‘DECLINE.’
Sheikh Prince Zahid’s response was immediate.
The king, his son and Abdul, the king’s chief aide, were walking through the second palace of Ishla, discussing the refurbishments that were necessary if it were to be inhabited again. As they walked Abdul discussed the diaries of the royal prince and king and raised the matter of Donald Foster’s wedding.
The Fosters had always imbued a certain discomfort in Zahid—loud, brash, their egos and need to further themselves at all costs had not sat comfortably with Zahid. As he had matured he had done his best to politely sever contact but Donald had remained persistent and they still occasionally kept in touch.
‘But Donald has asked you to be his best man.’
Zahid’s jaw tightened a fraction as Abdul spoke on. Zahid had not told his father that just last week Donald had called, asking him if he would be his best man at his wedding to Yvette. Zahid had said to Donald that, while flattered, he had duties in his homeland at that time and would not be able to attend. He had rather hoped that that would be the end of it, but of course Donald had persisted and it would now appear that a formal invitation had been sent, along with a repeated request that Zahid be Donald’s best man. ‘I have already explained that I cannot attend his wedding,’ Zahid said to Abdul. ‘Offer my apologies and arrange a gift...’
‘Donald Foster?’ The King halted and turned round and Zahid silently cursed Abdul for insisting that they go through the diaries now. He had been hoping that his father would not find out. ‘That is the man who saved our family from shame...’
‘That was a very long time ago, Father.’
‘Our country has a long memory,’ the king responded. ‘You owe that man...’
‘I have more than repaid my debt to him.’
Over and over Zahid had repaid his debt to Donald—he had been his friend when, perhaps, Zahid would rather not have been, he had secured invitations to functions that Donald would never have got into had he not asked Zahid to intervene, and over the years Donald had also borrowed significant amounts of money and made no effort to pay him back.
‘Were it not for Donald,’ the king pointed out, ‘you would have been brought into disrepute. More than that, you would have brought our country into disrepute. When is the wedding?’
‘It is in two weeks,’ Abdul said, then looked at Zahid. ‘We could rearrange your schedule.’
‘First a wedding and, given the speed it’s been arranged, soon it will be a christening...’ Zahid pointed out, and the King tutted.
‘I would support a polite declining of your attendance at a christening for a child conceived out of wedlock, as would our people, but the wedding...’
To the king’s surprise, Zahid took no more persuading, for he interrupted with a brief nod and then turned to Abdul. ‘Very well, arrange my schedule but make it a brief visit, two nights at the most. I will fly out the day after the wedding.’
‘If only it were that easy to get you to agree to more pressing matters,’ Fahid commented, but Zahid did not respond, for he knew what was coming next—his father had brought him here for a reason, Zahid was sure. ‘We need to speak about the renovations that are needed here.’
Memories stirred for both the king and Abdul as they walked through the second jewel of Ishla. The second palace was where Zahid and his sister Layla had been born and raised. Even on their mother’s death, when Zahid had been seven, they had lived here. The king had been heartbroken at the death of his wife, Annan, but thanks to the privacy the second palace had afforded them, he had been able to grieve largely in private.
Zahid deliberately kept his face impassive as they discussed the work that needed doing, but he knew that just the fact his father had chosen to speak with him here meant that the reins were tightening.
His father had long since wanted him to choose a suitable bride. So far Zahid had resisted, he liked his freedom far too much, but this was a working royal family and Zahid’s skills in engineering were being utilised, his vision for Ishla was taking shape, and more and more his time was spent here.
It was time for Zahid to raise a family.
‘There is much work to be done,’ Abdul said. ‘The chief architect is concerned about some erosion on the cliff face and, as we thought, the great hall and the master suite are in need of structural repair.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘Six months to a year is his best estimate,’ Abdul said, and went into further detail. It wasn’t as simple as commencing work—the second palace contained many valuable pieces that would need to be catalogued and stored before work could even begin.
‘You do realise, Zahid,’ the king said to his eldest son, ‘that once it gets out that activity has commenced at the second place, our people will assume that we are preparing the palace for the crown prince and his bride.’
‘I do,’ Zahid replied.
‘And does six months to one year sound like a time-frame you could operate within?’
Black eyes met black eyes and there was a small stand-off. The king had raised a leader, which meant Zahid would not simply be told what he should do.
‘I think that at this stage, it would be premature to go ahead with the renovations.’ Zahid did not flinch as he defied his father’s request that he marry soon.
‘Your country wants to know that they have a prince who will—’
‘They have a prince,’ Zahid calmly interrupted, ‘who shall one day rule fairly and wisely. I do not need a bride to assure them of that.’
‘You need an heir,’ the king said. ‘If something should happen to you, they need to know that the line will continue.’ He let out an irritated breath. Zahid refused to be pushed into anything, which the king grudgingly admired, but the people needed reassuring. Time was running out for the king and so he chose now to play the one card he had that just might persuade Zahid to submit to his will. ‘Of course, should something happen to you, it would be Layla’s son who would be next in line.’
Zahid’s jaw gritted because Layla did not have a husband, let alone a son.
‘Perhaps,’ the king continued, ‘if the crown prince chooses not to marry yet, another royal wedding might appease the people.’
‘Father...’ Zahid addressed him as a father and not a king, trying to reach for his softer side, for the king truly adored his daughter. ‘Layla does not like any of her prospective husbands.’
‘Layla needs to understand that with privilege comes responsibility. I am thinking of inviting the Fayeds to dine here at the palace next week.’
Zahid thought about Layla, who had kicked, screamed and bitten when her father had once attempted to drag her out to meet suitors.
She was a rebel, a challenge, and reminded him of...
Perhaps it was the wedding invitation but Zahid’s mind drifted back in time and he recalled Trinity. Not the kiss but the fire in her eyes and a spirit that would not be crushed. Imagine Trinity being forced to marry. It would never happen.
‘You wouldn’t do that to Layla,’ Zahid said, but the king nodded for Abdul to leave them for a moment and, once alone, he addressed his son.
‘Today there are reports in the news that I have lost weight. Last week it was reported that during my last overseas trip I was hospitalised. Soon I will not be well enough to leave Ishla for my treatments and the people will know that I have little time left. They need to know the future is secure.’ It was said without emotion and should be accepted the same way. Feelings were frowned upon, especially for a male royal, but Zahid could not allow Layla to be used as a pawn. If he married then he could change things for Layla, who, unlike him, believed