Chapter Nineteen
ESTABLISHING DOMINANCE
LYRIC ~ WEEKS LATER
“ I want them to come visit here.” I tell Hassan over FaceTime. He still has not allowed me to go back to volunteer with the earthquake survivors, but he can give me this. “Imagine how wonderful it would be for the kids to have a play date at the palace. It can be like a carnival. They can see the grounds and have a brief break from everything they’ve been through — a day of celebration.” Worrying my lip, I wait for his reply.
He’s super grumpy since he’s been called away or more kingdom business this last week. Up till then, he’s been working from his home office, spending every moment with Ayaan and me.
“We’ll speak on it further when I return tonight.” He says but looks away, preoccupied by something one of his aides has given him. But I can’t stop the smile from spreading over my face.
“You’re be home tonight?” I try not to sound too breathless or smile too big, but I can’t deny the feeling of happiness filling in my heart. This week without him has been hard. Ayaan has been more than a handful, not used to Hassan being away since the last attack. To think the palace has become our home despite how we came to be here is remarkable. I try not to think of it as me folding or having Stockholm Syndrome — though it’s probably a bit of both; but that I’m doing what’s best for Ayaan.
“Yes, jameela.” He murmurs, his eyes settling on me again. They hold an intensity that has my tummy doing somersaults. I know the question in his eyes. Asking it while others are around would be indiscreet.
Did I get the okay from Dr. Bint Aaziz?
Nodding at the unasked question in his eyes, I watch a small smile lift the corner of his cruel mouth in response.
“I’ll see you then, husband.” I can’t help the anticipation softening my voice. I’m always soft for him now. He’s shown me so much he can be that place of safety for me.
“Tonight, little sparrow.” And then his austere public face is gone. And ohmygoodness! I feel like I haven’t in so long a very long time. Way back to my teen years when I felt the first blush of love with Justice. To be honest, this is not the first time. The morning after I made love to Hassan was the first time.
That’s why I was so crushed after finding out he was engaged. The previous night, he gave me something special. He saw me. Not the Empress. Not Lyric the diva or most every winner of the Grammys at thirty-five awards. The feeling of giddy excitement and newness when I woke, and he sat there nude, reading that script, made me feel so at home and safe. And despite not having discovered the person behind the attacks, I still feel safe with him.
“Ooowee, you look like you’re in love,” coos Fifi from where she is lounging on one of sofas. “Don’t she look in love, Indy?” she asks to the girl we’ve brought into our little coven and nicknamed who’s reading on her tablet across from her.
“Umhm,” comes the answer though Indigo never looks up so engrossed in her book to which I lob a pillow over to her. She dodges and screws me a mean look before returning to the device.
“Don’t agree with this messy, hoe. She’s a bad influence.” Wagging my finger, I walk back over to them from the plush little seating area, I moved to for a modicum of privacy while I spoke to Hassan. Not that they’d breathe a word of my conversation.
“Well, love or nor y’all gone be hunching now that Dr. Aaziz gave you the go ahead. Now you can get some head.” Fi makes a moue at me.
“See? Messy.” Sitting across her, I fold my legs under me.
“I’m happy she said I didn’t have any scaring or damage though.” Hassan had more than indicated that he didn’t care as long as I was okay, but hearing those words today made me so happy. More so because I never wanted my choices taken from me ever again. No one had the right to take away my rights or my life for that matter. I would fight for myself every time and I’m so glad my body was resilient enough that I survived what they tried to do to me.
“I’m so happy for you.” Indy looks up from the tablet unburdened this time, the slashing scar doing nothing to diminish her beauty.
“Same.” Reaching over to squeeze my knee in support, she gives me a jaunty little wink.
“Mistress.” My head pops up, attention drawn to one of the palace officials standing just inside the threshold of the outer chamber.
The woman boasts a full up sweep of gray hair styled in a severe but immaculate bun.
My tummy sours as she gives me a thin smile.
“Do you have an appointment?” On cue, Fi stands falling back into the assistant role she held for years, blocking the woman’s path.
“Her Majesty said I could bypass protocol just this once, since my messages have gone unanswered. She’s sure there has been some miscommunication with the High Consort’s staff.” The woman whom, I’m pretty sure, is the head of my son’s primary school education team.
“Let, Mistress?” I pause for the woman to answer
“Umar.” She supplies screwing a dismissive look Fi’s way.
“Let Mistress Umar pass,” I say, ready for the nuisance to be over.
“High Consort,” she says sternly, looking down at me with disapproval. Presently I resemble an odalisque of old, but I will not let this schoolmarm think she can be disrespectful.
“Please have a seat, Mistress Umar, while I have refreshments sent in. Ladies, if you will excuse us.” I nod to Fi and Indigo, reminding the new arrival that her breach of protocol does not extend to airing my business in front of others any more than she has.
“How may I help you, Mistress Umar?” I ask as I pour her tea with practiced expertise.
Ignoring my hospitality, she clasps her hands leaning forward, eyes hard with anger.
“High Consort,” oh how she stresses that word, I muse, nodding for her to continue.
“As you well know, as presented by the schedule that was given to you upon your arrival at the palace, the prince’s primary studies should have already started. We allowed more time because of the unfortunate accident that befell you. However, we must now begin his lessons in deportment and Arabic.”
I let silence fall between us as I have in the many music industry meetings where I’ve had to advocate for myself.
I’m literally internally battling myself not to lash out at this woman who is clearly passionate about her job, which is to see my son educated properly as a prince so he can one day take the mantle from his father.
That is what I tell myself. Again and again, I remind myself that this lady is just doing her job. Don’t take it personal. Still.
“We won’t be doing that. At least right now.” I say after a small eon. One I use to talk myself out of cussing this heffa out. I am the High Consort, not some alley whore like my mom used to call the girls who fought in the street. I am not just the prince’s consort, but his wife and I will be respected at such.
I can see her tuning up to clap back.
“You’ll have to forgive me. I’m very new to all this.” Waving a negligent hand to the room at large I take the opportunity to grab my tea. “I don’t feel comfortable putting this much stress on my son. He’s barely had his first birthday. We will revisit this when he’s a little older.”
Pulling herself so rigid the resembles the Sphinx, Mistress Umar allows the disdain she feels for me flood her face. “His Royal Highness and his brother, Prince Sadiq were in class full time when they were only a little older.”
Her words snag my interests. “Well, if they were older, then I’m sure Ayaan can wait a little longer. My husband said the king took on the majority of their learning until they formally began school —”
“Yes,” Bristling she’s quick to add after another dismissive sweep of her gaze, “The princes’s did not have any other undue influence.”
A smug little smile tugs at my lips. “And what is the undue influence you’re referring to, Mistress?”
She harrumphs as if further aggrieved about having to spell it out. “You being a foreigner, an American, unable to speak our language. You must admit that your culture, or rather lack of it, is a hindrance to the young prince. The sooner he’s removed from that influence, the better.”
When I say it takes everything not to jump up and molly whop her ass…
“I’m surprised as an educator you’d be so ignorant, Mistress. Black American culture is rich. Many North Africans come to live in America, assimilate with Black Americans and are the better for it. When His Highness and his brother came to the US, they met and befriended my friend, FADE. That relationship proved to be the best thing they ever could have done. Many times they came to Sunday dinner with FADE’s family. Black Americans have given not only much to my country but to the world. We have strong families despite the challenges of the past. We thrive.” I’m proud I managed to keep my tone level. “Now, I will have some reading material sent to you and I encourage you and the rest of your staff to do an immersive study on Black American History and culture before you come to me again about educating my son.” Standing I wait for her to rise.
Face flushed with anger, she rises, our height difference clear. “High Consort, I mean no offense?—”
“None was taken. Your concern is noted and I’ll pass it on to my husband.” Waving her away, and ignoring the look of horror etched across her face, I move to the entrance giving her no choice but to follow.
I barely acknowledge her bow before turning back to friends reemerging from the garden I banished them to for this bullshit.
“These stuck-up bitches, I swear,” Fifi grouses as she takes the couch opposite me.
“You were magnificent.” Indigo grabs the tablet she’s left.“You were so classy and never raised your voice while you told her off.”
“Regal even,” Fi agrees with a wink. Not adding much to my relief that I wasn’t given that honor. I guess we are both acclimating to our new environment. Though I’m not so sure that is for the best.
As much as the last few weeks have brought peace, none of it seems real. It is as if I’m playing a part I wasn’t the first choice for. I’m the last minute replacement for the act that got stuck in a storm and I don’t like that. I’ve been the star too long to be made to feel like I don’t have star billing.
The fact remains. This is Khadijah’s spot. This room is the palette she designed. When the staff came to me asking if I wanted to change it soon after we arrived, I said no because at the time I doubted we’d be here long. Now, I can’t help but see how she imagined welcoming Hassan home after he’d had meetings all day concerning the kingdom.
Would he find it soothing when she welcomed him home? Or would he be removed and surly like he is sometimes with me?
It’s silly to compare. No one is Lyric, the Empress. Still, would he rather a butterfly than the sparrow he calls me?
“Well, I’m sure there’s going to be some backlash.” Shrugging with nonchalantness that I don’t feel, I take my seat again, curling my feet under me.
“You have to lean into the power you have here. The prince gives you that,” Fi says. “You’re his mom. Everyone else falls back on that power alone. You just have to claim it. How do you think the consorts of old ran these places?”
“I see you’ve been doing some light reading?” Indy says, scrolling her device. I almost miss when she darts a look at me, then hurries to scroll away.
“What’s that Indy?” I ask, reaching for her iPad.
“Some mess.” She grumbles as I take it from her hand.
“Hmph.” Looking down, I see a pic taken of him laughing with Princess Amani, Khadijah, and some other socialites.
At first I think it’s from the past until I read the caption:
Crown Prince Hassan Al Rasheed with former fiancee, Khadijah Bin Saladin at the impromptu charity gala for the earthquake survivors, the heiress threw instead of the engagement party, the two were supposed to have the same day.
Many times I’ve I asked the Lord to give me confirmation about my place here. Never thought it would come as quick as it did after my pervious thoughts.
I’m being shown clearly this is not my place. Unintentionally as is it is, I’ve usurped this girl’s place and still she’s doing more queenly things than me. I can’t even go help the people because someone keeps trying to kill me. Part of me wants to blame her, but even after our brief meeting, I know it doesn’t fit the vibe.
I don’t miss the comments of the people wishing they were a couple, saying how cute they are or how she’s the genuine princess; the one the people connect with.
“Messy as ever.” Handing it back over to her, I try not to let it bother me, but I don’t lie to myself or them.
“Ummy.” My son’s cheery voice mixing his two names for me catches me right before a depressive episode can emerge. All the adversity of the day melts away in his smile.
“I see you started without me.” The heavy baritone has me looking up to the jade gaze of my husband. His mouth bracketed by stern lines. I can’t help thinking that the more responsibility he takes on for the kingdom, the less he smiles.
“You’ve been doing quite a lot without me, too — husband.” With cool deliberation, I roll my eyes at him, leaving them closed when I add, “Charity galas with your ex-fiancee, for example.”
I’ve never been passive aggressive. I don’t believe in letting things linger. Coming at your face when I attack. Never one to throw the rock and hide my hand. That’s why I can’t stand a cheater. Stand up in your shit — own it. Don’t play in my face when you know things aren’t what they need to be. Let me know so I can fix it or get the hell on.
I hear nothing for a solid ten ten seconds. At the sound of him shucking off his clothes, I peek. Gotdamn. Did he get finer as I recuperated? I can’t help the way my treacherous pussy clenches at the sight of his abs flexing with every movement. This motherfucker, I swear.
My eyes widen fully when he steps into the swimming pool size bath with his dick swinging. It’s long, thick and strong, rising from a nest of dark curls rising well past his navel. Sliding back against the wall seat as he approaches. I shake my head.
“Never.” He growls. Stepping to me, pushing my thighs open.
“Wh—”
“Never question my loyalty, little sparrow.” He notches his dick at my entrance. Gaze hard, jaw flexing, his stare drinks me in. “I’d never dishonor you.”
I gasp as he pushes in. My body struggles to take him. His hard mouth, luscious lips already on mine, giving me time to adjust to his massiveness.
“Sparrow,” he groans, pulling back from the tangle of our tongues as inch by delicious inch, my body accepts him.
“Don’t hurt me,” I plead.
He pauses, his gaze on me. “Never.” His strokes are gentle, though we both know I’m talking about my heart and not his lovemaking.
“Hassan,” I whimper as he surges inside me. It’s been so long for us.
Lifting my bottom, he angles me to take him deeper.
“My good little sparrow, taking me to fucking well.” Bottoming out, he holds me, fucking me so deep the water sloshes around us, adding to the colophony of sound surrounding us.
Arching, I do my best to meet every surging drive of his heavy dick.
“Fuck yeah, wife,” he praises his dick digging into every inch of me.
“Yess, kill it, kill it.” Panting my own filthy little encouragement, I urge my husband to fuck me dirty.
“I got you.”
Screaming with frustration when he pulls out, I look at him, wild with fury.
“Shut your lil’ ass up, and turn around so I can beat that pussy up,” he shoves me away and around, putting my leg on the edge of the bath, leaving me open and vulnerable to his desire.
‘Ohmyfuckingga—” I damn near scream when he rams his dick inside in a smooth glide. Eyes rolling, my words cut off when his hand manacles my neck as he fucks me like he’s demanding penance for all my for indiscretions. A penance I willingly give. Pinned down at this angle, I have to take everything he gives and I relish in giving his demands.
“I am yours. You are mine. You never have to worry about me, songbird.” Pressing deep, he dips. The roughness of his jaw brushing against my neck making me shiver. My pussy clenches, slicking his dick with essence. This motherfucker feels divine.
“Hassan,” I pant.
“What you need, lil’mama?” Shifting, he fucks me in hard deep strokes, makes me take him, all of him. “I think, I know. You need this motherfucker right here, huh, sparrow?” Withdrawing, he plunges back so hard I bite my lip. “Then take it then. Take it like a wife should.”
He pounds my pussy with relentlessly. Making my toes curl with every stroke.
The hand on my throat tightens. “Come on me, Lyric. I want to feel the way you let me ruin you before I give you my baby,” he growls. Hips thrusting, he fucks and fucks and fucks, not letting me resist the surge of his hips.
I’m trapped in his gaze as my pussy spasms at his command. My essence making my destruction simple work as he slams home again, again. The only tell that he’s breaking right along with me is the way his jaw hardens as he floods my pussy.
“That’s it.” Shuddering, he leans in, sumptuous lips taking mine in a lazy drag.
He holds me there for long minute.
“We good?” He grumbles after a while. I nod.
“Nah, I don’t think so.” Pulling free he scoops me free,taking me to our bed.