by Marian Tee
“Of course they would,” Malik countered in a steely tone. “You may think you are still a child, but other people will see you as a young woman. The most traditional members of Ramilian culture still believe that twelve is a proper age for marriage, and you know that.”
The girl bowed her head in apology, properly chastened. “Maehdina.” And when she heard Malik sigh, she looked up and touched his arm. “Please don’t be mad anymore, Malik.”
“I’m not.” His tone was gruff. “I can never be with you.”
The two started walking, the sheikh taking the books from her hands as the young girl enthusiastically launched into a story about her day in school. When they made it back to their desk, the two sat next to each other, their dark heads bent close as they went through Kyria’s choice of reading materials. The two then started to squabble, just like the way a younger sister would when defending her taste to an older brother, and Vanna found herself smiling. Oh, if only they were full-blooded siblings---
It’s not like you to take the easy way out, my love.
The voice in her head was familiar.
Imaginary.
But even so, Vanna’s teeth sank into her lower lip to keep it from trembling.
In front of her, Malik’s head suddenly jerked up, and if she were in a fanciful mood, she could’ve sworn he had his own moment, too, with Hadwin commanding him to comfort Vanna. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, so that by the time her younger son turned to her, her smile was real.
I know, husband. I shall not fail you.
By now Kyria had also discovered her presence, and her two children came to her. Kyria kissed her on the cheek with a shy but warm smile. Malik did the same, but the look he directed at her was faintly curious.
“This is the library, Mother.”
She frowned. “And?”
“I thought you should know,” her younger son drawled solemnly, “in case you’ve forgotten what books look like.”
“You aggravating wretch!” She grabbed the first thing she could reach – a cardboard box from the library’s check-in counter – and threw it straight at his face. Unfortunately, Malik was an Al-Atassi, and all men in the family were gifted with the quickest of reflexes.
He caught the box handily with a grin, and incensed, Vanna reached up to pull his ear.
Malik winced. “I was only concerned. The last time I saw you pick out a book was when Kyria liked having bedtime stories read---”
Kyria, gaze darting worriedly between mother and son, said earnestly, “I still enjoy having bedtime stories read to me.”
“That’s unfortunately not the point, my dear---” She heard her son start to laugh, and her teeth gnashed. She twisted his ear as hard as she could, and Malik’s laughter abruptly died. Shooting him with a warning look to behave, she released his ear and turned to Kyria. “Apologies for that, darling. You know how your dear brother---” This time, it was Malik’s face that turned rigid. “---can be.”
“Umm…” The poor girl looked torn. She clearly thought that all Malik could be was perfect.
Malik’s gaze slid to the documents his mother held, and his gaze narrowed when he caught a glimpse of certain photos. He looked back at his mother, and her uneasy expression confirmed his suspicions. He turned to Kyria. “I need to speak with Mother for a bit. Stay here, and I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
Malik led Vanna to one of the private reading rooms in the library, and as soon as the door closed behind them, she said quickly, “It’s not what you think it is.”
Her younger son didn’t answer right away. “Please have a seat, Mother.”
She reluctantly did as asked, muttering, “I hate it when you act like this.” So utterly calm when they believed she was overstepping her bounds. He and Altair took after their father this way, and it always made her feel dreadfully defensive.
Malik took the chair across her. “May I?”
She handed him the files. “It’s not really what you think---”
“Is it not?” He flipped through the documents. “Then if I say these are personal files of bridal candidates, you will tell me I’m wrong?”
Vanna didn’t answer.
Her younger son glanced up. “Mother?”
“Oh, fine. It is that.”
“And it’s for me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” he asked bluntly. “Shouldn’t it be Altair you’d consult as the first son---”
“Altair will marry whomever he is duty-bound to marry,” she said shortly. “Your brother is just that type of person. You, however…” She took a deep breath. “I know we’ve never talked about this, but Kyria---”
“For the love of Allah!” Malik shot his mother a look of seething frustration. “She’s thirteen,” he exploded. “And you, my own mother, are making me sound like a pedophile---”
“Of course not,” Vanna rejected vehemently. “But can you also say that you have not once thought about it? Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you have not once considered waiting to see how things play out when she’s of the rightful age?”
Malik didn’t say a word, but they both knew that in itself was an answer.
“I know you don’t love or want her that way yet, but human minds have a talent for seeing the ugly and depraved while ignoring everything else that’s sweet and beautiful. These bridal candidates are just that: candidates. I don’t need you to be engaged to them. I just want you to show the world that you’re considering any one of them. You need the world to look at you and all these women so they don’t see Kyria until it’s the right time.”
The silence stretched between them, and Vanna stared at her younger son in helpless despair, knowing that she could only imagine the torment he was feeling. “This is for you and Kyria---”
Malik’s fist slammed against the desk. “Lueta. Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” he grated out. “She’s a child!”
Vanna met her son’s gaze unflinchingly. “It’s precisely because she’s still a child that we must do what we can to protect her.”
Malik’s fists clenched. “So what will you have me do then?”
“Find something – someone – to take up your time. Both of you owe it to yourselves to see what the world has to offer.”
“Are you asking me to leave the palace?”
“If you believe that is what’s necessary to ensure you stay within your limits, then yes.”
Malik flinched.
Hating that she had hurt him, she gazed at him with eyes that implored for his understanding. “I’m doing this for you, son – to protect your future, the tomorrows that could be yours. You’ve changed too much, Malik, and sooner or later it will get people to talk. It used to be that your father and I had to practically chain you and bolt the door to prevent you from leaving the house every night. And now – when was the last time you’ve hit a club?”
He let out a choking sound of disbelief. “So you are now ordering me to go clubbing? Is that it?”
“I’m ordering you to act like a normal twenty-something man,” she cried out. “For both your sakes, I’m ordering you to act like you haven’t yet found your soulmate!”
Malik jerked in his seat, and a cry of horror escaped her.
That word…was forbidden. That word…shouldn’t have been uttered this early. But now that it was, there was nowhere to go, nothing that could undo the devastating truth screaming at them in the silence---
“I’m sorry,” Vanna whispered.
But it was too late, and neither of them could close their eyes to what they knew.
Most people waited a lifetime to find the one meant for them – and they were the lucky ones. But then there were the others, people who never had to wait, people who had just known, soulmates who had found their way to each other before destiny could make up its mind about them---
Just because you knew someone was meant for you didn’t make that person yours.
Malik lowered his hea
d. “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow.” He had no choice. He wanted a lifetime of tomorrows that he would always look forward to, and for it to happen, he had to risk forever and let go of today.
Six years ago
The staff cheered wildly as the television cameras swung to the finish line to show the race’s moment of victory. The camera zoomed in, and Malik’s handsome face filled the screen. More screams and applause filled the palace’s viewing room, and as news traveled of the young sheikh’s victory, so did the cheers. The chef and his helpers at the kitchen, the head gardener and his apprentices at the back of the palace, and even the officials in a closed-door meeting at the war room had taken a break to celebrate the young sheikh’s triumph.
Hail Sheikh Malik for bringing honor to the Kingdom of Ramil!
People began embracing each other, men clapping each other’s backs, women jumping for joy, and yet in the midst of this euphoria, a fourteen-year-old girl looked like she was about to cry. Altair was the first to notice this, and he briskly made his way to her. He touched her head, and she looked up at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Malik won,” she said brightly. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
He paid no attention to the words, knowing they were but a way to disguise her true feelings. “What’s wrong?” he asked grimly.
Kyria bit her lip. “Nothing.”
“There can’t be nothing when you look like that.” A torn expression appeared on her face, and he said gently, “If you don’t tell me, I’d have to call Malik---” Kyria could be surprisingly obstinate when she wanted to, but they all knew how much she adored his younger brother. Whatever Malik wanted, Kyria would strive to do.
Horror filled the young girl’s face at the threat. “You mustn’t!”
Altair’s turned into puzzlement at Kyria’s reaction. “What’s wrong, Kyria? Do you not trust me to help you?”
“Of course I do, but…” She bit her lip again. “You must promise me first you won’t tell Malik about it. Or anyone who could tell Malik.”
He nodded, knowing Kyria would be satisfied with it. Only a fool would doubt the word of Altair Al-Atassi, and his baby sister certainly wasn’t one.
“It’s just that…” The girl started wringing her hands. “I know this may sound crazy, but I think...” She took a deep breath and then blurted out, “I don’t think Malik’s happy being away from Ramil.”
“I see.” The sheikh’s face turned expressionless. Poor baby brother, Altair thought. It only showed how much Kyria cared for Malik that she would realize such a thing, but it also showed how different Kyria’s feelings were from whatever Malik felt that she didn’t fully understand what she was seeing.
Malik had only been racing professionally for a year, and he had already won most of the world’s major races. Although the prize money he won was a mere drop in the bucket compared to his personal fortune, the accolades and fame that came with every victorious race was nothing to scoff at. With analysts already predicting he’d be the youngest jockey to gallop his way to a Hall of Fame induction, companies had been sending out proposal after proposal to the palace, all of them clamoring to have the sheikh as the ambassador of their brand. And if Khalil, their half-American cousin, was to be believed, the women who were after Malik literally numbered in the hundreds.
And yet…it was as Kyria said.
Malik Al-Atassi was the most miserable bastard on the planet, but it wasn’t because he was away from home. It was because he was away from her.
“Do you miss him?”
“Of course.” There was no hesitation in the manner she answered, and the look that she directed at him was odd, as if Kyria couldn’t understand why he would even need to ask such a question.
“And do you want him back here?”
This time, even Kyria’s good manners weren’t enough to keep her from frowning. “Why are you asking these questions, Altair? Of course I want him back. He’s our brother.”
And so he was, Altair thought. And so he was…but only in Kyria’s eyes. He mentally sent his gravest condolences to Malik, thinking that Vanna was right in insisting that his younger brother spend time away from Ramil.
Malik might be the best husband a girl could ever ask for, but Kyria still deserved to make up her own mind.
Five years ago
With only a day before Usbue Min Al-Abtal or Heroes’ Week began, the entire kingdom was caught up in a rush of excitement. Citizens willingly and eagerly volunteered to help local officials put up décor all over the city, hanging up welcome banners for their favorite heroes and wrapping flower chains around street posts. A modern and fast-paced version of the kingdom’s national anthem also played constantly from the government’s public speakers, and local news channels happily showed real-time footage of citizens dancing to the tune of it, smiles wreathing their faces.
The Sand Wars, which comprised of the kingdom’s bloodiest years in modern times, were over, and for the next seven days, the citizens would pay tribute to those who suffered and lost their lives in the name of freedom.
And so with the people’s attention diverted mostly to ongoing preparations, Malik was able to slip back into Ramil unnoticed and thus keep his arrival a secret. He was looking forward to seeing the look of surprise on Kyria’s face once she saw him – and learn that he was back for good – but when he arrived at the palace, his plan backfired and he was the one left reeling from an unpleasant shock instead.
Fuck.
He was fucked.
He was so royally fucked.
She stood at the center of the palace’s private stone garden, dark tresses flowing freely down her back, her eyes glowing as the four sheikhs around her traded jests with each other. Granted, one of them was his brother and the other three his cousins, but even so they were all still too pretty for their own good, and he wanted them to stay at least ten feet away from her at all times.
Something Tarif said made her throw back her head with a laugh, the action exposing the elegant length of her pale neck, and Malik whitened.
FUCK.
This was not how it should be.
FUCK.
He stepped back.
FUCK.
But before he could turn away and leave, it was too late. Some kind of sixth sense seemed to make her stiffen, and then she was whirling around. The tray of empty plates she was holding in her hands crashed to the ground. And as everyone’s heads snapped towards where she was looking, tears started to run down her face---
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He opened his arms.
She broke into a run and threw herself at him. “Malik.” She was weeping. “Malik.”
A part of him wondered if the reason she was crying was because he was close to breaking her ribs with the way he was hugging her so hard. He knew it was possible, but he also knew he just could not let her go.
He just could not.
Not just yet.
He closed his eyes.
Fucked. I am fucked. I am eternally fucked.
It was almost two in the morning by the time he made his way to the palace’s luxurious underground baths, where Altair and his other cousins waited. Naturally arching stone ceilings blended well with gilded posts and marble-walled pools while recessed lighting tucked away in hidden crevices made the waters glow like liquid turquoise.
“Hear, hear, our hero has returned.”
“Fuck all of you.” He gave everyone the finger for added measure, but all four men laughed. Slipping into the water, he stretched his arms against the wall and leaned his head back. Hopefully, the supposedly healing waters of the palace’s Turkish bath could help clear his mind.
“She’s become more beautiful than you expected, hasn’t she?” Tarif asked slyly.
His eyes snapped open, and he shot his womanizing cousin a look of warning. “You’re forbidden from seeing her beautiful from now on.” The words were out before he could stop himself, and when he realized what he had just said,
and how and why he had said such words---
A groan of defeat escaped him.
“I’m fucked.” Malik let out a laugh, but the sound was bleak. The two years he had spent away from Ramil amounted to nothing. If any, it had only made things worse because whereas he had never seen Kyria as a woman before, he did so now---
“I’m so goddamn fucked.”
This time, no one laughed, and when he looked at the other men’s faces, he saw that they knew exactly what he meant, and they, too, thought the same thing.
He was fucked.
Four years ago
Metal clashed against metal as the sheikhs skillfully wielded their swords to parry the attacks endlessly launched against them. Sword fighting was a traditional skill that Ramilian royals were expected to master, but more than that, their instructors wanted to forge the foundation of teamwork among the five young sheikhs. There would come a day when Khalil became king and the four his vassals; it was critical that their trust in each other prove as unassailable as the kingdom’s tallest mountains the moment Khalil took the throne.
“Rayyan, now!” The command came from Khalil, and his blue-eyed cousin whirled around, taking the opponents behind him by surprise. His sword came into contact with the soldiers’ vest, and the pair immediately bowed out of the fight.
Ten more minutes passed, and their enemies – which had started at a mere number of thirty – were now down to ten. Khalil’s gaze scanned his surroundings like surveying a battlefield and wasted no time making his decision. “Cover for Malik.” In war, every second was vital. “Now!”
He and the others cleared the path for their youngest brother in blood---
One by one, their opponents fell to the ground and tapped out of the fight.
That was to be expected.
But the manner in which Malik executed their strategy was not, and it had everyone in the fighting hall silent and stunned, the other sheikhs included. The speed with which Malik delivered his attack, the daredevil risks he was taking, the barely leashed violence in every strike of his sword---
When Malik suddenly swung to face them, the four sheikhs involuntarily tensed, their hands poised above the swords they had already sheathed. Malik stared at them, breathing hard, and the four sheikhs looked back at him. All of them shared the same unspoken and utterly discomfiting thought.
