"The King and His Queen"(A Dark Mamluk Prophecy of War, Vengeance, and Desire)

 

The throne stood cold, the halls lay broken,

A kingdom torn by steel and lies.

But in the dark, the earth still whispered

—"He will return—let tyrants die.

"Not dead. Not lost. Only waiting.

A shadow watching through the veils.

The wind still sings his name in warning,

A curse upon the thieves who hail.

And when he came, the stars were silent,

The rivers bled, the night grew still.

His sword was wrath, his voice was thunder,

His foes were dust beneath his will.

One by one, their towers crumbled,

One by one, their kings were slain.

His banner rose, his fire swallowed

—The world was his to rule again.

Yet through the ash, through ruin's hunger,

One light still burned, fierce and wild.

A queen unbowed, with fire in her,

A storm within, untamed, exiled.

He found her standing in the wreckage,

A blade still clutched within her hand.

She did not bow, nor beg, nor falter

—She met his gaze, and took her stand.

But he was king, and he had waited,

Not for war alone—but for her.

Through lifetimes lost, through endless silence,

Through death and fire, through blood and curse.

She knew his hands—both cruel and gentle,

She knew his voice—both steel and flame.

And as the world knelt in surrender,

She whispered low—"You took your time."

And so he claimed both throne and lover,

The war was won, the storm complete.

For kings may fall, and rise in vengeance,

But queens are fire—and never kneel.