The Voice of Azzam

Sunlight spilled over the marble driveway of Azzam as black cars name it limousine , g-wagon.....rowed in perfect formation. The scent of oud drifted faintly through the air - warm, regal, intoxicating.

And then, through the slow sweep of the palace gates, stepped Prince Kamil Azzam.

For a moment, it felt as if the world hesitated - like the air itself forgot how to move.

He wasn't just handsome. He was otherworldly. His presence seemed sculpted - tall, lean, and cut in the quiet precision of a prince who carried both grace and command. His skin held a soft bronze warmth that glowed under the sun, his dark hair slicked back just enough to

reveal lashes too long for a man. Even his silence spoke of a power that needed no announcement.

The cameras flashed in rhythm.

Somewhere, someone whispered, "He looks like his father." His Father- the late king died 10 years ago along side his mother -the late queen . kamil had just clocked 9 in a fatal accident that was too glaring it was a set up.

Liam whistled under his breath as he stepped out beside him. "Man, are you sure you're

human?" Abel chuckled, adjusting his blazer. "Half-angel, half–family money."

Kamil's lips curved, just barely. "Try to behave," he murmured, walking ahead, the faintest smirk trailing behind his words.

The massive glass doors of the palace glided open as if summoned by his presence. Everything about Azzam Palace screamed wealth .

"Behave?" Liam muttered under his breath as they entered. "Bro, I don't even know how to

walk in a place like this. Do I salute the walls or what?"

Abel gave him a side-eye. "Just don't trip over the carpet. It probably costs more than your

car."Kamil laughed softly - a low, clean sound that somehow made the maids look up and smile.

The Grand Hall looked like a dream dipped in diamonds.

White marble floors stretched endlessly beneath the glow of a chandelier that looked big enough to light a city. Soft music hummed from the far corner as maids in silk uniforms

moved gracefully, arranging gold trays and flower vases.

At the far end, upon the raised dais, sat Queen Ayisha (Kamil's stepmother) - her beauty soft and timeless, her eyes warm as she watched the entrance. Beside her stood Princess Mirian( her first daughter for her first late husband), poised and elegant in a champagne gown that caught the light like spun glass. Her smile was gentle.

And below them, almost bouncing with energy, was Princess Yaya(her second daughter for the king) barely able to stand still. Her white lace dress sparkled as she tugged impatiently at her maid's hand.

"Is he here yet?" she whispered. "He promised to call when he landed!"

Before the maid could answer, the guards' voices rang out:

"His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Kamil Azzam!"

The golden doors opened again.

Kamil entered, the light catching on the fine silver threading of his suit. The entire room

shifted, like gravity itself bent slightly toward him. Yaya squealed, broke free, and sprinted across the floor. "Kamil!" Her voice echoed through the hall like a song.

Kamil smiled - really smiled this time - and knelt slightly just in time to catch her. "Easy,

little one," he said, his tone smooth and warm. "You'll ruin my royal reputation with all this hugging."

"You didn't call!" she scolded, tiny fists hitting his chest.

"I wanted to see that face," he teased, brushing her nose lightly. "You'd have sounded too excited on the phone."She pouted, but the giggle escaped anyway.

Queen Ayisha rose, arms already open. "My son." He bowed before letting her embrace him. "You've kept this place alive, Mother."

"And you've brought its heart back," she replied softly.

Then came Mirian, gliding forward - a year older, perfectly collected. She kissed his cheek lightly, her perfume rich and expensive. "Welcome home, brother." Kamil smiled politely. "It's good to see you again, Mirian."

Her fingers lingered briefly on his shoulder before she stepped back, her expression unreadable.

A stir went through the room as Queen Mother Samitra (late king's mother) appeared - regal in a flowing silver robe, a trail of maids behind her, their heads bowed. Her jewels caught the light like tiny stars as she walked with the easy confidence of someone who'd ruled too long to ever be questioned.

"Welcome home, my crown," she said, her voice deep and commanding. "Azzam breathesagain."

Kamil bent slightly in respect. "It's an honor to return, Grandmother." Her eyes softened, though her lips barely moved. "We'll see how long that honor lasts."

From the side entrance came Lord Bashi - Samitra's younger brother - and his son, Kaan,

both returned fresh from a council meeting.

"Ah, my prince," Bashi said, voice smooth like polished metal. "Azzam is brighter with your return." "Let's hope it stays that way," Kamil replied lightly.

Kaan's eyes locked with his, a polite smile hiding the sharpness beneath.Behind Kamil, Liam leaned toward Abel. "So, uh, do we bow or-?"

"Don't," Abel hissed.

Liam attempted a half-nod that looked more like a twitch. A few guards coughed to hide their laughter. Kamil exhaled, amused. "They're my friends," he said quickly. "They don't do royal etiquette." Even the Queen Mother smiled faintly.

For a fleeting moment, the palace - all its gold, its glory, its history - felt light again.

And just like that, the crown prince of Azzam was home.