by Milly Taiden
“Is Ahsan out there, do you know?” she asked with another glance past the doors.
“He's organizing the influx of men,” Mattias said.
“Influx of men? Does that mean Bashir sent a convoy with my sister?” Her heart raced at the thought Iris was already on the premises.
“No, unfortunately. These are men that the Emir himself sent,” Leander added.
Startled by the news, Sessily glanced between Ahsan's friends. “The Emir sent men? I don't understand.”
“As far as we can tell, the Emir caught wind that Bashir might be up to his old tricks and sent a contingent of troops here to guard Ahsan,” Chayton said.
“But isn't that...unusual?” she asked.
“Very unusual,” Mattias said.
“I think it's a good indication that the Emir is about to strip the title of Crown Prince from Bashir and give it to Ahsan.” Leander slid his hands into his pockets.
“But Ahsan doesn't want it.” Sessily was sure Ahsan's friends already knew.
“No, he doesn't. I'm not sure what he'll do, though, if the Emir makes the announcement and bestows it anyway. Ahsan can't just walk away if that happens,” Mattias said.
“It's a complicated situation,” Sessily said. “The man who wants it most isn't fit to wear the title, and the man who is fit doesn't have any desire to rule.”
“It happens more often than you might think,” Mattias said.
Stepping up to the doors, Sessily got her first good look at the menagerie of vehicles and military men. Guards stood at angles with weapons in their hands, positioned to easily see any incoming traffic on the roadway. A few more were spread out along the front archways to secure the front doors.
Ahsan stood with two men, gesturing to this point or that point, clearly organizing the troops. Dressed in black slacks and a snug tee of light gray, Ahsan rubbed his fingers over a layer of dark whiskers on his jaw and then shook one of the men's hands. He glanced at the doorway and met her gaze head on. As if he'd known she'd been watching all along.
Sessily curved a small smile, a smile he returned. His was brief and to the point before his attention swung back to the troops.
“I wonder if Bashir won't send my sister after all,” Sessily said, turning away from the doors.
“It's hard to say. She's a pawn in a game of kings, and I personally think that Bashir won't want to risk confrontation after he hears that the Emir sent troops here,” Leander said.
“I hope you're right,” Sessily said to Leander.
Before she could say anything else, Ahsan and several important looking men entered into the foyer.
“Get the conference room ready. The Emir has landed at the airstrip and is on his way here,” Ahsan said to some of his staff.
“We'll take up positions around the interior,” Mattias said. He and the other two men dispersed with uncanny silence.
“What should I do?” Sessily asked Ahsan. She understood that this was a major event by the way employees scurried here and there through the palace and the heightened state of the security. The Emir probably didn't travel to see his banished son very often.
“You can wait in one of the downstairs sitting areas, if you'd like. I'm not sure how long this will take,” he admitted. Ahsan touched her shoulder, squeezed lightly, then, after a lingering stretch of eye contact, moved deeper into the palace.
Sessily tracked Ahsan until he disappeared from view. She had a feeling that his life was about to take a drastic change, one he didn't want and wasn't looking forward to. She found a smaller parlor close to the conference room and paced around the couches and overstuffed chairs.
Maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to listen in on the conversation about to take place.
*
Ahsan stared out the window of the conference room while his staff rushed around to make the accommodations more fitting for a king. Unlike Bashir, Ahsan's home had no throne room, and he wasn't inclined to try and make a temporary one just to suit his father's whims. The conference room, with its plush sofas, low tables and longer regular table surrounded by high backed seating, was still a decadent place to have a meeting. Tapestries covered several walls and the view of the lush oasis outside added a tropical flare.
It would have to do. He wasn't looking forward to the meeting, because he thought he knew what it meant. His father had never attended the palace at any time during or after construction, which told Ahsan that the Emir was here on an official state visit. Unless Ahsan missed his guess, his father was about to propose the impossible.
A flurry of activity in the foyer drew Ahsan to the archway of the conference room. Guards came first, followed by several advisors in business suits, and finally the Emir, who had shunned traditional wear for a suit. Shocking in itself, considering the Emir's penchant toward the old ways. He was a man aged and weathered by time and a treacherous life, with graying hair and many wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He appeared more frail and reedy since Ahsan had seen him last, his color less robust and more ashy. A woman trailed in their wake, her svelte figure encased in fine silk of a light turquoise hue. She walked with her eyes cast down, hands clasped together before her.
“Father, welcome to my home,” Ahsan said when the Emir was within range.
The Emir came to a halt in the middle of the foyer, running his fingers over his manicured beard. He took a good look around with eyes as dark as Ahsan's own.
“A fine home it is, too. You have done well for yourself since your departure from Afshar Province,” the Emir said.
The guards, advisors and staff hovering to do the Emir's bidding fell to silence. Ahsan slid a hand into the pocket of his slacks, and gestured to the conference room with the other. He didn't bother contradicting the Emir with the reminder that he'd been banished, instead of departing for a new life like his brothers. “Thank you. We can speak in here.”
The entourage moved into the conference room, taking up seats or standing near walls, leaving the Emir to choose the better seating in the room. An expensive chair with a moderate back was the place the Emir chose to settle. The silent woman came to stand just behind it, never looking up from the ground.
Ahsan chose to lean against the big table, one boot crossing the other. “So, to what do I owe the honor?”
The Emir met Ahsan's gaze, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “I think you know why I am here.”
“Enlighten me.” Ahsan wasn't going to make it any easier on his father. In truth, he was still deciding what route he was going to take after the offer was made. It was a life altering event that was about to occur, and he wasn't positive his choice would be the right one.
“I have decided to set you upon the throne of Afshar, Ahsan,” the Emir said, making the announcement official. “The paperwork has been drawn, the advisors and military notified, and a statement has been prepared to be released to the media.”
Ahsan's shoulders tensed. “Perhaps you should have spoken to me in private beforehand.”
The Emir studied Ahsan with a gaze that turned shrewd. “You are the successor to the throne. As such, you will return to the old ways. You will abide by the laws of our religion, beliefs and power structure. I have chosen your first wife, whom you will marry immediately and begin starting a family for the heirs that you must provide. It is a requirement, you know, one that the advisors and public expect.”
“With all due respect, father, I did mention that I won't be changing my ways. And I will certainly not be marrying anyone not of my choosing. If you want me to have the throne, then everyone will have to shift their way of thinking and of doing things. This is my stipulation, and I will not bend.” Ahsan had been prepared for another onslaught of coercion from his father, but as he'd already stated, he would not be going back to the 'old ways', nor would he engage in a loveless marriage simply for the sake of heirs and because the public frowned upon any successor who did not take a wife.
“If you do not do these basic things, then the second yo
u ascend the throne, a coup will occur. You know it, and I know it. Are you really willing to put the entire country in jeopardy for your pride?” the Emir demanded. His complexion paled and his hands began to shake.
“Perhaps you should reconsider Bashir, then. He's got wives, and heirs, and is ready to take over. Let him have it.”
The Emir stood from his chair. Several advisors stepped to his side to aid the frail ruler. “Bashir's image is tarnished worldwide. His debauchery and greed will bring this country to ruin. Would you have him ascend, only to be overthrown by an invading foreign threat? You know as well as I do how lucrative our oil and gas fields are. It would take nothing for Afshar to fall into war. I know you to be a better man than that, Ahsan. I'll be dead soon, and you must take over before I draw my last breath. I may not agree with your lifestyle and your choices, but that can be changed. It will be changed, because you would not see your homeland fall into another's hands due to the fact that you're too stubborn to bend. You will marry this woman--who comes from a strong Afshar background and will be embraced by the public—within two days. Gather your most trusted men and make an inner council, and for the love of sanity, Ahsan, prepare for upheaval after my death. The continuation of an empire, son, rests squarely on your shoulders.”
***
Chapter Seventeen
You will marry this woman within two days. Sessily stood not far from the archway to the conference room, listening to the voices that echoed out from within. Too curious to remain in the sitting room while such important decisions were made, she'd crept out into the main area and angled closer to the open doors where the conference was taking place. The guards paid her no mind; they were there for the off chance of an attack, not to deter her or anyone else from listening.
Now Ahsan was being given an order to marry a woman born of his country who would be accepted by his people, along with his order to revert to the old ways. It stung in ways Sessily hadn't imagined. A possessive shockwave swept through her body at the thought of Ahsan showing a woman the kind of passion and bliss he'd shown her last evening.
Just when she thought they might be making headway, had found some common ground, the Emir showed up and shattered the illusion. A wedding would take Ahsan off the market forever, and it sounded to her like he had no choice. The Emir was counting on Ahsan's honor not to allow the country to fall into the wrong hands, a tactic she thought might work. Ahsan seemed fiercely proud of his heritage and his country's success as a nation, and he wouldn't jeopardize that for anything.
Why should she be so upset, anyway? It wasn't as if she had the credentials to be anything more than a one night stand to him. He had a solid reputation as a playboy, a man difficult to catch. This was probably the only way any woman would ever become his wife—because there was no other alternative.
Turning away from the conference room, unable to listen to any more, Sessily made her way through the grand foyer toward the staircase. It was time to pack and prepare for departure. She had no doubt that Ahsan would be far too busy to entertain guests after this.
Distracted by her thoughts, she didn't realize a new group of people had come through the front doors until she heard someone call her name.
“Sessily!”
Shocked to realize she knew that voice, Sessily turned her full attention on the foyer. Iris stood there flanked by two official looking men in uniform. Bruises littered her face and her clothes were a ragtag mix of plain muslin and wrinkled cotton. Iris's blonde hair looked as if a brush hadn't touched it in at least a week.
“Iris!” Sessily met her sister halfway between the two points and swept her up in a tight embrace. Relief coursed through Sessily in giant waves. Her sister was safe. Ahsan's threats to lay siege to Bashir's stronghold unless Iris was returned had worked.
“He just sent me away. I don't know why or what happened. They won't make me go back, will they?” Iris said, fretful and scared.
“No, no. You're safe here.” Sessily couldn't miss the irony of her own words. She hadn't realized just how safe until it was almost too late. “Ahsan won't let anything happen to you.”
“Who is Ahsan? Is he like...them?” Iris asked, pulling back far enough to see Sessily's eyes.
“He's one of Bashir's brothers—but he's nothing like him. Trust me. I've gotten to know him over the last couple of days and Ahsan is a good man.” And she realized she really believed it. There was no doubt any longer that she had misjudged Ahsan badly. Sessily stroked her sister's hair, trying to soothe her. She couldn't imagine what hell Bashir had put her through.
“As long as you're sure.” Iris cupped Sessily's forearms and glanced through the foyer as if she was wary. Like she thought she might see Bashir walk through a doorway any moment.
“I am. Do you have anything with you? Come up to my room. I was just about to pack.” Sessily drew Iris away from the gathered personnel in the foyer toward the stairs. The waves of relief that her sister was safe remained despite the heartache she fought inside.
“Are you leaving? Where are you going?” Iris asked. “I don't have anything but the clothes on my back.”
“There has been a...situation. I'm pretty sure you and I will be returning home.” Sessily refused to dwell on the things she could not change. The strange pang in her heart threatened to become something all consuming, however, and she struggled to turn her mind from the overheard conversation.
“What kind of a situation?” Iris asked.
Sessily knew that her curious sister would keep asking questions until she found out the answers. “It's a long story. Let's save it for the trip home. Okay? Let's get you cleaned up for now and find out what's going on.”
*
There were two things in life that annoyed Ahsan no end. People who shrugged their shoulders at him, and people who thought he didn't know his own mind. Being forced to repeat himself got old quickly, and he grew impatient staring down his father.
The man, however, was right about one thing: Ahsan would not allow Afshar to fall under foreign control. No matter what it took, no matter what he had to do.
Strolling closer to the Emir, a man Ahsan had never really considered a father growing up, he said, “We all have to make sacrifices. My sacrifice is taking a throne I have no desire to sit upon. Your sacrifice is allowing me to rule the way I see fit. The people's sacrifice is learning to embrace a little change. Then, we all win. There will be no marriage and I will not alter either my political or religious beliefs. These are not negotiable conditions, father. I don't want control of the country, but if I have to take it, then I'm doing it my way. Should you change your mind and decide to hand the throne to another, send word. Otherwise, I'll prepare to ascend as soon as you arrange the ceremony.”
The Emir's jaw clenched.
Ahsan set his hand on his fragile father's shoulder, and gave it a light squeeze. Knowing the man would be in his grave soon should have had more impact on him than it did. He was not close to the Emir, had grown up independent and headstrong, bucking the system every chance he got. Only for a moment did he wish he'd had a father who cared more about his children than which one would make the best heir. The emphasis had never been on love, but power, control and cold calculation.
Stepping away, he stalked from the conference room and didn't look back. Not even when a furor erupted between advisors and other important men high in the ruling structure of the Emir's council. He noted the milling security in the foyer, near the doors, and at the mouth of the large hallways. By his order, scouts had been sent out twenty miles in all directions to look for clandestine movement that might indicate Bashir was about to strike. The palace was as secure as it was going to get.
Eli appeared almost out of nowhere, pacing at his side. “Bashir has returned Iris. Late, but she's here, and safe.”
“Really. Isn't that interesting. My brother must have taken me seriously when I said I'd bring his compound to ruin.” Ahsan snapped a look toward the sitting room where he'd suggested
Sessily wait and was about to alter course when Eli added, “They went upstairs. I had the staff take salve for Iris's wounds and some new clothes.”
“Excellent.” Ahsan left Eli to oversee the organization of military men and to deal with the Emir's advisors. He no longer expected Bashir to strike, not now when he must be aware the Emir was in residence, but Bashir had never been known for his brilliance in strategy, and so, a close watch must be kept. Anything could happen once the Emir departed, which would be within minutes unless Ahsan missed his guess.
Upstairs, he came to Sessily's door and rapped three times.
A moment later, the door opened. Sessily stood there with her luminous eyes and sober expression.
“Yes?” she asked.
“How is your sister?”
“She's coping. Come in.” Sessily stepped back to admit him.
Ahsan strode past the threshold. Iris, blonde in comparison to Sessily's auburn hair, hovered near the large bed where a suitcase lay open, half packed. Iris, shorter and more frail looking than her sister, had visible bruises on her delicate face and probably more in places he couldn't see. It infuriated him that she'd been so ill treated at the hands of his brother. What he hated more, was the wary way she watched him. Like he was an animal that might attack at any second.
“I'm sorry about your injuries,” he said right away. “Eli said he had salve sent up. If you need medical care, I'll be happy to provide it.”
“I'm fine,” Iris said, fidgeting with the edge of the suitcase.
“This is Iris. Iris, this is Ahsan,” Sessily said. She left the door open and followed Ahsan deeper into the room.
Iris paused, then said, “Nice to meet you.”
“And you,” Ahsan countered. “Is there anything else we can get you? Food, drinks?”
