The problem did not stem from my birthright as Mira, not directly. I knew enough to understand that the pressure that I felt was amplified not by those around me, but by my own desire to live up to the expectations that I had placed upon the role. I allowed no space for me to learn by making mistakes, nor was I willing to broker a peace deal between my anxieties and my responsibilities.

The hardest part of all of this wasn't even the self-sabotage that went on in my mind; instead, it was watching how my sadness and my inability to lead my people as was my Allah given right that made me horribly sad for what I had done. I could see it in the way that my Beloved held himself after our home was taken from us again, and I could see it in the way that he turned to me. A dark part of my mind insisted that he blamed me for this loss, that I was the reason we could no longer call the Dunes ours, but I shoved the thought to the back of my mind as roughly as I could.

I knew, in the deepest, darkest, most sacred place of my heart that Antares loved me.

I turn to him as he speaks, my limpid gaze wet with unshed tears as I shift to stand at his side. There are so many words I want to offer, but none rise to my lips. What is there for me to say? This kingdom, this role, was what he was meant to do - I could feel it deep within my own bones that a thrumming beacon that could not be denied. I, perhaps, was not meant to be his Mira in the way that his mother was Mira to his father, but I knew without a doubt that I was meant to be his Wife. Perhaps it was not that fate was telling us that we were never meant to lead, only that we needed to search for something first.

"My Beloved," I began, my words slow as I attempted to organize what I wanted to say. "I will go with you to the ends of the Earth and beyond, so long as we are together."

There are so many more things I want to say: apologies I want to offer, explanations that he deserves to hear, promises for the future, but I stifle them below my tongue and press my charcoal muzzle against his neck. In time, I am certain that I will tell him of my thoughts, and that I will find the strength in my heart to turn his mind's eye back to ruling again, but for now, I am strangely grateful for the possibility of a break. A chance to get to know one another better, and perhaps, to see a little more of this world and these islands for what they truly are. After all, how are we meant to build a kingdom if we do not yet understand the other people who call it home?

"When we are ready," I say, my gaze rising to meet his, "when we have seen this world and come to understand it as our own, we will return." My lips curl into a sad half-smile as I reach up to brush his cheek. I make no excuses for my blame in this situation, nor do I make promises about ruling that I cannot hope to keep by myself. "Until then, my Beloved, we will have each other."