The Sheikh's Destiny

by Olivia Gates

  Laylah grinned up at Rashid. “Guess you were right about my code name here.” She turned her best demolishing glance on Amjad. “Not that anyone can accuse you of knowing how to hang on to your treasures, as evidenced by what happened to the Pride of Zohayd, your foremost one. So hang on to your sanity, Amjad. Rashid is a world-renowned authority in sanity extraction, among other...extractable things. I leave you to his not-so-tender mercies, taal omrak.”

  Amjad let out a spectacular snort at her tagging the king’s hail of “may you live long” to her irreverence. Then she stood on tiptoe and pressed a clinging kiss to Rashid’s lips.

  Before he forgot Amjad and the watchful eyes of the palace dwellers and crushed her to him, she drew away with a smile that lit his existence before almost dancing away.

  Feeling bereft already without her, his gaze clung to her as she receded. And he registered where they were for the first time.

  The royal palace of Zohayd was right up there with the Taj Mahal in splendor and intricacy of design, and even more extensive. The mid-seventeenth-century palace that had taken more than three decades and thousands of artisans and craftsmen to build had once been his playground and domain along with Haidar and Jalal from age eight to twenty. He’d taken as much pride and pleasure in it as they had before his stays here had declined until they’d stopped altogether, around ten years ago.

  It felt so strange to be back after everything that had happened since to pollute his memory. Nostalgia was like a wave that crashed down on him as he walked through this place again, felt its history and the grandeur saturating its walls, permeating his senses with bittersweet memories. On account of its being Laylah’s home, not the stage where chunks of his life had been played. It had been mostly here where he’d seen her and dared not dream of her. Now she was here with him. It made being here again so...poignant.

  Amjad, the self-appointed poignancy disperser, flicked a hand at Laylah as she disappeared around a bend. “Are you as viciously intelligent as you look? Did you latch onto Laylah when you thought you were ‘worthy’ of her for the right reasons? Do you realize what a miracle she is? The product of Medusa and Narcissus should have been a man-eating gorgon, not the most sensitive, selfless being to walk the earth. That she’s female, too, makes her a veritable impossibility.”

  Now that Amjad was singing Laylah’s praises, Rashid no longer felt like wiping the palace floor with him face-first.

  Still looking where Laylah had disappeared, as if to bask in her echoes, he sighed. “Just what I was thinking. Before your insufferable, inflammatory intrusion on our privacy.”

  “Insufferable, inflammatory intrusion? Can you say that five times in quick succession?” Amjad suddenly slapped him on the back. “So how did you do it?”

  Struggling not to rearrange the king’s well put-together face, Rashid gritted, “Not choke you for all the insensitivities you poured on Laylah’s head? You’re only still breathing because I need you to do some talking on my behalf.”

  Amjad’s guffaw was all enjoyment now. “I may like you yet.” Another back slap. “And by do it, I mean Laylah.” At Rashid’s growl, Amjad held up his hands. “To quote Laylah, ‘down boy.’ I mean—apart from her sharper-than-I-remember tongue—that was a woman fathoms deep in love. I know the symptoms well. My Maram looks and sounds like that around me.”

  “It must be the era of impossibilities.”

  Amjad laughed again. “Yeah, I still can’t figure out why Maram loves me. But I always figured Laylah’s obsession with you stemmed from your unavailability. Now you’re all over her, not to mention a far deteriorated version of your younger self. What’s keeping someone like her interested in someone like you?”

  “If you mean my scar...”

  “Please. That’s your one interesting feature. Provides you with character. Also proves you’re human, since there have been major doubts about that. Nah, it has nothing to do with what you look like, and everything to do with what you are like. You’re one dour, ruthless, unstable son of a bitch. Don’t get me wrong, it makes you my kind of guy, but how can Laylah, that perpetual ray of sunshine, stand you?”

  He forced out a breath. “How does your Maram stand you?”

  “She does because we’re alike. When you take away all the human traits I lack, she’s got a razor for a mind and a scythe for a tongue, too. I don’t believe in this opposites attract thing.”

  “Laylah and I are not opposites. We’re very much alike, too.”

  Amjad snorted again. “Now I’ve heard it all.”

  “Think about it. As you pointed out, she is practically as parentless as I am. She has felt alone and out of place all her life, as I have. She’s felt responsible for other people’s crimes and punished herself for them.”

  “Her mother’s crimes and your guardian’s, huh? Now that you point it out, yeah, I can see the resemblance in all the major stuff.” Amjad gave him an assessing glance. “So what’s your real plan?”

  Ten

  Rashid’s heart slammed against his ribs.

  Amjad still suspected him? How, when he no longer had a plan?

  He only had the truth to contribute. “I plan to dedicate my life to honoring her, to serving and championing her.”

  “Not to loving her?” Amjad tsked. “Women are fond of this part almost to the exclusion of all else.”

  And he did something he’d never thought he would: appealed to that maddening man. “You’re a man in love, Amjad. Look at me and tell me you don’t see your symptoms all over me.”

  After another protracted glance, Amjad let out a laugh. “And how. The trappings of eshg—extreme and unremitting love, though they clash on you like a pink dress on a grizzly bear—are all over you. But you have something against saying the words, right?”

  “The words don’t do justice to what I feel for her.”

  Amjad huffed again. “Been there, done that. And you’ll invent new ways and words to transmit the enormity of your feelings. But those simple words, with the truth of your emotions behind them, have a way of transmitting exactly how you feel to your loved one. So word of advice—don’t leave it too long without saying them, or she might have trouble getting comfortable hearing or believing them when you finally do.”

  It was Rashid’s turn to scoff. “Now I’ve heard everything. You, giving me romantic advice?”

  “That’s for the cousin and sister who was the only beacon of brightness in this gloomy place for over two decades.” Amjad suddenly made a hurrying gesture. “C’mon. Grovel already.”

  Giving Amjad a look that said he would make him grovel someday, Rashid said, “I ask that you gather the Aal Shalaan family tribunal to sanction giving me Laylah’s hand in marriage.”

  A “gotcha” smile split Amjad’s face. “You really are stuck in some desert knight folktale, aren’t you? ‘Tribunal’, indeed.”

  Rashid counted to ten. “It’s your family tradition.”

  “Tradition bladition. I’m King of Zohayd, pal. I play chess with those tribunal members. Just wait until I’m making them jump three diagonal moves ahead then back.”

  “So it’s your decision that counts. Zain. Make your demands.”

  Amjad poked a finger at Rashid’s temple, rapped it three times. “Any rudimentary sense of humor in there?”

  Rashid swatted his hand away. “I’ll snark your head off, Ya Maolai, as soon as Your Majesty approves my proposal. Or knock it off if you refuse it.”

  Amjad raised his arms up theatrically. “He lives!” One of his arms suddenly came around Rashid’s shoulder, leading him toward the main palace hall. “Just because I now have hope that you won’t bore Laylah to the point where she’d plot to be rid of you, I’ll consider your proposal. But first, about those seven tasks...”

  He knocked Amjad’s arm off his shoulder. “No wonder your ex-wife tried to off you.”

  Amjad’s grin was as unrepentant as ever. “She did when I had some propriety. Imagine what she would have done now.”r />
  “Shoot you, most probably.”

  “Is that what you feel like doing?”

  “I would gladly kill anyone who would stand between me and Laylah. Or at least make him wish he was dead. Care to try?”

  Amjad pretended horror. “You’ll add me to your inventory of revenge? Will I tail the list after Haidar and Jalal?”

  “Come between Laylah and I, and you’ll reserve your spot at the top.”

  Amjad stuck his face into his. “You think you can take me?”

  “I don’t think. I know. And there wouldn’t be much left of you once I’m done. And you know it.”

  Amjad’s guffaw boomed again. “And he wins himself a doll.”

  “I swear, Amjad, if you don’t stop yanking my chain, taal omrak won’t be a concept that will apply to you anymore.”

  “You know, Rashid, I would have kicked you out on your ear with the first sign of kissing up. But you threatened to kill me instead, so I think I’m in love. Yep, rejoice. You passed.” His arm was over Rashid’s shoulder once more. “How about we go pretend that family ‘tribunal’ of mine actually matters?”

  Still afraid to rejoice, Rashid hissed, “Didn’t you say your word is everything, O king of all you survey?”

  “It is. But you’ll be king of the headache-inducing but inevitably inseparable Azmahar soon. You will be the one constant partner in my political bed. I’m doing myself a favor showing you the ropes of kingship. Yeah, I’m into training allies to my preferences. I’m charitable like that.”

  Rashid stilled. That was totally unexpected. That Amjad would bring up the idea of Rashid becoming king of Azmahar. And in this way. What was his game?

  He probed, hoping to gain more insight. “It’s strange that you’d assume I would be king with your two brothers running against me.”

  Amjad gave a dismissing wave. “Haidar and Jalal would make decent kings, I guess, but their hearts aren’t really in it. Yours is. You have more at stake in Azmahar and that is why you’ll reap the votes.”

  Digesting this unforeseen development, Rashid put all his cards on the table, even if it was for a game he no longer cared about in the least. “I wouldn’t without your alliance. Which they have in full.”

  Amjad gave a masterful imitation of affront. “Because they’re my brothers? Nepotism? Moi? Tut-tut, shame on you. Have you forgotten they’re only my half brothers? With Sondoss’s blood running in their veins, actually half demon. Considering you’re only half oaf, you win in that context, too.”

  Rashid looked heavenward. “Do you ever stop?”

  “No. Maram won’t let me.”

  Rashid tried one last time. “Are you ever serious?”

  Those impossibly green eyes smoldered with a complex intelligence that had Rashid realizing this man saw and understood everything. “I’m always serious. I say what others are too shy or cowardly or merciful to say. Think back and you’ll find I said nothing but the whole truth all through this bracing encounter.” He clapped his hand once. “Now, from a full-fledged king to an embryonic one, let me give you an introductory course in dealing with pompous asses.”

  Rashid let Amjad put an arm around his shoulder this time. “You must be an authority on your own species.”

  Amjad chuckled. “I can still give you a hard time, you know.”

  “Knock yourself out. Name whatever price or mission. I’ll surpass any so there won’t be any shadow of owing you a thing.”

  “You can never repay what you’ll owe me. Your eternal happiness with Laylah. Face it, Rashid. I own you.”

  He shrugged Amjad’s arm off again. “Tell you what. Save it. I’ll take Laylah up on her offer and elope.”

  Amjad’s considering glance lengthened this time. “She’s your Achilles’ heel, isn’t she?”

  “You’re all Greek mythology today, aren’t you?”

  Amjad gave a mock serious nod. “I’ve expended the Indian and Middle Eastern myths on Haidar and Jalal in the past two days.”

  After that, Amjad remained miraculously silent as they passed through the majestic marble corridors adorned in the most intricate and magnificently designed colored mosaics toward the palace’s great hall.

  As they approached the hall’s twenty-foot gilded double doors, Amjad suddenly spoke again, continuing his previous point seamlessly. “It balances you, grounds you, being so totally vulnerable to her.” He winked. “It makes you a man at last.” At Rashid’s exasperated exhalation, Amjad added, “It’s not a slur on your manhood. This time. I think a man can’t call himself that until a woman has him totally whipped.”

  Unbelievable as it was, this Amjad was turning out to be one insightful and romantic fellow. “Like Maram has you?”

  The smile that wreathed Amjad’s face was the very essence of longing and indulgence, as if he was transmitting it to his wife. Rashid somehow believed Maram would feel it. “And then some. I gave up everything I had and was for her. I would give up far more if she’d let me. You’d do the same for Laylah, wouldn’t you?”

  “I would.”

  At his nonnegotiable answer, Amjad patted Rashid on the back as they entered the grand hall. “Then there’s no rush with those seven tasks, Hercules. You’ll be spreading them out throughout your lives together.” He suddenly shuddered. “Just seeing her in labor is going to teach you the meaning of terror and take you to the limit of your endurance and beyond.” They’d stopped in the middle of the expansive hall, below the hundred-foot central dome where Laylah’s male kin were gathered in rows like a Roman senate, when Amjad gave him a playful punch. “You lucky bastard.”

  * * *

  It was a marvel watching Amjad in action.

  As he informed the Aal Shalaan elders that Rashid was going to marry Laylah, Amjad did the opposite of what kings, or anyone sane, should and had been known to do. In the past twenty minutes Rashid had watched him put down, make fun of and alienate everyone in the hall, including his father, in lieu of courting their favor. It was staggering how fluently and inventively he did it. But what was truly flabbergasting was that everyone loved him for it. They not only obeyed him, they practically invited him to walk all over them some more.

  Maybe he should take private lessons in Amjad’s School of Kingship, after all.

  Suddenly, every thought in his mind dispersed as they walked out of the hall, only to be filled with one thing. Laylah.

  She was striding toward him from the other end of the grand corridor, her dress’s looseness only emphasizing her lethal curves, its cream color accentuating her sunlit hair, skin and eyes.

  She had a taller woman with her. Maram, Amjad’s wife and Queen of Zohayd. But though Maram’s flawless complexion and silky hair approximated Laylah’s hues, they didn’t strike anything inside him like the burn of appreciation Laylah’s did.

  The moment it took to register Maram dissolved, everything gravitating to the center of his universe again. It struck him again how pleasurable it was to behold Laylah, how beautiful he found her. How terrified he was that this miracle wouldn’t come to pass.

  Suppressing the need to run to meet her halfway, he watched her and Maram approach, weighed down by the worry that kept ambushing him—that it would be impossible for everything to keep going so smoothly, incapacitating him further with each attack.

  Maram flowed into Amjad’s arms as if slotting into her other half. Then Laylah, flaunting tradition and inciting kingdom-wide wagging tongues, did the same with him. It was frowned upon for married couples to indulge in physical affection in public. It was unheard of between the unmarried.

  Most likely presuming his stiffness was caused by his sense of propriety, Laylah grinned up at him. “Did those fossils agree to let you take me off the shelf or do I have to go in there and show them what the last remaining, if fraying around the edges, Zohaydan treasure will do if they snap her last decaying nerve?”

  Maram groaned. “Those expressions reek of Amjad.”

  Laylah giggled. “Discipline him fo
r me, will you?”

  “It’ll be my pleasure.” Maram chuckled. “Though I suspect it will be his, too. I think he misbehaves on purpose.”

  Amjad pulled his wife deeper into his embrace. “Like any love-slave worth his salt, I live to provoke my next punishment.”

  As Maram laughed her pleasure, Laylah prodded him. “Well? Any need for drastic action on my side?”

  Before Rashid got his constricted throat to work, Amjad produced the phone his kabeer al yaweran—his head of royal guard—had handed him as they’d exited the hall.

  He gave it to Laylah. “I thought you should have an audio memento of me kicking our family’s ass as I acquired for you the groom who’s going to save you from a fate worse than death.”

  “You recorded the meeting?” Laylah exclaimed as she pounced on the phone and a chill assailed Rashid when she let him go. Then he once again heard the medley of abuse Amjad had exposed his family to. Amjad hadn’t even introduced Rashid’s proposal, had only pulverized everyone to their true size before announcing the upcoming marriage as a fact, and announcing that he’d be passing the royal decree documents for everyone to stamp with their house seal.

  After gaping through the playback, Laylah squealed, “Amjad! You insane, incredible man, you!”

  Amjad waved her delight away. “I don’t do presents, so consider this my gift for the duration of your dual lifetimes.”

  Laylah gave him a squeezing hug. “Oh, Amjad, I love you!”

  Amjad pushed out of her arms, a stern finger raised at her. “Don’t do or say that again. And I mean ever.”

  Laylah winked at Maram. “Your mistress/owner will sanction the occasional hug from the universal kid sister around here.”

  Amjad’s head jerk indicated Rashid, who’d taken an involuntary threatening step closer. “It’s someone twice her size and who packs the wallop of a weapon of mass destruction that I’m worried about. Explaining this kid-sister thing to that monolith you brought home might not work. Or it might, and he’d still take my head off just because I’m male and you came in contact with me.”