Chapter Six
BEST LAID PLANS
HASSAN
( R abat, Morocco)
“You will explain yourself.” I eye the headline slammed on my desk the up to the fury etched across my father and sovereign’s face.
THE EMPRESS ABDUCTED BY CROWN PRINCE HASSAN AL RASHEED OF MOROCCO
“Is this true son?” My mother queries. Her deep brown eyes are big with concern and yet I watch as within seconds as she shrewdly pieces the events of the last few weeks together — my abrupt departure for Fez, me staying there until last night when I had meetings that could not be avoided nor delayed further and definitely not held at palace in Fez when my son is there.
My heart pangs at the thought of even leaving him this long but I promised him I’d be back to tuck him in tonight. Now seeing the news literally unfolded before me I don’t know if I will be able to but I’ll be damned if I don’t try.
Which leads me to looking my parents straight in their eyes as I admit, “Lyric, gave birth to my child, a son — his name is Ayaan, last year without my knowledge. I found out when it hit the press and Khadijah showed me his picture.”
I let the news and its meaning sink in. “When I became aware of it I brought them here for their safety.” Steepling my fingers, I let the meaning of my words lie between us, saving them from any implication of wrongdoing.
“You’ve caused an international incident, son. This person,” my father points to name circled in the second paragraph of the article, “Prosper Shipmoore is insisting that Lyric was taken off her private plane and forced here against her will. Where is she, son?” Low intense words let me know that my father fears the worst. He more than anyone knows how ruthless I can be if I am wronged.
“Hassan—” my mother’s mournful voice beseeches me when I don’t answer.
I’ve let them meddle enough in my life by going through with this wedding when I’d rather continue my pursuits in America. Sadiq and I both knew he was more ill-suited for this role than I. He would have abdicated with the first sign of Lovie-Belle showing any type of distress, and since I’d been betrothed already I went along with it. However, I draw the line when it comes to Lyric and my son. I will deal with her as I choose.
“They are both safe.” Is all I give them. I don’t need my father’s advisors in my business.
“We have to get ahead of this you understand?” Umm, says in a gentle tone that has my father shooting her a hard look. I know he wants to yell but he’d never do so in front of his beloved.
“The press are already outside our doors. Poor Khadijah has been inundated with calls since the news broke. She is so bewildered and upset. Her father sent for her, to take her away from this circus.” Umm says forlornly. She loves Khadijah like a daughter.
“How do you know this boy is your son?” Skepticism laces every hard word Baba utters.
“See for yourself. The first picture Khadijah showed us I barely paid attention to it thinking it was gossip.” Umm hands Baba her phone. Eyes wide, then mouth pressing into a grim line he states. “To secure the succession the council wide demand a DNA test.”
Nodding, I meet his unwavering gaze. I had one administered the night I retrieved them from the plane knowing this demand would eventually come.
“To mitigate any further problems you need to bring Lyric and Ayaan here so we may meet them. We will then take a few questions from the press and will have to make statement substantiating your claims. That is the only way. The US ambassador is already at my door demanding to know what is going on. He says she’s a Goodwill Ambassador for the UN and a personal friend of the president. I must be able to tell him something. You have three hours.” He sweeps from the room with my mother hot on his heels trying to soothe his distemper.
“Fuck.” Slamming my hand down on the newspaper, I crush it in my fist.
The fact that I kept my cool when Baba mentioned Bishop and Porter Shipmoore’s sister, Prosper was a feat in itself. Beautiful and a total fucking nuisance that is what she is — at least to affluent men who wives had chosen to leave them. Her, I will deal with at another time . The fight I now I have is with another difficult woman.
“The prince and Mistress Lyric are here, Your Highness.” I look up to Fariq stepping inside my office. He’ s pushed the door closed, so we won’t be overheard. The palace is a notorious hub of gossip. Though many of the staff are loyal and we rarely have leaks, Lyric, being who she is will throw all protocol out the window.
I’d not left my office since my parents left earlier. I had too many pieces to move on this chessboard of a situation. Bin Saladin has created a wrinkle that cannot be avoided. Only true heirs of Bin Saladin will be recognized. A neat little addendum Khadijah’s father added that at the time I had absolutely no problem agreeing to. All of that is moot now. The man is entirely too prideful. He will take this situation as an affront to his daughter. Already my assistant is fielding calls from him.
Before I make the decision and only true solution I have at this point thanks to the damnable meddling of Prosper Shipmoore, I must speak to the man and see if he will at lest see reason.
“Has she been briefed?” I ask him. He along with his brother and mine knows all my secrets. They were there the night to greet Lyric when she came off the elevator. If need be they can attest to the fact she stayed all night and well into the next day. DNA will not be enough when politics and the sucession is at play.
“Yes, on the way here. She’s requested to have Fi come to do her hair and make-up for the news conference.” His expression tells me nothing but the familiarity he’s using with the friend is enough.
“You will have to make sure they do not collude. Who can we trust in the women’s section?” His mouth presses into a firm line, his jaw clenches as he looks away and nods.
“Aliah,” he says offering his sister’s name without hesitation.
“She will be Lyric’s mu’allima. I have to have my most trusted people around my son.” He stiffens in attention at this praise and follows by giving me the rare salute.
“You honor my entire family, Your Highness.” He bows in gratitude. Lyric is the mother of the future king, so this is a great honor. It matters not if she’s my wife. Being part of her household elevates every person in it.
After acknowledging his gratitude, I turn to the other task at hand— calling the father of the woman whose dreams I’m about to crush.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Lyric looks up to me with solemn eyes filled with hope as soon as I stride into the room. She’s looks like the stuff of dreams. Her hair cascading down her curvy petite frame in deep lavish ebony waves. Though I loved touching her natural hair, the magnificence of the wig does justice to the occasion. She’s dressed in the American fashion but the light green wrap dress is very respectful of the traditions of my people. The colors match Ayaan’s princely attire, though he’s dressed in traditional Moroccan fashion with a tunic and pants.
“No.” Stepping past her, I scoop Ayaan up from where he’s playing on the floor.
“Baba.” He smiles, throwing his arms around me.
I feel Lyric shifting behind me. “Hassan, please. I need?—”
“Now is not the time. We have to meet my parents, then have this press conference.” Keeping my voice level as I can so I don’t upset our son. The look I give her is fierce enough to have her take a step back. All this shit is her fault. Bin Saladin is furious and his daughter is heart broken. He would not listen to reason, as I knew he wouldn’t. No man of his stature would allow his daughter to be second to someone they feel falls so far short of her in status. He raged for the better part of an hour. However, when he would not agree to amend the marriage contract to allow for Ayaan, I had no choice but to end the entire engagement. The statement to the press has already been announced. Moving quickly to offset any designs, the council or my parents have, I acted alone.
No sooner than the news hit did they hurry back into my office, making demands. I don’t take well to being told what to do, so I informed them unless they were willing to wait for my sister who is still in college to marry then they needed to give me the space and time to navigate this situation as I see fit.
“Too bad.” She grits, determination making her even more stunning, as she steps back into the space as if she’d never moved from it. “My best friend is very upset and afraid. I want her here with me and Ayaan. He misses her too.”
On cue, my son calls out “Fi.” Kicking and squirming to be put down. As soon as I acquiesce, he rushes over to where Aliah is ushering the woman into the room.
“Oh honey,” she bends low to hug him. “Fi has to go, but I will see you real soon.”
“See, I told you,” Lyric hisses, moving to pass me.
I block her path. “She’s lucky to still breathes, as are you. Your actions determine for how long for both of you.”
Even under what I’ve heard by the models I used to date call the no makeup look she’s wearing, I see her face ashen at my words.
“You’d break Ayaan’s heart like that?” Shaking her head in disbelief, she looks aghast.
“He’s barely one. He won’t even remember either of you,” I simply shrug. “You were willing to let him go without knowing me.”
Rounding on me she skewers me with a rage filled gaze. “Then why did he know you were his daddy as soon as he saw you, dumbass dummy?” Throwing her hand up dismissively, she turns, striding over to Ayaan and Fi.
After the two women hug and one final kiss to my son from Fi, I’m left with a mad as hell woman and a sad little boy.
“Ah, is this Ayaan?” Turning to the entrance of the suite I see eager wariness etched across my parents’ faces.
The meeting was at best awkward. Lyric shed all the Empress trappings and was just a nervous new mom meeting the parents of her child’s father. My parents, ever the diplomats, greeted her warmly, though apprehensively. Baba couldn’t seem to decide if he wanted to be the monarch or the granddad.
“This is jadd, and jadda,” I tell Ayaan the names for grandparents in my language. Looking up, I see tears glistening in Umm’s eyes and Baba’s are a little glassy too.
Anger that they didn’t get to hold and rock him when he was first born eats and me. Watching Lyric look on with hesitant hope only makes that anger hotter. She denied them. She denied all of us. I should have been there to see my son born into this world. I haven’t got a good answer from her why she thought to keep my son from me or what she thought she’d accomplish doing that dumb shit. She’s going to learn that fucking with me is a mistake.
Looking away, feeling the muscle tick in my jaw, I glance down at my watch. “It’s time.”
All heads pop up at that moment. Masks fall into place to present the regal family our people have come to expect. My parents — no longer the doting grandparents but the king and queen of this country. Lyric seems to take her cues from them. She’s not the biggest star in the world right now, but the mother of a prince and she takes that mantle like she was born to it. Not sure why that makes me chuffed with pride, but it does.
Lyric falls into step behind me as previously instructed. Baba and Umm lead us. The entire household lines the corridor leading to the conference room, watching our little entourage walk to where the press assembles.
Entering the room, I shield Ayaan from the flash of cameras shooting off in rapid succession. Following a step or two behind my parents, I notice how they arranged the seats. Three in front, with one to the rear of mine.
Pausing, I nod to Fariq. “Adjust the seating, so that we are all together.”
“That is not protocol,” he murmurs the needless reminder.
“This is unprecedented and aired live around the world. Placing her behind me would be seen as backward and disrespectful. She’s not some girl from a village no-one heard of. She is the Empress. Now see to it that is done.”
Pressing his lips in a firm line, he goes to do my bidding. Walking ahead of us, he smoothly places the chair beside mine as my parents take their seats. Lyric and I follow.
Pausing, I wait as she takes hers before I sit, adjusting my son in my lap.
“Baba,” Ayaan pleads, looking to me with bright, green eyes filled with worry, then to the crowd and back to me.
“Shh, it’s okay handsome boy,” Lyric soothes, “Mommy and Baba are right here.”
The immediacy with which she calms him is like a magical balm.
My father’s press secretary steps up to a dais off to the side to speak as per palace protocol. No one stands in front of the royal family.
“Ladies and gentleman the national and international press core, thank you for assembling here today for the announcement of Prince Ayaan ben Hassan Al Rasheed, first and only son of Prince Hassan ben Kareem Al Rasheed.” The uproar from this makes Ayaan flinch. “Baba,?” Small hands grab at my lapels. Helplessly, I watch fat tears fill his eyes and roll down his cheek. He whimpers with fear at the cacophony of clicks and shouts ensuing from the assembly.
“Let me have him.” Lyric’s already reaching for him. As much as it pains me to do it, I know she is better equipped to take care of him in these types of situations.
“Quiet please,” the press secretary says over and over again, to no avail.
I stand. I can feel my parents’ stunned expression on me at this breach of protocol. But they don’t see or choose not to acknowledge Lyric trying to calm my frightened son.
“You will cease or this event will be canceled. You are upsetting my son,” I snap to the room at large, noting all the bad actors. One would think they’re dogs being thrown raw meat.
The rooms quiets. I take my seat.
“Ahem,” the moderator inquires with look my father’s way and begins after he receives a nod, “We shall begin with the questions. You may ask one question and have a follow up.”
“Yes?” he motions to the crowd and a woman stands.
“Your Highness, when did you find out about the child?” She gives Lyric a look of speculative disdain.
“What mattes is the kingdom has been blessed with another heir.” I smile at her.
“Are we sure he is, in fact, your heir? Has there been a DNA test to confirm?” Her followed up is expected, still I can feel Lyric bristling beside me.
“It’s confirmed.” I don’t give more details than necessary, having done this for the better part of my life. Give them nothing to run with. Nothing to pin you down with. If I confirm a test was given, they will demand to see it. Plastering the results for the world to see. I will not make a spectacle of my child for their amusement. He already has enough to bear as my heir.
The reporter sits and there is a flurry of more questions, each more targeted and accusatory towards Lyric. Glancing over, I do a quick check, noticing Ayaan has fallen asleep and Lyric’s soft humming has ceased. Her eyes remain locked on his sleeping face as though concentrating on him will block out all she is facing.
“Your Highness, how do you know this is not some elaborate trap to make the Empress a Queen?” The inquiry is so disrespectful, my head snaps around to the man who’d dare to insult the mother of my child.
“You will apologize immediately.” My tone is low. I, more than anyone, know this was not a trap. If she shied away from telling me because this is what she feared, then this ignoramus justified her actions with his heinous words.
Jhori Bin Saladin has released a statement saying that you have caused great dishonor to his house, so you could legitimize your son at the expense of his daughter. He demands that you set aside the concubine and honor the contract. He is calling the council and other governing provinces to demand the wedding take place and that you set aside the child and his mother. What is your response, Your Highness.”
I rise from my chair then. Turning, I take Ayaan, tucking him into my neck, holding him close with one arm. Taking Lyric’s hand, I help her rise to stand beside me. My parents rise and come to stand. We are united as a family before the press and all who have assembled. Then I announce to the press core and the world at large.
“Rest assured, there will be a wedding and I will not set aside my child, Prince Ayaan Ben Hassan Al Rasheed. He is my heir and successor. His brothers and sisters will be my also heirs and successors. I will marry his mother, Lyric to ensure this.”
The small gasp beside me is the only thing that resonates in the chaos that follows.