by C. L. Donley
Until now.
For a moment Kim was lulled into believing that the greatness that she saw in him was hidden and for her alone. And now she was realizing, not only was she not the only one enamored but that she was late.
Bel noticed in the corner of his eye that Kim was looking at him instead of waving. Because of his shades, she couldn’t see his eyes, so she didn’t know he was moving in for a kiss until his hand was under her chin, pulling her lips toward his. The kiss, albeit tame, caused the crowd to go nuclear, as an open display of affection for a king was a bit scandalous— ironic considering all the previous kings’ innumerable indiscretions. But Belkacem was not his father. His lips went to her ear.
“Don’t take this dress off,” he cryptically instructed her.
Kim shyly folded herself inward against him as he smiled. She, of course, looked adorable and the footage played on news media incessantly afterward. In reality, she was just feeling weird about being aroused while on a balcony surrounded by strangers cheering. Bel being the man he was, Kim would have to get used to it.
The following morning Bel awoke early yet again, a habit he’d all but abandoned living in the states. Now his inner clock was being switched by the Ghassani dew and the invigorating song of finches outside the window. Bel hastily dressed and prepared to quietly, stealthily take the short jaunt back to his room. The groom traditionally was not allowed to lay eyes on the bride until the ceremony, and they were to be kept apart the entire day. He’d abided by the tradition as a young man and always regretted it, though his heart had fluttered the whole day as it never had since.
He thought he’d succeeded in dressing without waking her, but when he looked up from slipping on his shoes, Kim’s radiant sleepy features were on him, the back of her naked curved body like a beautiful instrument as her head was turned to face him, a bored Cleopatra. It pried a smile from his face. She rolled her eyes and turned back around, re-adjusting her head in an effort to go back to sleep. Bel silently snickered. She was still mad about the dress. He’d ripped it off of her.
“I said I was sorry,” he whispered.
Kim beat her pillow loudly in response, not facing him as she laid back down.
“Kim, what if I did that every single day, would you be mad?”
She sharply turned to face him, her face stoic with indignation.
Bel threw his head back in quiet, stifled giggles. She managed to stay unamused which only made him laugh more.
“I will literally buy you a million dresses,” he lowly muttered.
“I liked that one.”
“Then I’ll buy you another.”
“It was a one of a kind.”
“Then I’ll have it mended.”
“So everybody can know my business!” she turned to face him again. He was giving her that devil may care grin and she had to turn away so that he wouldn’t see her smiling.
“Such a prude.”
“I already let you ruin me before our wedding night.”
His pulse quickened, and his temperature rose at the recollection of what had just occurred. It was gonna be a long day.
“You mean I let you ruin me,” he said.
“Negro, stop, get out of my room.”
“You should probably stop calling me that.”
“Bel, you know I can’t do that,” she sighed seriously, silkily. He snickered.
“Well, try. I don’t want to have to put you to death.”
“No freedom of speech here in Ghassan, I keep forgetting.”
“It is your informal manner that offends,” he said, putting on his kingly voice, “not your speech. The word means nothing here.”
“Just don’t try me in public and I should be fine my liege,” Kim did her best aristocrat impression, and it was pretty good.
“Do you love me?”
Kim stretched coquettishly and let her face light up before she turned back to the sunrise on the terrace. His heart flip-flopped.
“A little.”
After awhile he still hadn’t responded, so she turned to face him again. But he’d already gone.
An hour or so later she was again in a bath surrounded by women. This time the bath was a mixture of water, milk and hibiscus flowers. Kim began absent-mindedly singing, and her subjects were delighted. They hadn’t known the song, obviously. Kim tried to find one they had in common. Thana suggested “I Will Always Love You,” and Kim gave a worried look.
“I shouldn’t be bendin’ no Whitney notes, but I’ll do it for you guys.” She lowered the key, and it was still too high for her, but they joined in and helped her. They didn’t know English, but they knew every inflection and the words were convincingly coherent. When she got to the booming outro, everyone tried their best but soon were dissolving in giggles. Only Kim had the fortitude to keep singing, louder and more dramatically until the old women were laughing and clapping. Kim loosened a bit more, smiled and started to have fun. Her attendants loved Kim’s vibrant, confident air. There was nothing queenly about her, but there never was, not at the beginning. She would get there in time.
After she was bathed, she was dressed in a gorgeous peacock blue dress with a bare midriff, gold sequins, and a sheer gold sash. She was taken to a banquet where Bel’s mother and aunts and unmarried sisters fed her food and adorned her fingers and hands with rings and bangles. They sang songs over her and prayed blessings over her and her marriage. She wept as the unintelligible words washed over her and Thana did her best to give a delayed translation without interrupting. One of the older women pointed to Kim’s jewelry, a ring.
“Old,” she said. Then to the bangles on her wrist.
“New,” she said. Kim began to get the gist. They had incorporated an American tradition.
“Borrowed,” she continued, fingering one of Kim’s elaborate earrings that belonged to the queen mother.
“Blue!” Kim finished, putting her hands on her chest that wore the peacock blue dress.
They smiled. One of Bel’s aunts yet older pointed to herself. “Old!” she exclaimed, and everyone in the room cackled.
Finally, it was time for the ceremony, and Kim was glad she had the impetus to go to the bathroom before she’d gotten ready. Not only was she dressed head to toe in a gold sequins gown that had what amounted to a jumper underneath, but the bride and the guests had to wait an unknown amount of time until the groom arrived on a white horse of all things, rather than the bride walking down the aisle. Something about Christ and the 12 gates of the heavenly city, all she knew is that it’d now been 7 ½ hours since she’d last eaten and Bel was nowhere to be found.
When Bel literally came in galloping on a damn white horse, Kim just about fell out. The whole thing was too much. She had no idea what she looked like, because apparently, the bride’s only mirror was to be her groom on her wedding day, and now she had to come to grips with her king husband from a desert land, who rode horses like a boss and also had military rank, as the decoration on his royal white robe signaled. You are waaaay in over your head, boo, she thought to herself. At least they had a baby together so he couldn’t just one day get rid of her.
He really did seem to love her, but the reality was caving in on her. Yes, she was independent. Yes, she was accomplished and in America, to come from nothing was to have the greatest room to succeed. But outside of that, out here in Ghassan, to come from nothing was to be nothing. And she was precisely that. She was a hood rat. A product of rape, most likely. If her people were ever born of kings, it likely paled in comparison to this millennia-old dynasty she was about to join. Was there really no other candidate? No one in his long line of conquests? Aside from her beauty and perhaps her ability to be scrappy, just what did Kim have that could permanently satisfy the king of Ghassan?
Kim’s fears were assuaged, however, when the king laid eyes on her sitting poised under a canopy held by his nephews and made from his mother’s old wedding train.
When Bel saw Kim in his country’s traditional bri
dal garb he was overcome with emotion. She was more beautiful than the first moment he’d seen her. She looked every inch the young and innocent girl she truly was, in a foreign land, marrying a stranger that loved her more already than he could fathom, more than he could show.
Kim searched his eyes incessantly for confirmation, indeed like a mirror. He joined her under the canopy and gave her a light kiss on the cheek while the wedding guests erupted in cheers and applause. There was a beautiful silver paisley-like embroidery on the thick white fabric of his coat that was more noticeable the further down the sun sank across the horizon. As the food was passed around Kim tried not to look greedy, shoveling mound after mound of delicious combinations of smothered, marinated meats in pillows of white and gold breads. Bel suddenly said something in Farsi, and all his nephews around him laughed. Sniggered really, as if compelled to by whatever he’d said. Kim turned to him and glared.
“What are you saying about me?”
Bel pressed his lips together and shook his head as if confused.
“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to try me in public, my liege,” Kim exaggerated.
“I was just commenting about how well you eat, is all.” His nephews began sniggering again, clearly with a grasp of English.
“Is it customary to starve the bride before the ceremony?”
“The bride doesn’t eat until she’s united with her groom. Meanwhile, the groom eats to gain his strength—”
“So you’ve been eating all day?” More sniggering. They really liked the new queen.
“Would you let me finish?”
“What about your poor nephews?”
“They’ve all been with me and my groomsmen.”
“So they ain’t hongry,” Kim confirmed. Bel dissolved into laughter.
Suddenly Fahid materialized before them, looking graver than usual.
Bel was instantly put on edge and his smile dissipated.
“Fahid, you should be drinking and dancing,” he spoke in Farsi.
“You received a messenger. From our brother Semih.”
Bel sat up, trying not to let his agitation show for the sake of his guests.
“It’s my wedding day,” Bel said.
“They sent a boy, he was too afraid to tell you the message. He wet himself telling me the message.”
Bel had his thumb and forefinger around the bridge of his nose. His jaw was clenched. Not only had his brother failed to meet him alone, he’d failed to show up at the wedding. The high priest, Najila and her sons, hell even the French ambassador had the good sense to do that. His mother had poisoned his mind to the point of madness. Now he was interrupting his wedding with words that were likely just as suicidal.
He felt Kim grab his hand. He looked into her soft brown eyes that weren’t afraid, that finally respected him again. He turned back to Fahid.
“Tell me.”
“He says that he cannot in good conscience honor the claims of a brother who dishonors his father’s time of mourning with a hasty marriage, to legitimize the bastard son of an American whore mother.”
Bel felt a lot of emotions coursing through him at that moment about his brother Semih, once dear, once worthy of compassion. Anguish, sorrow, frustration, hatred. Rage was chief among them, but amusement was edging it out, strangely enough. But he didn’t laugh. He simply looked back at Fahid.
That Semih or his mother felt comfortable calling anyone else a “whore” just about took the cake.
Bel had had enough. These ingrates had signed their own death warrants.
“Fahid. Do you serve me?”
“Yes, my king.”
“Do you want to save your own life tonight?”
“Yes, my king.”
“Then do not return to me until your brother and his mother are dead.”
“Yes, my king.”
With that, Fahid slowly turned on his heels and walked out.
Bel sat back underneath the bridal canopy, his gray eyes still ablaze as he was lost in thought.
Kim eyed him warily, her heart beating in her ears but she hardly knew why. Except for the fact that he looked incredibly powerful and, while sexy, it was mostly frightening. He’d either done something dangerous or was about to.
“Fahid got you all in your feelings?” Kim asked.
Bel attempted a smiling acknowledgment but it fell flat. Kim didn’t like that shit at all. Barely a day into his public reign and he was already trying to keep things from her. At least she knew him enough that her instincts were right. If it was a “need to know” basis it was definitely about something dangerous.
“Is someone about to die?”
Bel looked over at her, somewhat astonished.
“Thana’s been translating for me. I heard the word ‘death’ an awful lot today for a wedding ceremony.”
This time he did give her a genuine smile, his mood yet again forced to lighten.
“Isn’t it considered cruel for a king to shed blood during a wedding or a funeral?” she added, enlightening him even further to the education already taking root after a few days.
Indeed it was. And technically now it was both. There was nothing about Bel that was cruel, but he’d had no choice. He was dizzy from the height of the insult. No man would serve him if he let such a matter slide.
“It’s nothing to burden yourself with.”
“I’m sure you know by now it takes a great deal to shock me, my king.”
His gaze turned dark. A rush of wetness pooled underneath her dress and she flushed, too embarrassed to look around. Didn’t anyone else know what that look meant?
“You’ve never called me that before.”
“Haven’t I?”
Bel shook his head, enjoying the effect he was having on her.
“You know, my daddy was a Crip.”
Bel just stared back at Kim in wonder. Barely an hour into being queen and already his world was filling with delight, right when he’d needed it, when it seemed like his wedding day was about to be ruined.
Suddenly Bel sat up.
Shit. Hold on. Shit.
His wedding day was about to be ruined.
Why would he do that?
Why would Semih sentence himself to death, just to ruin Bel’s wedding?
He knows his claim has no support, popular or otherwise. The people made their choice. If he were posturing, why wouldn’t he do so publicly? Unless he wanted to be killed, but… why would he want to be killed? What the fuck was going on? If Semih died tonight, Bel would never get an answer.
Unless he didn’t plan on dying tonight. Holy shit. Was Semih’s mother that many steps ahead? No wonder she wanted the king’s power so badly. She was one hell of a strategist.
Kim watched as Bel raised his voice in Farsi. A group of men emerged from all directions and then suddenly scattered. Bel still didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he’d rapidly changed his mind. He wasn’t going to get sucked into the bullshit on his wedding day. He had people for that, he’d forgotten. He’d never been a king, but he’d learned a hell of a lot as a CEO. Save your energy.
“Okay… now, what just happened?”
“What happened is you just saved three lives.”
“Me?”
“You.”
His father had been right. His family was the most important thing. It had the added benefit of centering him.
A sudden uproar among the women at the ceremony let Kim know they were at the next phase of the nuptials, the one right before the final one, the celebration of the marriage bed. Thana suddenly came and grabbed her by both wrists.
“What happens now?”
“Now we dance!”
“Well hell, why didn’t you say so!”
Kim got up and within moments easily found her stride, the faint whispers of African rhythms like layers of rock in the foundations of the Ghassani dance. She looked around at all the women making the faintly tribal movements, ever so familiar, and suddenly it was as though s
he’d wandered down a childhood street.
“Oh I got this!” she said, adding flavor to what was already there. The crowd that was a great deal more family than friends all gathered around her cheering as she drew them in with her confident warmth, making them feel at home even though they already were home and she was the foreigner. Bel was in complete raptures, grateful that Kim had convinced him to keep from shedding blood on this day. He’d never felt closer to his roots as he did today, seeing them through Kim’s eyes, seeing her see the rest of the world.
After the dance was over, the bride was instructed to lay on a chaise lounge. A blessing was said over her, and she was pelted with barley pellets and nuts, the equivalent of rice, she presumed. She was hoisted by the king’s brothers down a path that led to a gorgeous tent adjacent to the party. Some of the women were crying, others smiling as there was a bit more singing. The men around Bel were beaming and all giving him playfully aggressive taps as he walked slowly alongside Kim hoisted up above him. They were all so handsome, a country full of princes, it seemed. If Amara and Mya weren’t already taken she would surely bring them here. Her assistant Chandra though?? She wouldn’t even recognize herself in a place like this. Kim smiled.
The short journey to the tent concluded with Bel helping his bride down from the chaise and into his arms. With one hand he opened the flap for his bride to enter a surprisingly spacious tent with gorgeous jewel-toned rugs and pillows embroidered with gold that lined the floor. Soft candlelight bathed the inside that had a bed, couch, and even a bathroom! It was breathtaking, but Kim was a bit lost. After more cheers and the sound of bangles from the raised arms of the women, the guests returned to the outdoor reception that showed no signs of slowing down. The king in his beautiful wedding garb stood at her side.
