Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death - Chapter 410: Little Light No Longer

Chapter 410: Little Light No Longer

***

{Outside The Projection}

The murmurs in the Hall had been swirling around Azeem all this time, but now, finally, every gaze shifted, one by one, all towards Sinbad.

Something incredible was just revealed.

Something none of them expected.

They’d all heard him; they couldn’t unhear it.

He, with his own damned beak, revealed that he had gone on a “breeding spree.”

Sinbad had four wives… likely many more children.

SINBAD HAD KIDS!

It struck, sending ripples across the hall, making them blink, part their mouths, and glance around, pupils darting from one face to another, trying to confirm if they’d really heard right.

Even Azeem looked like someone had yanked the carpet out from under him, never mind Layla, and worse, Huda, who had her head snap up at once, eyes wide despite the dark smudges under them.

For all his feathery arrogance, his habit of speaking in riddles, his disappointment and disownment of her, Sinbad was still her blood; nothing he could say or do could change that.

If he had children…

That made her an aunt, yeah, an aunt.

A weird fact that didn’t make all that much sense, considering that he was a Goddamned Crimson Owl, an Uluka, but yeah, no one in the hall was thinking about animal classification or lineage specifics right now.

It was only that one thing.

’T-There’s no way.’

The thought tangled in Huda’s head, still unprocessed.

“W…”

She swallowed and forced out the words everyone else in the hall wanted to hear.

“W-Where are they now?”

Sinbad’s pink eyes locked on her, unblinking.

He lingered there as though weighing whether she deserved an answer or not.

Every heartbeat in the hall seemed to hang on what he’d say next… which seemed to be nothing but silence.

Truth was, he wanted to brush it off, just glide right over it, but seeing her in this state—shaky, small, and still frayed from the earlier collapse—something… something softened and pried open inside him. Something he probably wouldn’t admit, even to himself.

“I’ve sent them somewhere safe…”

His voice came out softer than anyone expected, with it was an answer that tried to cover more than the words themselves, carefully chosen as always.

“Somewhere far from here.”

A faint rustle moved through the crowd as Huda’s chin dipped in a little nod.

“Hehehe…”

She stared down, lips twitching until a crooked little smile crept across her face.

“I’m an aunty.”

What twisted her mouth was a smile between both joy and sorrow, a smile of something too fragile.

The hall felt it; all of them.

Huda might’ve been an annoying failure in so many eyes, dragging herself through one humiliation after another, but right now…

Right now, she looked small enough to fit in the palm of their hands.

And that sight, more than Sinbad’s revelation, was what truly pressed on their hearts.

For all the things Huda had failed at, all the times she’d fallen short, the sight of her here, smiling through the cracks, left them feeling what they couldn’t quite name.

Heartbreak, perhaps.

***

{Inside The Projection}

The next day, the Sultan’s Hall was full.

From the golden throne at the far end, Malik sat tall yet motionless, Sinbad perched on his shoulder, and Azeem standing dutifully at his side.

Before them, ten lines stretched so long they went past the massive doors.

It was a procession of noblewomen, princesses, and daughters of power.

Their dresses shimmered beneath glass windows, as did the gold and gems on their wrists and necks, their presence making the air thick with all types of perfumes, enough to make a mortal dizzy from the oils alone.

The first row of ten stepped forward, nearing the Golden Throne.

“First—Lady Yasirah Khaldun of House Zawiyah. Born of Southern blood, her father commands caravans of salt and silk. She is schooled in law and verse, praised for a patience that has steadied feuding factions.”

Azeem gestured lightly towards a woman furthest to the left, beginning their introductions.

“Second—Princess Marjan Farrokh, daughter of the Satrap of Qadis. She brings with her ships and sailors, a navy of ironwood. She is spoken of as mild in temper but fierce in devotion to kin.”

Another step down the line.

“Third—Lady Zahra Lu’lu, of the pearl dynasts. Her dowry is water, springs that have never run dry. She is praised as gentle yet steadfast, a modest jewel.”

“Fourth—Lady Zumurrud of House Ash’ari. Her family holds the mountain passes and the silver veins within them. She is known for piety, a voice that leads prayer as clean as morning air.”

“Fifth—Lady Anisa Khalaf, a Banū Sulaymān. Her inheritance is knowledge and scripts kept for centuries. She is called shrewd; her words are weighed and sharp, yet never wasted.”

Azeem spoke clearly for each, reciting their names, titles, family lines, and virtues as though reading an inventory list, ticking them off after every gesture.

Malik’s eyes steadily moved over them, as if he were memorizing the shapes of their faces rather than weighing their worth, until finally…

“Tenth—Lady Laythah Ayyub, daughter of a Western river-holder. Her gift is abundance, fields of grain, and a river that blesses the towns further west of here. She is hailed for her grace and laughter that softens even the cruel.”

All ten of the first row stood introduced.

“Thus stands the first row, my Lord.”

Azeem lowered his gaze to Malik.

“Blood, vow, land, sea, voice, and silence. Ten different faces… ten different legacies.”

The ten smiled, anticipating at least a word from Malik, but all they got was a shake of the head.

Before they could even react, all ten were replaced by the ones behind them, starting another series of long introductions, forming a cycle of quiet rejections.

Malik so easily rejected a beautiful woman after a beautiful woman, making the scene quite comical, though as it went on, it had only gotten… sad, revealing just how fractured his perception of such matters was.

And it wasn’t like he had a certain type that wasn’t met; the women before him were all beautiful, yes, but their beauty varied, incredibly so, almost as if they had met up and prepared beforehand, making sure that no one looked the same as another.

One had hair like molten copper spilling past her hips, another had a gown woven with tiny sapphires that caught every flicker of light, another had skin as pale as marble, another had sapphire eyes bright enough to stun any mortal, and another had a deep, rich skin tone of desert sand after rain.

Again, they, despite their numbers, were incredibly varied, both in appearance and background. Azeem had done his job well in picking them, and he sure showed that off.

Obvious in his eyes, however, was the thought that he’d failed, and quite badly at that.

Malik never showed any sort of reaction, rejecting all of them the very moment their introductions were over, making this twisted matchmaking session seem like a complete failure.

At least until he reached one woman in particular—a high noble’s daughter.

She stepped closer with her chin lifted and chest puffed, her gown stitched with so much gold it nearly blinded.

Her eyes held the self-assurance of someone used to getting whatever she wanted, the very antithesis of Malik’s character.

Still, she, of all people, finally had him react differently, raising a hand instead of just shaking his head.

Azeem stopped speaking mid-introduction, eyes going wide as he turned to his Lord.

Before he could ask if he was messing with him, Malik extended his hand forward and spoke:

“You.”

His pointing finger aimed past the walking gold nugget, at the back of the hall.

“Come closer.”

Almost immediately, her chin lowered, her puffed-up air vanishing as, from the edge of the crowd, a figure hesitantly stepped forward.

She was… different, unlike anyone else he’d seen until now.

Her skin carried the warm dark of the East, and her eyes were a striking violet that seemed to catch and hold light like a most precious gem. Her hair—long, straight, and the same deep purple—spilled down her back in a barely tamed cascade.

Her deep black and indigo dress was not the loud statement of wealth that the others wore; it was more elegant, a flowing piece of silk, embroidered at the hem with silver threads that caught the light when she moved.

The sleeves were long, fitted at the wrists, and the neckline was cut to a modest shape that hinted at grace. Around her waist was a sash of soft grey that tied the whole look together, falling in a loose ribbon down her hip.

He’d only truly seen her now for the first time, but…

There was no mistaking her.

None at all.

It was Layla.

There was no need to wait for ’another life.’

She now stood before him, and she…

She was ’little light’ no longer.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com