silk, her beauty undeniable, her movements deliberate.

She swept toward him and without hesitation draped herself over his arm. “My prince,” she cooed, pressing her cheek against his shoulder as if she still had the right. “The world missed you. And so did I.” Flashbulbs went off, reporters snapping pictures. Malik didn’t push her away, but his gaze drifted elsewhere to the memory of a village girl who wanted nothing from him but honesty.

Across the ballroom, a journalist’s phone pinged. He pulled it out, eyes widening. “Breaking news,” he whispered to a colleague. Photos leaked of the prince’s time in the village. Within minutes, the screens in the room lit up. There she was, Nia Johnson. Her braid messy, uniform bloodstained, dragging Malik on a makeshift stretcher down a dirt road.

Headlines scrolled across the feeds: “Mystery woman who saved the prince, village nurse or secret lover.” Malik’s heart stuttered. Selena’s grip on his arm tightened as she hissed. “Oh, Malik, looks like your little secret isn’t so secret anymore.” And around them, the room buzzed with fresh scandal. Every camera now hungry for the name of the girl who dared touch a prince.

## The Fallout

The village hadn’t stopped buzzing since the motorcade left. Every porch, every market stall carried the same whispers. “Did you hear? Nia was hiding him. She had the prince under her roof. Maybe she bewitched him.” By the third day, the murmurs grew into something heavier—half awe, half suspicion.

Some neighbors watched her with pride, others with narrowed eyes. It was just after dawn when the rumble of engines returned. This time it wasn’t just a few black SUVs. It was a full royal convoy. Gleaming cars rolled down the dirt road, their presence shaking chickens from the yard and sending children racing after them. Villagers gathered in clusters, their Sunday best thrown on in haste, watching as uniformed palace guards stepped onto Nia’s front porch.

The tallest one unrolled a scroll, his voice booming across the crowd. “By decree of Queen Mother Immani Ober Williams, nurse Nia Johnson is hereby summoned to the royal palace in the capital city. She will answer questions regarding her association with his highness, Prince Malik Ober Williams.” Gasps rippled through the village. Some women clapped their hands in pride. “Our little Nia summoned to the palace,” while others muttered darkly about impropriety.

Chief Otus pushed forward, his face a mask of concern. “Child, this is dangerous business. Royals don’t summon village girls unless it’s to make examples of them.” Before Nia could reply, Grandma Mabel’s cane struck the porch. “Enough. My granddaughter saved that boy’s life. If the queen mother wants her, then let her go and with her head held high.”

Her grandmother’s eyes found Nia full of both warning and pride. “You were chosen by God that night, Nia. Don’t you be afraid of no palace.” Nia swallowed hard, heart hammering, fear curled tight in her stomach, but beneath it flickered something else—determination. She nodded. “I’ll go.”

## The Grand Palace

The journey to the city was a blur of flashing cameras and curious stares. Reporters pressed against the convoy, shouting questions as guards kept them at bay. Every time her name was yelled, Nia sank deeper into her seat, wishing she could vanish. But when the skyline rose ahead, glass towers glinting, the palace domes gleaming white and gold, she couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips. She had never seen such grandeur.

The palace gates opened, revealing courtyards lined with fountains that sparkled like diamonds. Servants bowed as the guards escorted her through marble corridors where chandeliers hung heavy with crystal. Nia felt her breath shorten. Her village dress, neat but plain, looked like a rag in such splendor. They led her into a vast reception hall. At its center stood Malik.

He wore a tailored suit, posture regal, his presence filling the room. But the moment his eyes found her, the mask cracked. “What are you doing here?” His voice was sharp, but his gaze betrayed something deeper—relief, disbelief, even fear.

“The Queen Mother summoned me,” Nia said, struggling to keep her voice steady. Malik dismissed the guards with a wave, then strode forward, his steps brisk despite the limp. His hand caught her elbow, pulling her into a corner of the room. “You shouldn’t have come,” he hissed. “It isn’t safe.”

Her chin lifted. “I didn’t have a choice. They made it clear this wasn’t a request.” He cursed under his breath in a language she didn’t understand, then ran a hand through his hair. “I never wanted you dragged into this world.”

Nia stared at him, her chest tight. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you lied to me.” The words hung between them, sharper than any blade. For a heartbeat, Malik’s proud shoulders sagged. Before he could reply, the doors at the far end of the hall creaked open.

## The Queen’s Judgment

A ripple of silence fell as Queen Mother Emani entered, flanked by courtiers in shimmering gowns and jeweled turbans. Her eyes swept the room, landing first on Malik, then on Nia. The queen mother’s smile was thin, dangerous. “So,” she said, her voice carrying like a judgment. “This is the village girl who dragged my son from the dirt and into disgrace.”

Nia’s stomach knotted, but she stood tall, refusing to look away. Behind her, Malik’s hand tightened at her elbow, as though anchoring her. His glare never left his mother’s face. And just like that, the palace had become a battlefield, one where Nia stood exposed under every eye. The queen mother’s words echoed through the marble chamber, and Nia realized with a chill that she wasn’t simply summoned as a witness.

She was on trial, and the judgment of a kingdom now hung over her head.

## The Final Confrontation

The palace dining hall gleamed with chandeliers so heavy they seemed ready to crush the mortals beneath them. Long tables stretched the length of the room, groaning under platters of roasted pheasant, candied fruits, and crystal goblets brimming with wine. Courtiers glittered in silks and jewels, their eyes sharper than the silver knives they toyed with.

At the far end, Queen Mother Immani sat like a monarch carved from obsidian, every jewel in her crown gleaming with silent warning. Malik took his place at her right hand, and at his left, by decree, not invitation, sat Nia Johnson, her hands clenched in her lap, her village dress ironed smooth but glaringly plain among gowns spun from imported lace.

Every murmur in the hall seemed directed at her. Every glance a blade. Nia’s throat tightened. She forced her gaze down, tracing the embroidery on the tablecloth to steady her nerves. The doors swung open with theatrical force. Selena Dubois glided in, red silk clinging to her like fire, diamonds dripping from her ears.

She walked straight to Malik and without hesitation leaned down to press a kiss against his cheek. “My darling prince,” she purred, her voice carrying for the entire court to hear. “How I prayed for your safe return!” Malik’s jaw hardened, but he didn’t push her away.

Selena slid gracefully into the seat across from Nia, her smile sharp as glass. “And you must be the little nurse,” Selena said sweetly, her eyes raking over Nia’s modest dress. “How quaint.” Heat flushed Nia’s face. She opened her mouth, but Queen Mother Emani’s voice sliced through the room before she could answer.

“Our son was fortunate you were nearby during his accident,” Immani said smoothly, her smile never reaching her eyes. “Though I imagine it must have been overwhelming. A woman of such humble circumstances suddenly thrust into the company of royalty.” A ripple of laughter rose among the courtiers.

“Saving a life isn’t overwhelming,” she said quietly, forcing her voice not to shake. “It’s my duty as a nurse.” A hush fell. Selena let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh, how noble. Tell me, dear. Did you practice your nursing in that little shack you call a clinic? Or perhaps in the chicken coops of your village?” The courtiers erupted in cruel chuckles.

Nia’s chest burned. She gripped her fork, willing herself not to cry. Not here. Not in front of them. But before she could speak, Malik’s chair scraped back. The sound rang through the hall like thunder. He rose to his feet, eyes blazing. “Enough.”

His voice cracked like a whip, silencing the room. He turned his glare on Selena, then swept it across the courtiers. “This woman saved my life. She dragged me from fire when death already had its hands on me. Not one of you in this room could claim the same. So show her the respect she is due or you answer to me.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Nobles exchanged shocked glances, whispers hissing like snakes. Selena’s painted smile faltered, the diamond edges of her confidence dulling under Malik’s fury. Nia stared up at him, stunned. For the first time, he had defended her, not in private whispers, but before the entire court.

## The Decision

When he sat again, his hand brushed hers under the table, not by accident. She jerked slightly at the warmth, at the way his touch steadied her storm, but across the hall her eyes caught on another figure. Prince Jabari sat in silence, his goblet poised halfway to his lips. He hadn’t laughed, hadn’t spoken. He simply stared at her, unblinking, a shadow of something darker flickering in his gaze. A promise, a threat.

Later, as the dinner dissolved into idle chatter and dancing, Malik pulled Nia aside into a marble alcove. His face was taut with anger still, but his voice softened when he looked at her. “You don’t belong among their laughter,” he said. Nia’s chin lifted, the sting of humiliation still raw. “You think I don’t know that?”

His eyes burned into hers. “That’s not what I meant. I meant you belong with me in this world. You are strong enough to face fire for me. You’re strong enough to face them.” Her breath caught. His words were a bomb and a brand all at once. Part of her wanted to believe him, to lean into the warmth of his gaze, but another part recoiled, bristling at the arrogance threaded into his promise.

“You don’t get to decide where I belong,” she whispered, her voice sharp, despite the tremor in her chest. For the first time, Malik’s certainty faltered. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, his jaw clenched as if swallowing words he couldn’t afford to speak.

Behind them, the strains of music drifted through the palace halls, but Nia felt none of its lightness. She felt only the weight of a thousand eyes, a kingdom’s judgment, and the cold shadow of Jabari’s stare still burning into her back.

## The Gathering Storm

As Nia turned away from Malik, gathering her composure, she didn’t notice Jabari rise from his seat across the hall. His smile was small, dangerous, and full of secrets. For the first time, Nia understood her survival in this palace wasn’t just about dignity. It might one day be about her life.

The palace gardens were quieter than the grand halls, a sanctuary of moonlit fountains and whispering leaves. Marble statues stood watch over manicured hedges, their stone faces cold and eternal. It was here that Malik led Nia, away from the whispers of the courtiers and the smirk of his brother.

For the first time since stepping into the palace, she breathed without feeling the weight of a thousand eyes. Still, her hands twisted nervously at her skirt as she walked beside him. “They’ll never accept me,” she murmured, her voice almost lost to the night.

Malik stopped beside a fountain, the water catching silver light. “They don’t have to,” he said, his gaze catching hers, intense and unyielding. “I do.” Nia swallowed hard, looking down at the ripples in the water. “You don’t understand, Malik. My life isn’t ballrooms and diamond crowns. It’s blood on my hands. Babies delivered on dirt floors. Patients begging for medicine I don’t have. My dream isn’t to sit at your table. My dream is a clinic in my village. Real supplies, real care, a place where people don’t have to die waiting for miracles.”

Her words spilled out like a confession she hadn’t meant to make. When she looked up, expecting mockery, she saw something else in his face—admiration and something softer she couldn’t name. “You’ve seen more of the world’s pain than most of the people who sit on my council,” Malik said quietly. “You want to heal? That is worth more than any crown,” her chest tightened.

For a moment, the distance between them seemed to disappear. But elsewhere in the palace, shadows were gathering. In a quiet chamber, Jabari poured two glasses of wine as Kayla Brooks entered nervously. She had come under the pretense of visiting Nia, but the summons had been clear. The prince himself wanted to see her.

“You’re her friend, aren’t you?” Jabari asked smoothly, handing her a glass. His smile was charming, his voice like silk. “You’ve known her longer than anyone.” Kayla hesitated. “Yes, since we were children,” Jabari leaned closer. “Then you know she doesn’t belong here. My brother’s obsession with her threatens everything. The family, the throne. You could help her, you know. Help her realize her place before she’s destroyed by this world.”

Kayla’s brows furrowed. “And why would I do that?” Jabari slid a velvet pouch across the table. The clink of gold coins inside was unmistakable. “Because loyalty should be rewarded. Think of your own future, Miss Brooks. Do you want to remain a nurse in a crumbling clinic, or would you prefer a life of wealth and influence?” Kayla’s fingers trembled as they brushed the pouch. For a moment, guilt flickered in her eyes. Then she closed her hand around it.

Back in the gardens, Malik had drawn closer to Nia, his voice low and earnest. “You think you don’t belong here, but when you speak, I see a strength none of them have. You don’t fear me. You don’t bow, you stand. That’s why I…” His words faltered as his hand lifted, brushing a stray braid from her cheek. Their eyes locked and the air grew taut, charged. Slowly, he leaned in, his breath warm against her lips.

Nia’s pulse thundered. Part of her wanted to pull back to remind herself he was a prince and she was nothing more than a village nurse. But another part, the part that remembered his laugh with the children, his gratitude in the clinic, ached to close the distance. Their lips nearly touched when a voice cut through the garden.

“Malik!” Selena’s heels clicked against the stone as she strolled into the moonlight, her gown shimmering like fire. She stopped short, eyes narrowing at the sight of them so close. “What a charming scene!” she drawled, venom sweet in her tone. The prince and his little nurse playing lovers among the roses.

Nia jerked back, her face burning. Malik’s jaw hardened, but Selena’s triumphant smile was already spreading. She stepped closer, brushing her hand along Malik’s sleeve. “You forget yourself, my prince. The world is watching. They expect you to stand beside women like me, not charity cases plucked from the mud.” Malik’s eyes flashed. “Careful, Selena.”

But Nia’s heart had already dropped. The courtier’s laughter. The queen mother’s disdain. Selena’s venom. All of it pressed down until she could hardly breathe. She turned away, whispering, “I don’t belong here.” Malik caught her wrist, his voice fierce. “Then I’ll prove you do.” Nia froze, staring at him. But his words, though powerful, carried a weight that unsettled her. Did he want her for who she was, or as another battle to win?

As Malik watched Nia retreat into the shadows, he clenched his fists. If she doubted her place by his side, then he would test her. He would find out whether she loved him or the crown he carried, and the test he devised might just break both of their hearts.

## The Village Whispers

By the time Nia returned to her village, her name was no longer her own. It belonged to every mouth that spoke it, every newspaper that printed it, every gossip that twisted it. Children ran barefoot through the dusty streets, chanting, “Nia and the prince! Nia and the prince!” Their laughter rang like bells, innocent and unknowing. But the adults’ voices were heavier, sharpened by envy, suspicion, and fear.

“She’s forgotten who she is. First a nurse, now she thinks she’ll be queen. Does she really believe a man like that will keep her?” Nia’s stomach churned as she pushed open the clinic door. The familiar scent of antiseptic and old wood wrapped around her, but even here, she could not escape the whispers. A mother waiting with her sick child looked at her with wide eyes.

“Miss Nia,” she whispered, voice trembling with awe. “Is it true you were in the palace with him?” Nia forced a smile, crouching beside the child to check his fever. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” she murmured. But even as she said it, she knew her words were useless. The village had already woven its story with her as the center.

That evening, Chief Otus Jackson arrived at her door, his broad frame filling the porch. He carried his hat in his hands, his expression grave. “Child,” he said, “I warned you once already. Now the whole world knows your name, and that boy’s world is not yours. Royals don’t reach down to lift us up. They reach down to use us.” Nia’s chest tightened.

“I didn’t ask for any of this, Chief. I didn’t ask to save him or to be dragged into his palace.” Otus’s eyes softened, but his voice stayed firm. “That’s the danger of storms near. You don’t have to ask to be caught in them. Just be careful before your name brings shame instead of pride.”

When he left, she stood in the doorway long after the sound of his boots faded. Shame, pride—words that weighed heavier than any wound she’d ever stitched.

## The Tension Builds

The next day, as the clinic bustled with coughing children and weary mothers, a shadow fell across the doorway. Nia looked up, her heart stopping. Malik was gone—the suit, the polished veneer of the palace. He wore a simple shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, but nothing could hide his presence. Gasps rippled through the waiting room as every head turned.

“Your Highness,” someone whispered. Nia froze, hands trembling around the bandages she was wrapping. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, her voice low, sharp. “I had to see,” Malik said simply, his gaze sweeping the cramped room—the peeling paint, the shelves half-empty of medicine. “I had to see the world you spoke of,” her jaw clenched. “And now you’ve brought chaos into it.”

But before she could send him away, a small boy tugged at his sleeve, eyes wide. “Sir, my sister can’t breathe right.” Malik knelt, the lines of his face softening as the boy pulled him to a corner where a girl wheezed on a cot. Nia rushed to her side, checking her lungs with practiced speed. “She needs medicine I don’t have,” she murmured, frustration burning in her chest.

“If I had an inhaler, she’d be breathing easier in minutes. Instead,” her voice broke. “Instead, I can only pray.” Malik’s eyes hardened. He rose to his full height, addressing her with the force of command. “No more praying for scraps. Tell me what you need. How much? I’ll fund it all. This clinic, the medicine, everything.”

The room fell silent. Mothers clutched their children, eyes wide with hope. Nia stared at him, her pulse racing. “Do you hear yourself? You think money will fix everything? You think you can buy away the struggle? Buy away my pride. Buy me.”

Malik stepped closer, his voice low but fierce. “I don’t want to buy you, Nia. I want to honor you. You saved me. Let me save you back.” Her heart wavered, caught between longing and fear.

## The Threat Revealed

His words struck something deep, but behind them, she heard the echo of chains—the fear of owing him, of becoming another possession in his world of power. She shook her head. “You don’t understand. If I accept, they’ll say I only wanted your money. They’ll say I chased you for it. My whole life will become their lie.”

Malik’s eyes softened, the fury ebbing into something more vulnerable. “Then let them talk. They already do. All that matters is what we know to be true.” The silence between them was thick, charged, broken only by the we of the girl on the cot.

Malik turned suddenly, striding toward the door. “Tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder, “tomorrow supplies will arrive. No more children will suffer here.” And then he was gone, leaving the clinic buzzing with awe, patients murmuring blessings under their breath.

Nia stood frozen, her chest a battlefield of emotions—gratitude, fear, desire, resentment. She wanted to believe his words, but she also feared drowning under their weight. As she pressed a cool cloth to the sick girl’s forehead, the villagers’ whispers began anew. “She’s already changing. Look how he protects her. She’ll forget us soon enough. Or maybe she’ll bring us all fortune.”

Nia closed her eyes, the weight of every voice pressing down. That night, alone in her room, she whispered into