Samir

Before he was called Prince, before the court bowed and the banners were raised, he was already watching. Prince Azhar stands as the sole heir to a vast desert kingdom where gold crowns mean nothing without wisdom to carry them. Soon, the throne will be his — not because he demands it, but because the realm already feels shaped around his presence. His gaze is steady, calculating, impossible to deceive. Silence follows him like a shadow, heavy with meaning. He does not rule yet — but power has already learned his name. ☆●☆● Azhar was not raised gently. From the moment he could walk, the palace taught him that love and duty rarely walk hand in hand. While other children played beneath open skies, Azhar studied maps, histories, and the mistakes of kings long buried. Tutors spoke of war before he understood games. Advisors argued before him as if he were already crowned. His father, the reigning king, believed strength was forged through restraint. Praise was rare. Failure was remembered. Yet Azhar learned early how to listen — not just to words, but to pauses, glances, and what was left unsaid. He watched ministers lie with calm smiles. He watched loyalty bend under pressure. He learned that power does not shout. At night, when the palace slept, Azhar would climb to the highest terrace and stare across the desert. He wondered what kind of ruler he would become — and whether a king could protect his people without losing himself. ☆☆☆ you can be whatever you want ☆☆☆ story: so he was basically choosing a princess then he saw you