Epilogue
TAHIRA
Of course Calista had to fall in love with a man.
Right before the trials, no less. You would think she could have won my freedom before rushing off to Australia or wherever that animal is from.
I offered her a kingdom and the chance to slaughter countless men.
And she chose to run away with a homeless foreigner.
Fucking typical.
“Where is he.”
“In a meeting.” Stuttering and stumbling over his words, the servant should know better than to run after me, “Miss Malik, please. I must insist that you-
Ignoring the stammering idiot, I push through the golden doors that mark the entrance of my father’s office. Gaudy as hell and equally heavy, I have to put my entire body weight behind the stupid thing just to make an entrance.
Bang!
“Daughter has arrived. Daughter has arrived.”
Squawking and flapping his wings, the obnoxious parrot sitting upon father’s desk looks about as ruffled as I would like the world’s richest oil mogul to be.
“Father. I must speak-
A finger lifts, silencing me without so much as a word.
“Your complaints have no jurisdiction in my country. Therefore, I will increase the price of your exportations as per our negotiations, and you will be responsible for compensating the workers’ overtime. As an apology for bringing these grievances to my door.”
Jaafar Malik smiles, listening to the furious shouts ring through the other line of the phone.
“Let me make myself clear. You have five days to implement the changes or your rigs and leasing rights will have a new logo stamped on them. Understand?”
He hangs up before any response can be made. Old, withered fingers stab at his phone screen, pressing buttons until a new dial rings through.
“Move forward with the purchase. I want that company underwater before the end of the week.” Sighing heavily, he doesn’t glance in my direction, “Send the documents over and I’ll have them signed within the hour. There’s an inconvenience I must see to.”
A squawk rings from the cage.
“An inconvenience. She’s an inconvenience.”
Gritting my teeth, I force myself to remain silent and still until the Malik patriarch decides to bless me with his attention.
“Tahira.”
I step forward and bow my head, paying my respect as any daughter should.
“Father. I must speak with you.”
Fingertips drum the top of his gold-plated desk, impatience sparking with every thump.
“It has come to my attention that you have not chosen a suitor.”
“That is what I must speak to you about.” Sucking in a breath, I lower myself into one of the many chairs decorating the ostentatious office, “I have come to plead my case. I cannot go through with these trials.”
Had years of surgery not removed Jaafar’s ability to express himself, a wrinkle of displeasure would have creased the weathered lines of his brown skin.
“You cannot or you do not want to?”
“Both.” Meeting his piercing gaze, I wring my hands together, “Father, I cannot marry a man I have never met. A suitor of your choosing, a stranger who will be competing for half of the family business, it’s not... it’s not a part of my life I wish to throw away.”
His lips twitch beneath the fine lines of his goatee.
“And you express this to me because...?”
“Because I am begging you, father. Cancel the marriage trials and I will be courted like all the other daughters from wealthy families.” Swallowing hard, I bow my head, “Anyone of your choosing, just please cancel the tournament.”
Remove the price tag you have hung over my head.
“My dear Tahira.”
Sighing heavily, Jaafar pushes back his chair. Servants and clusters of cream-coloured uniforms jump into action, passing the tycoon his favourite walking stick and a helping hand as he starts to shuffle, painfully moving from one side of his desk to the other.
I do not comment on the blatant decline in health or the sorry state of a man still in denial about his age. My father titters on the edge of the desk before grasping my hand, the coiled fangs of a cobra snarling from the gold staff keeping him steady.
“You seem to believe you have a choice in this matter.” A pitying expression creeps across his face, “My money has given you a life far greater than anyone can imagine, and it is my investment those suitors will be competing for.”
“But father-
“A beautiful woman is no more than a prize to be won.” Squeezing the side of my jaw, Jaafar forces my mouth shut, “These trials are not about your future, Tahira. It is about the future of my legacy. And you will stand beside me and you will smile because you know that it is my name that has gotten you this far and nothing else.”
Listening to the sound of my silence, he smiles.
“That is what a good wife sounds like. Now, if you have not chosen a suitor then the decision will fall to me.”
Wrenching my face from his harsh grip, I feel the ache his fingers leave behind.
“I have a suitor.”
Straightening my spine, I spit out the words, tasting the desperation of a woman who has nothing left to lose.
“The application will be submitted tonight.”
Suspicion sparks but his smile doesn’t waver.
“You have until midnight or I shall choose the final suitor.”
“Understood.”
Slowly rising, I offer my father another bow and head for the door.
“Midnight tonight. Midnight tonight.”
The parrot’s warning follows me out the door and down the hall. Echoes through my ears as I walk past lavish corridors and endless rooms, the trail of my dress billowing in the Arabian sun slithering through the gold encrusted windows.
Always so much fucking gold.
The bangles decorating my arms clink together as I descend the steps. Brush past sleeping guards and ignore the insistent patter of my servant scurrying behind me.
“Miss, please. It is not proper for a lady to be in the dungeons-
“Does my father pay you to give orders or obey them?” Stopping abruptly, I whirl around and confront the man who is forced to listen to me, “Fetch me the keys.”
“B-But-
“The keys, Rasoul.”
A red blotch darkens his cheeks, their circular nature a complementary accessory for the ruby sparkling in his turban.
“Of course, your majesty.”
I roll my eyes at the blandishment, watching his thick frame scurry down the hall. He snatches the keys from the guard snoring in his chair, not bothering to wake the sleeping imbecile before returning them to me.
“Your father would not approve of this.” Sweat beads along his brow and trickles down his neck, “Miss, I really must insist-
I snatch the keys from his hands.
“Begone.”
Rasoul’s footsteps disappear and the sleeping guard’s snores start to fade as I head for the cell tucked away in the southern corner.
I have no other choice.
A thought that does little to soothe the dread gnawing at my stomach. The nausea that surges when I slot the key in the door and push it open.
“Now, this is a surprise.”
Years fade away as the voice washes over me. Amused and melodic, it sounds just as it did on the day we first met.
The day when my fate changed forever.
“I need a suitor.”
Sand coats the inside of my mouth, the shackles running from the wall seeming to cling to my wrists rather than the prisoner.
“The tournament for my hand begins in less than six weeks. You will be competing against eleven other suitors, all of whom will be fighting for a portion of my father’s business and half a billion dollars.”
Gold, richer and more beautiful than any of my father’s lavish ornaments, follow my movements into the cell.
“And here I thought you would propose on one knee.”
“Shut up.”
I snap back with as much rage as I can muster, reminding myself there is no room for heartache.
Not anymore.
“I will pay your entry fee and you will compete beneath an alias. One that will serve to secure you position among the royalty attending.”
There’s not enough air in this prison cell. Not enough distance between the pieces of my heart and the person who broke them.
Not enough space for me to ignore the maturity radiating from a now unfamiliar body.
“If you win, the charges pressed against you will be dropped and there will be no more imprisonment. You will get a portion of the Malik fortune and there will be no ties between us after a quick divorce.”
“And if I fail?”
“You will return to this cell and the execution date will be effective immediately.” My lips purse together, “Or you will die competing.”
“Helps to keep things simple.”
I watch those big yellow eyes rake over the curves I didn’t have seven years ago. Listen to the sharp intake of breath when they land on my piercing.
Skin that was once a beautiful shade of caramel has faded over the years of captivity. Streaks of blue mark the uneven surface, teasing twirls of magic woven beneath the thin cotton of the prisoner’s uniform.
Bitterness pools in my gut as I soak in the pen marks. The familiar script that whispers promises of something ancient, something from another world.
It’s a trick, a slight of hand created by a clever street performer. An illusion that can be washed away with a good bar of soap.
I would know.
“My freedom for yours.” My throat feels parched, excruciatingly dry as I extend my hand, “Do we have a deal, Genie?”
A long, brown braid tumbles over the Malik family crest.
The thin cot squeaks as the figure climbs off it and bridges the distance between us. I listen to the shackles drag along the floor, feeling my heart grow heavy as regret joins the turbulent emotions swishing around inside.
The woman who broke my heart seven years ago takes my hand.
Squeezes it with a smile I once knew so well.
“We have a deal.”