Chapter Fourteen
PRINCESS OF THE PEOPLE
LYRIC
“ S hukran” the little girl smiles her thanks up at me as I pass her a bundle of clothes to go along with the care package that Fi has already given her parents. Nodding their thanks, the young family moves to the other volunteers who will give them a voucher for housing, prepaid debit card for food and other necessities she and the family may need.
“They love you. Maybe as much as the people back home. You’re doing so much good. You always do.” Turning, I look up into Fi’s smiling face. Her words a balm to my soul.
Going out several times a week to help those affected by the earthquake has restored not only my reputation, but my mental health. I don’t care how gilded a cage is, it’s still a cage. I can use the vast resources of the palace to help people as much as I can. The press coverage has grudgingly acknowledged my work, even though they constantly question my motives. Yet once the people come in contact with me, they seem to brighten towards me.
“I’m not mad about it.” I quip, smiling at the next family in line. “You know we don’t know how to do half measures.” Filling the parcels with goods and clothing. I notice their teen daughter holding her phone, looking at me with hope.
“Would you like to take a picture with me?” I ask, through the helpful translator Indigo, the palace, has provided. How this girl ended up here working in the Palace is a question for the ages and I can’t wait to get some time alone with her to ask. However, as usual, my time is never my own. And to be seen gossiping with the staff is highly frowned upon by the palace officials.
“She says yes, if it pleases you, mistress,” Indigo provides with a cheeky smile, knowing I hear that phrase often enough to know that particular phrase. My language skills are getting better, though some of the nuances are tricky with the various dialects. Still, I am determined. I don’t like the fact that people could be speaking about me in negative terms in my own household when I’m not aware.
Scooting past Indigo, I go over to the girl. We do a couple of selfies. My little teen fangirls posting on their social media has done so much to help me re-establish my place as the Empress. All the love and personal stories have nearly undone the bad press I’ve gotten since my shot-gun wedding to their beloved prince.
After hugs to the girl and her mom, I move back behind the table with Fi and Indigo.
“The line is thinning. Do you want to take a break?” Fi asks. Checking the veracity of their words, I shake my head. “Nah, there’s not that many people. We can finish, then we can head home.” Funny that I think of the palace as my home when it should be anything but. There is still gossip about Hassan and my relationship making it to the tabloids and gossip blogs. Feeling like I had no choice I gave Fi permission to each out to Joi to try to counter some of the narrative of me being a gold digging, diva who trapped their noble prince only to make him so miserable that he won’t even come home to the palace his family’s inhabited for millennia.
Turning back to the people, I try to push down the hurt just thinking of it evokes. Since the night a couple of weeks ago, when I rode home with Hassan, he’s been a ghost. Only seeing Ayaan when I’m not there.
The times when I know he’s in residence, I hesitate to intrude, thinking of the last time I tried to reach out to him and the awful fight that ensued.
“Oh, you’re sad again.” Indigo observes, looking from me to the people.
“The smile that you’ve pasted on doesn’t help, sis. It makes you look even more pitiful. Stop letting that motherfucker ruin your day.” Fi’s admonishment does the job intended. Snapping me out of my morose thoughts and shocking the innocence out of Indigo.
“You’re a mess.” I tell her. “You can’t be talking like that around Indigo.” Nudging her side, I add. “Apologize.”
“Sorry, Indigo.” Fi says not meaning it at all.
“You’re so hoodly.” Indigo quips back, rolling her eyes.
“It’s hood and you have no idea.” Fi counters, blasting the new arrivals with a dazzling smile.
“Mistress.” I look up at one of the Red Crescent workers approaching me.
“Yes?” I asked the woman who I put to a task when the second time I volunteered.
“We found him.” She smiles at me.
“You have?” I all but squeal at her words.
“If you will come with me. I can introduce you to Zayn.” She says over her shoulder, beckoning me to follow her.
“His parents?” I ask speeding up to follow her quickened pace as Indigo and Fi fall in behind me.
“Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un,” my heart sinks as she says the words of condolence — “We belong to Allah and to Him we shall return.”
“Does he have any family?” She shakes her head as we enter the building that houses families in transition.
“They were all lost.” Opening the door for us, she allows us to enter a small room where a little boy who can’t be more than three plays quietly on the floor with puzzles.
“Zayn,” Indigo translates as she calls over to him. “Someone very special would like to meet you.”
My kaftan pools around me as I get on the little boy’s level to greet him.
His little smile is warm as he says, “As-salāmu ?Alaykum,,” in a still baby like way.
He giggles at my response. I spend the next few moments getting acquainted with Zayn, playing with puzzles. He’s thoughtful in helping me place the pieces and so clever with figuring them out. He even laughed at my corny antics.
“I think Ayaan would love him.” I tell Fi and Indigo after we settle into the car and head back to the palace.
“Um..” Fi casts a worried look at the driver. The partition is down. Pressing the button to raise it I sign, “What?”
“Other than, I know like hell you ain’t thinking of bringing that baby into that mess of a palace?” Her eyes round like she knows I’ve lost all sense.
“He doesn’t have a family.” I shrug.
“And you think that bringing him into this situation is what’s best? I know you love Josephine Baker, but you sound really ridiculous right now” she shakes her head in stiff disapproval. “No ma’am, Hassan is not even speaking to you.”
“And why is that Fi?” I charge, feeling like she’s attacking me.
“I was trying to help us out of this situation.” Crossing her arms, she turns away.
“I know that, and I’m willing to take those consequences. It’s just —” My words choke.
“You’re the one suffering.” She tries to finish, but I’m already shaking my head.
“No. I just can’t be so bogged down in what I’m going through that I forget about other people and that little baby doesn’t have anyone. We both know what that’s like — at least until we found each other.” I hear a sniff and for realize Indigo’s been here the entire time witnessing our fight and subsequent make up. If she’s the mole, it’ll be all over the blogs, but knowing she’s had access to way worse information about me like walking in on me sobbing my eyes out after hearing that Hassan had taken Ayaan for the day without even greeting me that never leaked reassures me she can be trusted.
“Sorry Mistress, I love the way you two love each other. Such good sisters.” Her eyes are wet with tears.
I’m second from drawing her in for a hug when there’s a loud screech, then a boom. Our car rattles like a tin can, then starts careening down the hill the SUV and the caravan of security vehicles ahead and behind us are traveling.
“Argh,” we crying in unison all of us clinging together as the driver loses control then tries to right us, making a sharp turn in the opposite direction only for another boom and screech to hit us sending us sailing over the edge of the hill.
We’d been told to wear our seatbelts, no exceptions. We complied because one thing having a child brings into context is the brevity of life and the chances you are willing to take before you become a parent seem selfish at best once you hold the life of a little child and all their hope for the future in your hands.
Still, the seat belt does nothing against the jarring viciousness of the turbulence we experience until the vehicle comes to a pitiful stop at the bottom.
“Fi, Indigo?” Disoriented, I look around at my companions. Both are unconscious. Indigo’s beautiful face has a vicious slash going down the side of it. Blinking, I feel wet stickiness sliding down my nose. Reaching up to wipe it away, I smell the copper scent of my blood even before I bring my fingers into my line of sight.
Looking to the left, I squeeze my eyes shut against the pain stabbing at my forehead. Blindly reaching up, I feel for the cause. “Ow.” Jerking back my hand, I see where I’ve cut my fingers. I have a shard of glass sticking out of my forehead. I grab the scarf I’d been wearing and use it to pull the shard free.
Blood pours from my head before I can staunch it. “Ugh,” I moan in pain, pressing the wadded silk against my forehead. Holding it steady with trembling hands, I wrap the scarf tightly around my head. I hope that will stop the flow.
Now, I turn again. “Fi.” I scream, seeing my friend slumped over against the door. There is blood residue beside her head on the tempered glass.
“Fi.” Now it comes out like a pitiful whimper, one that screams of fear.
Knowing better than to jostle or try to move either of them, I look ahead. “Asif.” My stoic driver, who I’m pretty sure didn’t like me, is half way out of the windshield. His head sits at an awkward angle and his eyes are open, glassy as he stares off into nothing.
Hot tears spill down my face. He’s been with me every day. Silent but always on time. Always carrying the packages of gifts and crafts, people have given me, Ayaan and Hassan without complaint. This man has a family and people he cares for and now they’ve lost him because of me.
I speak a blessing over him, then squeezing through the partition to get into the from seat. Craning my sore neck, I look where we came down the hill and my heart stops. A full on firefight is going on. The top of the hill has a contingent of the palace guard and my personal security in battle with men dressed in fatigues. They could be professionals or a militant group, but the battle that’s waging is going to cost a lot of lives.
My team is not that big. The other group, in contrast, has three times as many people. Fear burns a hole in my chest as I think of Ayaan waiting on me and me never returning to him.
I don’t know they noticed that I’m not among the group of SUVs taking fire from the combatants or if they think I’m already dead, but no one is making a move towards us down here in the crumpled car.
There is a chime. Looking up, I see that it is Asif’s phone peeking out the pocket of his suit pants.
Grabbing it, I press the button.
“Is she dead?” It takes me a moment to decipher the cultured Arabic coming in over the phone.
“Brother? — Brother?”
Not wanting to give the dastard any indication of my wellbeing, I sit quietly as he calls for his brother twice more before hanging up.
Betrayal sits like a hot coal in my heart. He hated me. Wanted me dead and still help me without complaint every day.
That kind of treachery I’m used to in the industry I work in but not in my own house — at least not since I became an adult. If I could unshed the tears I shed for him a few moments prior, I would.
I press the icon for the palace, knowing I’m taking a chance with my life. What if one of his cohorts answers and lets the other traitors know that I’m alive? I’m about to change my mind when the phone answers.
“Asif? Are you well? Is the royal consort safe? Their Royal Highnesses demand to know.”
The urgency of the words that I can pick out through the rushing bombardment is enough to encourage me to speak.
“Hello? This is Lyric. I’m alive.”
A few days later…
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine, this little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine —”
“Mistress.” Looking up, I see Aliah at the entrance of the guest suite the queen had set up for Fi after the palace doctor and specialist declared there was nothing we could do but wait for her to wake up.
She’s suffered a severe concussion and dislocated shoulder from the accident — correction attack. Indigo’s fared better if such a thing could even be said after having her beautiful face slashed so viciously. The pain in her eyes made me sick with shame. No one deserves that.
I’ve been by both their sides since I got the all clear from the doctors. Bringing Ayaan with me each time as I’ve traversed the suite of guest rooms adjacent to the other.
Ayaan made Indigo smile every time we visited her and today she even joined in as we sang with her. She even asked for the newest copy of a fantasy, Oathbound that she heard was all the rage back home.
All her enthusiasm even has me — a dark and urban romance reader interested.
“Yes?” I ask Moussa and Fariq’s sister, knowing she also gathering information for her brothers not only about Fi, who Fariq’s besotted by but also for the royal family about me. Their concern is nice, but I won’t be trusting anyone in this palace until the culprits are caught.
Somehow, all the attackers are dead either at the hands of my security or by suicide. A little bit too convenient. Making matters worse, I’ve been regulated to my suites and garden at the prince’s directive, which was only reconsidered after I appealed to the queen.
Hassan is a fucking tyrant, and that’s the nicest thing I can say about him at the moment. Not once has he come to check on me or my friends since the attack.
His mom contends he was distraught when they brought me in unconscious and stayed by my side as I was treated.
However, I’ve not seen him once since I woke the next day. Only told that I couldn’t see my friends until the symptoms of my concussion were alleviated.
Umm, as she insists I call her, says he’s been busy rooting out those responsible. Still, I can’t help but think if he really cared, he’d have come seen about me once.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Hassan, has requested Prince Ayaan be brought to him for an audience.” She steps towards me and my arm instinctively tightens around my son. It’s not that I don’t trust her. I do. What I don’t trust or like is how Hassan is carving out time with my son away from me, as though he is conditioning Ayaan to being with us separately. He’s been divvying up the time between us and though I noticed it earlier, I thought it was because of how hectic his schedule was and him still being angry over what he believed I had done. Now, I see how wrong I was. This is a deliberate move on his part.
My only other question is, if he’s doing it so that we maintain separate residences or he intends to take my child from me? An icky feeling tells me it is the later.
“I’ll take him to his father.” I cooly inform her.
“Mistress—”
“I said what I said, Aliah. Please lead the way.” Giving her a determined smile, I nod for her to take us to Hassan.
“Thank you,” I say as we enter the suite we all share. He must have really not expected me to leave Fi’s side if he chose the rooms he’s all but fled to spend time with our son.
“Baba,” Ayaan singsongs squirming to get down so he can toddle over to his dad.
“Abn. My sweet precious boy.” Hassan gets down on his haunches with his arms spread wide so Ayaan can run into them.
Sweeping him up, he kisses his cheek, closing his eyes, as he hugs him. I can’t take my eyes off them. I haven’t seen this display since before the horrible fight we had. My nose stings from the emotions that threaten to break me as I watch the unfiltered display of love.
I never see him soften. Not even when he is with his parents, though I know they love him. He always seems to be aware of the expectation of his position and never allows himself to be seen as weak. He’s not even been vulnerable when we’ve been intimate. The closest he came was that first time. After the debacle that followed, I couldn’t allow myself to be unguarded either, or at least tried not to. I still cringe, thinking I could trust him even a little with my heart.
Startled, I have to stop myself from taking a step back, when somber eyes open and reach mine.
“It’s almost time for prayer. You’ve taken him from his lessons all day.” The accusation is like a slap to my face.
“He’s not even two, Hassan,” I try to keep my tone calm and not cuss his ass out, in front of our son.
“He will be king.” His voice is firm though he smiles, standing Ayaan on his feet. An opportunity our son uses to run around the room at a breakneck pace. How he misses the tables and ottomans, I’ll never know.
“Son,” he calls to Ayaan, stopping him in his little tracks. “It is time to pray.”
I sit amongst the cushions watching them prepare and then step out onto the veranda, since they don’t have time to make it to the palace mosque.
Time got away from me as I visited with Indigo and Fi. I know how important teaching Ayaan to be observant is to him. Still, he could have sent for him earlier, knowing I’m consumed with worry for my friends.
No sooner than they come back is food brought in and set up for us. The aromas remind me none too gently that I’ve not eaten, not that I’ve had an appetite for anything other than coffee since the waking up and discovering my best-friend is in a coma.
After giving thanks, we dig into the sumptuous fare of roasted turkey, veggies, honey glazed rolls and various other dishes. The olives are my favorite, along with the olive oil drizzled hummus.
“Yummy, Umm?” Ayaan little voice has me smiling despite my worry. Children have a way of making all the troubles plaguing you a little less consequential for a while.
“Yes, hunnie. Is yours yummy?” he nods vigorously then goes about naming the dishes in Arabic and English like he’s been taught.
Hassan watches the interplay between us and I can’t help but notice the look of longing in his eyes. Seeing me watch him, his gaze shutters, then clearing his throat, he wipes his full lips. “I’d like to speak with you later.”
“Okay,” I shrug, communicating that I’ve been here the entire time.
“Play?” Ayaan asks, his cheeks flushed from eating and hope in his jade eyes.
“Yeah, let’s get some of that energy out.” I sweep him up before Hassan answers. This is the new routine since he decided to stay away nights following the earthquake. We have a very active and inquisitive son who wanted to know where his Baba was and why he wasn’t here. Letting him roam the gardens at night did wonders to distract him.
We are already outside chasing bubbles when he joins us.