Read the first chapter of Transformed by Love.
Trigger Warning: This chapter contains references to sexual assault, coercion, and emotional trauma. While it is not detailed, reader discretion is advised.
This story was inspired by Tamar’s story in 2 Samuel 13, reimagined in a modern royal setting. It honors the strength and sorrow of those who have experienced betrayal by those they trusted most.
Leilah Amira Iqbal rushed on slippered feet through the long hall leading to the king’s living quarters, her trusted companion beside her.
Usually, she would have smiled or had brief conversations with the servants, who curtsied as she scurried past, but not today. His Majesty did not like to be kept waiting.
“When was the last time King Daud summoned you?” Ifza whispered, tension tightening her voice.
Leilah glanced at the diamond-encrusted watch that encircled her wrist as the memory surfaced.
“Four years ago, on my twenty-first birthday.”
He’d gifted her the watch with her name engraved in Arabic.
She paused before the oak brocade door to catch her breath. She couldn’t appear before the king while gasping for breath. It wouldn’t be proper.
“I’ll wait for you here.” Ifza stopped at the wall outside the king’s chambers.
“Thanks.” Leilah checked her watch. One minute to spare.
Nodding to the muscular man who stood at the door, she stepped inside when he pushed it open.
She swept into a deep curtsy as the door shut behind her, keeping her eyes averted.
“Amira.” Her father’s booming voice was jovial as he approached her, arms outstretched.
She straightened to accept his embrace. “Father.”
Leilah drew herself up to her full height of five feet eight inches, but he towered over her by at least seven inches. His daily regimen with his trainer kept him muscled and trim. His hair and beard were mostly gray and neatly trimmed.
She peered around the room. The decor had changed since her last visit because of Faiza, his current wife’s influence.
Rich, patterned fabric, reminiscent of an antique English palace interior, draped the heavy mahogany furnishings. Chances are, that was the decorator’s inspiration.
The scent of spiced incense lingered in the air, mingling with the chill from the marble floors.
“Your brother has requested your assistance.”
“Brother?”
Daud had been married and divorced several times and had many children. Leilah had lost track of the number of siblings, as he also often adopted his spouse’s children.
“Hussein.”
Leilah shuddered. Daud gestured to her.
“What is this? Why do you react this way when I tell you your brother needs your help?”
Hashem Hussein Saad was her stepbrother. Ex-stepbrother. The king had divorced Hussein’s mother and married two—no, three—other women since then. But Leilah wouldn’t argue, especially since she wasn’t sure why the king continued to support Hussein.
She glanced at him before lowering her eyes. How much could she admit? King Daud was her father, but also her king. He expected and commanded her obedience. She offered a portion of the truth.
“I dislike the way he looks at me.”
“He looks at you the way a man looks at a woman. And why wouldn’t he?” Daud guffawed. “You’re a beautiful woman, and he is a healthy, virile man.”
She tucked her fingers into the fold of her jalabiya, hiding her agitation. Judging from the tone of his voice, refusal was not an option.
“How may I assist Hussein?” She would not call him brother.
“Hussein is ill and has requested that you prepare a meal and feed it to him in his private quarters.”
She gasped. She never entered her brothers’ private quarters, not even Wasim, who was a full-blood sibling.
“He is your brother, and this is his request.” The hardness in the king’s gray eyes had her dipping into a curtsy, though her heart pounded in her chest.
No. Her father could not ask her to do this. Yet he had ordered her to serve Hussein in his rooms, although it went against protocol, and after she expressed how uncomfortable she was in Hussein’s presence.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” She refused to acknowledge him as her parent since it was obvious that he had given her a command as her liege.
“What would you like me to serve him?”
Daud waved a hand. “Do not concern yourself with that. The chef is preparing his favorite meal. Get dressed. He is expecting you within the hour.”
Leilah glanced down at her bronze jalabiya. Her mother used to tell her how much the color enhanced her complexion. Safiya Amna died a month after her ninth birthday while giving birth to her sister, Sahra Djamila, and Leilah wore it almost exclusively to honor her mother’s memory.
Why should she change her attire because an ex-stepbrother convinced the king to have her act as a nurse?
It was completely against protocol. The royal physician was more than capable of tending to any ailment. Why not send him to Hussein’s chamber?
“You will wear the colors of our family, the dress that identifies you as the daughter of Daud.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
On their twelfth birthday, Daud’s daughters received a patterned jalabiya. The purple, blue, and green were her family’s colors. Gold threaded through the garment, accentuating its colors. The garment identified her as a virgin daughter of King Daud and was replaced as necessary.
He waved a hand. “Dismissed.”
She curtsied and exited the room, her shoulders squared as her stomach fluttered. She rested a palm against it to quell her nerves and inhaled.
Everything would be fine. There would be at least three servants in the room. She’d ask her companion, Ifza, to accompany her. Ifza doubled as a bodyguard and had a black belt in karate. Everything would be fine.
Leilah inspected herself in the mirror. Ifza had plaited her hair into two braids, which she fashioned into a crown around Leilah’s head. Gold sandals peeked through the folds of her jalabiya. She met Ifza’s gaze in the mirror.
“You won’t leave me alone with him?”
“No, Your Highness.”
Leilah grinned at Ifza. “You know you can call me Amira when we are alone.”
“No, Your Highness.”
It had become something of a game between them. The Royal Guard assigned Ifza to Leilah the previous year, and she had been trying to convince her to call her by her first name as they were close in age.
Ifza laid a hand on Leilah’s shoulder. “I will be with you every step of the way.”
There was a knock at the door, and Ifza moved to open it. An attendant from the kitchen stood outside with a rolling tray laden with platters. Leilah sauntered up to them.
“Hello, Eman. Thanks for bringing this up for me.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” The young woman curtsied. “It is an honor to serve you.”
The three women started for Hussein’s suite. Leilah aligned her pace with Eman’s. “How is your Ommi?”
The attendant smiled. “She’s much better, thank you. The cream you made for her eczema works wonderfully. If we could convince her to avoid dairy, we would not have to worry about flares.”
Leilah laughed. Her mom had taught her to create tinctures and creams for healing and beauty. She made most of her products using essential oils and natural ingredients.
“I’m glad to know it helped her. And since I’ve shown you how to make it, you can always prepare another batch.”
Leilah slowed as she neared Hussein’s rooms. The sense of foreboding was so strong it felt like a physical force pressing down on her. Ifza touched two fingers to Leilah’s wrist, and she relaxed. She was not alone. The door to his suite swung open at her approach, and she entered behind Eman.
Dark, heavy furnishings filled the sitting room, reminding Leilah of the king’s quarters. The drawn curtains and dim lighting added to the gloom. A male attendant greeted her with a shallow bow.
“Your Highness.”
She detected a sneer in his voice, but ignored it. It must be her imagination. A servant of the palace would not dare to disrespect Daud’s daughter.
“Evening.” She was unfamiliar with the staff who worked for Hussein, but smiled at the man built like a brick sculpture. “Where is Hussein?”
“Your brother is in his bedroom.”
She would roll her eyes, but years of diplomacy training held her back. She wished people would stop referring to him as her brother.
“He has requested that you serve him there.”
Leilah swallowed a gasp and glanced at Ifza, her internal alarms blaring. Had the king known about this? Why would he agree for her to enter Hussein’s bedroom? Ifza drifted closer to Leilah.
“Please bring the trolley into the bedroom, Eman.”
Did they hear the slight wobble in her voice?
Eman stared at her with widened eyes. The young woman had worked at the palace long enough to be familiar with their customs.
“It will be fine. The king has commanded me to serve his son while he is ill.”
Eman pushed the trolley into the room, which was darker than the sitting room. A chill hung in the air, raising goosebumps on Leilah’s skin. There was no scent of illness. Only dust and the heavy musk of cologne—too much cologne.
“Hussein? His Majesty said you wanted to see me.”
“Amira.” His voice was so weak she could barely hear him.
“Is it okay if we open the drapes?” She moved to the windows.
“No.” He covered his eyes and forehead. “My head. It hurts. Can you come closer? Help me sit up?”
Leilah swallowed hard, edging toward the bed. She leaned over Hussein to aid him. He slumped against the backboard, his head lolling.
“Hungry.”
Eman handed her a bowl of lablabi, her eyes wide. “Sayyida, the law forbids it.”
“Thanks, Eman.” Leilah smiled at the young girl, hoping her apprehension didn’t show. “You can return to the kitchens. I know you are busy.”
The young woman curtsied, glancing at the hulking man who stood beside the door. Instead of brushing past him, Eman rushed to the corner of the room, sliding open the panel to the hidden passageway and disappearing through it. Leilah tracked her path with her eyes, frowning at Hussein’s companion standing inside the door, arms folded.
Was he a bodyguard? She almost snorted. Was Hussein expecting her to put up a fight? While only an inch taller than her, he was more than twice her weight, all muscle.
She turned back to her patient, scooped up a spoonful of the soup, and brought it to his mouth. He turned his head at the last second.
“No. I do not want them to see me this way.” Hussein glared at Ifza. “Leave the room.”
“My lord, but I cannot.” Ifza met his eyes. “The king’s law forbids it.”
Leilah backed away from the bed, but Hussein grabbed her, his fingers circling her wrist like steel bands. He nodded to his guard, who grasped Ifza and hauled her from the room.
Leilah glared at Hussein. “What are you doing?”
Hussein bounded out of bed and hauled her close, his breath hot on her face.
“I want you, my pretty Amira, and I intend to have you.”
She shook her head. This could not be happening. Not to her. She was a princess.
“No.” She kept her voice low and smooth, though she wanted to scream and claw at him. “Speak to His Majesty. I’m sure he would arrange for us to be married.”
Or not. The thought of being bound to Hussein for the rest of her life sickened her, but it was better than the alternative.
“That is not how this works.” He narrowed cold eyes at her. “You will do exactly as I say, or I’ll do the same to your little sister, the lovely Djamila.” He flung her on the bed and pinned her with his body.
Clapping one hand over her mouth, he forced her down with the other, ignoring her muffled cries.
Leilah closed her eyes and tried to disappear—to lose herself in the memory of strolling through a field of lavender. Her mother used to tell her stories from the Bible about how God always protected His people. She must not be one of His if He allowed this to happen to her.
Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. She lay still. If she didn’t fight him, maybe it would end sooner. When he finally rolled away, his contempt clung to her like a second skin.
“Get out.” He spoke through gritted teeth, pushing her when she didn’t move.
She turned to him and spoke, her throat swollen with unshed tears.
“This is worse than what you have already done. Speak to the king. It is not too late for us to marry.”
The horror of being Hussein’s wife was less than the shame of what he had done to her.
He sneered. “Why would I marry you? I have already gotten what I wanted.” He heaved himself up and shoved her onto the floor. “Get out. I never want to see your face again.”
She pulled herself up and stumbled on shaky legs through the door, pulse thudding in her ears. Exiting Hussein’s chambers, she ripped her jalabiya from neck to hem. She was no longer worthy of wearing the garment.
At the end of the hall, she paused. Where was she supposed to go? What would she do? She pressed a trembling hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs.
“Your Highness.”
Ifza rushed to her, with Wasim close behind. Jubair Wasim, her mother’s firstborn, placed both hands on her arms. He dipped his knees to peer into her eyes.
“What did Hussein do?”
“He…” She couldn’t bear to utter the word. “He took from me what did not belong to him.”
She swayed as the weight of Hussein’s actions settled on her shoulders.
Ifza’s eyes filled with tears. “Your Highness, I have failed you.”
Leilah studied her companion. Ifza’s arms had bruises where Hussein’s guard had grabbed her. There was a purplish mark around her throat as if someone had grasped her neck and squeezed. Hanks of hair hung around her face. She looked away from the compassion and pain in the other woman’s eyes.
“You did what you could.”
How else would Wasim know where to find her? Her brother’s living quarters were far away from Hussein’s. He had no reason to be in this part of the palace, if not for her.
“You will not speak of this to anyone,” Wasim spoke through gritted teeth. “I will take care of Hussein.”
Take care of Hussein? Who would care for her?
“Come.” Wasim tucked Leilah against his side and led her away. But his warmth couldn’t stop the chill that had taken root inside her.
Blessed by Love (The Power of Love Book 2)
Table of Contents
She fled her kingdom carrying a secret. He was hired to protect her, but found something much deeper.
Leilah Iqbal was born into privilege and wrapped in royal expectations, but none of that protected her from betrayal. When a former stepbrother shatters her world, she escapes Jazirat Aljana, hiding her brokenness in the quiet town of Idlewood. Working at the Hummingbird Diner under the gruff but kind Millie, Leilah rebuilds her life, even as fear clings to her every move.
Quincy Jordan is a private investigator with a steady hand and an unwavering faith. Secretly hired by Leilah’s father, Quincy is supposed to keep his distance. But the more he watches over her, the more he sees the woman behind the walls—strong, scared, and searching for something real. As he gently chips away at her defenses, Quincy becomes the one thing she never expected to find: home.
But secrets don’t stay buried forever. And when Leilah’s past threatens the fragile hope she’s found, she’ll have to decide: will fear write the next chapter of her life—or will faith?
Inspired by the biblical story of Tamar, this redemptive Christian romance explores the healing power of love, the courage to start over, and the beauty of finding a family in the unlikeliest of places.
Content Warning: This story addresses sexual assault and emotional trauma. Though not graphically described, the scenes may be painful for some readers. Through it all, Leilah’s journey points toward resilience, healing, and God’s presence, even in silence.
