Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

***

{Outside The Projection}

They couldn’t ignore the projection anymore.

Not the heartbreak and grief laced into every moment, unraveling within it.

The crowd in its entirety, which just moments ago had been buzzing over Sinbad’s appearance—his words, his soft but terrifying power—was pulled back in.

There was something about the pain in Malik’s voice—no, his lack of it.

The way he purposely made himself a villain.

The way he walked away from Huda.

That cold, final turning of the back.

It hooked them.

And guilt was everywhere.

People looked at each other, some at the floor, some just… staring ahead blankly.

Noor, for all her pride, remained standing like the rest of the people. Roya looked like she couldn’t stay still. While Azeem, still unnoticed by most, had sat on the ground once more.

Safira stared at the owl, still thinking about what his answer might be… or rather, if it could ever be changed like hers had been.

And Layla…

She had her eyes closed.

The hall was silent.

No gasps this time, no dramatic yells, only silence.

Because it hit them.

Indeed, it was all a misunderstanding.

Huda wasn’t a traitor, at least not in the way they thought.

She wasn’t a ‘backstabbing bitch’ that poisoned her brother. Rather, she was lost. Afraid.

Dragged down by powers higher than her. A pawn in a game with no winners.

And now?

Now, watching her younger self tremble before Malik’s departure, Huda…

She finally breathed.

Not in relief. Not fully. But in confirmation.

She wasn’t as monstrous as she feared.

Yes—she’d still betrayed him.

Yes—she’d still let it happen.

Yes—she’d still hurt him.

But at least…

At least she hadn’t poisoned him.

At least she hadn’t stripped him of breath with her own hands.

That was something.

A thin string she could cling to.

A single thread keeping her from unraveling completely.

She turned her gaze to Malik, Sinbad, and… Dunya.

The girl who had taken her place.

…This was incredible.

It was as if all of it were intricately designed by fate.

Now he had his family with him—Layla, Sinbad, Dunya—and she stood alone.

Not by distance—there were plenty of people in the hall, but emotionally.

She had no one backing her, her camp still back in the manor.

It was not because they’d abandoned her, of course.

They would come the moment she called.

It was because she wouldn’t call.

She knew she didn’t deserve to.

She deserved the silence.

So she stayed still.

Shoulders trembling, head barely held up, just enough to look toward the throne.

At him.

Her brother.

Seated, in chains, but still… powerful.

There was an eerie beauty to the parallel.

One that kept repeating between the two.

Sure, at one point in time, neither could breathe.

But they weren’t both threatened with being killed.

Their positions had changed. Back then, he had no one. Now, she had no one.

Malik was being watched with awe. Reverence.

It hurt really bad.

And yet…

Even now…

She looked at him with longing.

It wasn’t romantic. Wasn’t familial in the traditional sense.

It was desperation. A raw yearning to go back. To fix it. To hold him. To beg him to stop, to come back to life as the Malik she once knew.

But he wouldn’t.

He’d said so himself. He wasn’t that man anymore.

He wasn’t coming back. He had nothing left but revenge.

She had her breath again… But he had abandoned his.

The contrast was bitter.

Layla, just a few feet away, stole glances at Huda. The same woman she once threatened to kill.

Now she pitied her.

Her eyes softened as she looked at her.

She wanted to go to her. Wanted to grab her hand and comfort her.

But the truth was…

She needed comfort just as much.

Maybe more.

Because she, of course, loved Malik too. And unlike Huda, Layla had known exactly who he was and still lost him. But her maid? The one she felt no surprise in being so close to the two? She had never let go of him, not even for a moment.

That realization was heavier than any chain.

So she stayed. Frozen. Not in contempt, but in grief.

It was only Sinbad and Dunya who looked truly at peace.

Sinbad sat with that same stillness, ever watchful.

And Dunya…

She looked radiant.

Though dressed in black, there was no sorrow in her gaze. Only warmth.

She sat near the throne, not beneath it. Not groveling. Not worshiping.

She belonged there.

And the crowd noticed.

Some whispered, others didn’t bother hiding their curiosity.

Since when had Malik and this woman been so close?

But the more they thought about it…

The more it made sense.

Dunya had grown up in Layla’s camp. She was always near, acting as some maid to her Lady.

After Layla married Malik, Dunya probably came with. So it was only natural she’d be around Malik, too.

Over time… A bond must have formed.

A heroine and her savior.

And now, seeing her there—so comfortable, so close to him—

It was made ever so obvious.

She never returned to being a stranger in Malik’s life. She made herself a place in his stone heart. She became his confidante, his little sister. Maybe his only one now.

While the world cried in horror, condemning him to death… Dunya had sat beside the broken man, taking in his doubts, his worries, and his stress. Because to her, he wasn’t “the villain.”

He was family.

And she was home.

***

{Inside The Projection}

The Shamslight washed over the city in bright gold, stretching long shadows through glass windows.

Malik walked through them while Sinbad rode calmly on his shoulder, feet tucked.

He was walking with purpose, straight toward the heart of the snake nest.

The inner quarters. The male side.

The place where power schemed in marble halls.

“Do you understand why Cassim went to the trouble of poisoning you?”

Sinbad broke their relaxed silence with a question Malik didn’t bother asking.

It seemed he didn’t really care for the reason all that much.

He only wanted to kill him for what he did.

Nothing beyond that really mattered.

But Sinbad wouldn’t have that.

He wanted him to know.

“Naturally, the scoundrel wasn’t merely being petty—though watching you command their attention so completely surely stung his pride.”

Sinbad continued.

“He had placed all his eggs in a single political basket—Huda. He needed her to become Sultan. Backed her entirely. Whispered into the ears of ministers. Moved gold. Killed people, I suspect.”

Malik’s gaze flicked toward a passing servant.

He spoke at last.

“Then some kid was born.”

“Exactly.”

Sinbad nodded his little head.

“That boy ruined his gamble… but Cassim doesn’t know that. He thinks it’s you. The timing was a bit too convenient, was it not? And so, from his view, you’re not just a threat. You’re the replacement. A wild card. And his eggs? Rotten now. He’ll try to cover the stench with blood.”

Malik’s eyes returned to the hall.

“But I survived.”

Sinbad hooted faintly.

“But you survived. Now, there’s no chance for Huda to return to the path of rulership. He’ll use all he has left to escape. He’s lost too much face and has definitely gotten on the bad side of many nobles. A death sentence for a man like him. No doubt he’s already stolen from the treasury to recoup what he lost. Likely has ships waiting on the East.”

“Hm.”

Malik’s voice was low.

“Is her husband-to-be part of it?”

Sinbad blinked his pink eyes.

“Meaning?”

“I get that he brings about the Old System, but doesn’t he want the Golden Throne through her? Announce the marriage. Kill me. Let her ascend. Become ruler beside her. Getting the best of both worlds… A bit too convenient, no?”

Sinbad chuckled.

“That’s exactly right, Elder Brother.”

Malik said nothing to that; he just walked.

Until finally… they arrived.

Massive ironwood doors. Gilded columns. And two men standing before the entrance.

Not ordinary guards. Tall. Serious. Their posture perfected.

They were much stronger than those he played around with earlier.

Their rank was not quite Jinn, but close.

Sinbad pointed at the door behind them with his right wing.

“That’s the place. Cassim’s private hall.”

Malik stopped five steps away.

The guards tensed.

“State your—”

That was all they managed to get out.

Shhk.

Their heads dropped from their shoulders before their minds could register they were dying.

Malik unsheathed his Spine Splitter and caught one head in each hand. Still warm.

He glanced down, watching the blood pour across the stone.

“…Hm.”

A flare of black and gold rose around him—that wild, unshaped aura bursting free again.

Then… he breathed out fire into the severed heads.

They ignited, crimson flames dancing across dead eyes and melting flesh.

He stood before the doors, quiet, then muttered—

“It’s time to let loose a little.”

And kicked them open.

BOOM!

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