Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
G ood, thought Zak as he entered his office the next morning. Everything looked in order. He hadn’t heard anything from his wife. Which didn’t mean Soraiya wasn’t on his mind. She was. And other places, too. Her instinctive sensuality was surprising, to say the least. When he’d first learned he would have to marry the dutiful, and no doubt virginal, daughter of Sheikh Qadir of Ra’nan, it had seemed yet another cross to bear besides relieving his beloved brother from the burdens of kingship. Yet another way in which his life had changed. And then there were the conflicting feelings over whether he could trust her. His mind said no. His heart said yes. And he had little faith in his heart.
“So, Aabid,” he said, as his vizier entered the office looking more harassed than usual, “is everything ready for the French delegation?”
“Of course, Your Majesty. They should be arriving soon.”
“Good.” He looked back at the papers he was reading, but his vizier remained standing in front of him and coughed politely. He looked up. “What is it?”
“There is one small matter which needs attending to.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. He sat back and tapped his pen impatiently on the desk. He didn’t like surprises. He liked things to be orderly, well-scheduled, and planned. Without that, there would be chaos, and he refused to entertain that ever again after his mother’s disastrous influence. “And what’s that?”
“This is, as Your Majesty knows, the first of this type of visit since your mother…” Aabid trailed off delicately. He, alone of the palace advisers, knew what had happened.
“Since my mother robbed us blind and then left.”
His vizier pursed his lips with shame and lowered his eyes. “Your mother…” The vizier licked his lips, as if buying for time to find the right words.
“ What , Aabid, is your point?”
“The French, they enjoyed the political banter your mother brought to the table. They had a…” Again Aabid hesitated, as if finding the right words to describe his mother’s qualities was challenging. Zak had to agree. “ Rapport, with her . There is no one in the group you have put together for the French discussions who can fill her role, Your Majesty.”
Zak gripped the pen more tightly in his hand and stabbed it into the pile of papers. “ I can,” he growled.
His vizier grimaced.
“What?” barked Zak.
“We need Her Highness, Sheikha Soraiya. She has exceptional diplomatic experience. We need her, Your Highness.”
“We do not need her!” Zak said firmly. But even as he ground out the words, he knew it was a lie. He had no experience with this sort of delicate negotiation, and he knew that too much depended on it to rely solely on his limited diplomatic experience. He was well prepared in terms of knowledge, but he knew that trade talks weren’t his strong point. The little he knew of his new wife forced him to the one conclusion he’d been battling. She had the experience and expertise, which he was sorely lacking. He might be risking a repeat of his mother, but his mother had held complete power while his father had been alive. Things were different now. He was in control.
His vizier opened his mouth to speak again, but Zak held up his hand to stop him. It seemed Aabid was beginning to understand that Zak wasn’t his father—dogmatic and cruel—or his mother—ruthless and profligate—and closed his mouth immediately. Zak was also someone who was big enough to change his mind and accept the truth.
“Correction,” Zak said. “I don’t want to need her, but what you say has merit. It’s true, she has the experience and skill set which we don’t presently have.” He nodded, as if convincing himself. “And with my guidance, I will make sure that she doesn’t overstep the mark. Tell her I expect her in the hall to help welcome our guests in one hour, after which she will assist with the rest of the programme.”
He wasn’t happy with his decision, but he couldn’t risk failure of the delegation’s work. His country needed the investments and co-operation the French delegation could deliver. And Zak needed Soraiya.
As he watched his vizier walk away, he wondered if he’d done the right thing. He shrugged and focused once more on the paperwork. There was no point in wondering. He’d soon find out. Besides, if it didn’t work out, at least he’d given Soraiya enough rope to hang herself. She wouldn’t keep on at him if she failed.
Soraiya stood on the grand balcony overlooking the gilded gates of the palace, her gaze as unwavering as the desert sun. Below her, servants scurried like ants preparing for a storm, their voices lost in the courtyard's vastness. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine and anticipation. Today, the kingdom’s future would be determined.
There was no way Soraiya could stand by and watch the disaster about to unfold. She knew these people. She knew what was required, and she knew what was at stake for her adopted country. Everything . So when the vizier had called on her earlier and surprised her with a proposal which he hadn’t yet put before the king, she’d instantly agreed. She’d dressed with business in mind and waited in the shadows of a balcony outside the public reception room of the palace, ready to step in when she received word from the vizier. He seemed confident that Zak would see sense in the end. If he didn’t? Well, then, she’d just join him, anyway. She knew Zak wouldn’t dismiss her in public. He would be respectful to her. She knew that much about him from their nights together. And afterwards? She didn’t know, but by then it wouldn’t matter.
Turning from the view, Soraiya reached for the computer tablet on which she’d loaded the intricacies of trade routes and tariffs, of commercial agreements and business proposals. She flicked through summaries she’d made, committing them to memory. She didn’t want to leave anything to chance.
“Your Highness!”
She turned to see the vizier standing quietly beside her. “Aabid,” she greeted him with a brief smile. “Did your plan succeed?”
He inclined his head. “Indeed.”
She opened her eyes wide. “He’s really asked for me?”
The vizier smiled. “He has.” He stepped aside. “If you’d care to join him?”
She lifted her chin and shook her head. “First, I’d like to see the meeting room. Make sure everything is in place.” She’d checked it out before, but always did one last check. It was often the difference between success and failure.
“Of course,” he said.
Once inside the chamber, she gave it a sweeping glance to make sure everything was in order. It was. Her last-minute adjustments hadn’t been changed.
The chamber was vast, its high ceilings adorned with intricate latticework that cast geometric shadows on the polished marble floors. Soraiya approached the long ebony table that gleamed under the chandeliers’ golden glow.
She knew Zak had entered the room behind her. She could sense it. She turned slowly toward him, feeling in control for once. More so than Zak by the looks of things. He scowled first at his vizier then her, obviously wondering why she was so prepared, so quickly.
“I’m just making sure everything is as it should be,” she said.
“Of course it is.” He paused and glanced from Aabid to the computer tablet she was holding tightly. “I take it you have all the information you need? That Aabid has briefed you?”
“Indeed. But I have to say, that while I understand it is important to secure their cooperation on the trade tariffs,” Soraiya’s voice was measured, her words precise, as she tried to re-focus Zak on the essentials, attempted to remove the emotional from their discussions. “It is equally imperative to secure the agricultural exchange program.”
Zak nodded, his eyes narrowing as if suddenly aware for the first time exactly what she could bring to the meeting. “Indeed. The irrigation technology they possess could revolutionize our farms.”
Soraiya’s fingers traced the gilt edges of the agenda, her mind meticulously reviewing each item. Within the palace walls, a palpable anticipation hung heavy—a silent acknowledgment of the weight of the impending negotiations. “And we must not overlook the cultural exchange initiative. It will pave the way for greater understanding between our nations.”
“True,” Zak conceded, his brow furrowing slightly as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him.
“And the room…” Soraiya took another critical look around the meeting room. Each chair around the highly polished table was positioned with military precision, equidistant from its neighbor, their plush velvet cushions designed for comfort.
“Does everything else meet your exacting standards?” Zak asked. His voice had a facetious edge to it.
She ignored it. “Nearly,” she replied, shifting a crystal carafe of water to a more central position. “The refreshments must be perfect. Dates stuffed with almonds and honeyed pastries should suffice for the first break. I’ve instructed staff to make the change.”
Zak nodded, his eyes following her as she moved through the room. She paused before a vase of exotic blooms, and with a practiced hand adjusted their arrangement.
“We will offer them our finest teas,” Soraiya continued, “not just as a beverage, but as a gesture of hospitality, a bridge between cultures.”
Zak looked taken aback but was stopped from answering as the door opened and they were told that the delegation had just entered the palace.
Zak and Soraiya walked out of the room together and descended the marble staircase. They took their position in the hall just as the great palace doors swung open. Standing poised at the threshold, her gaze fixed on the figures emerging from the convoy of sleek vehicles that had cut across the sunbaked expanse of the palace grounds.
The delegation walked up to them and greeted them, and the introductions were made.
“Welcome to Sirun.” Zak extended his hand in a gesture of solidarity to the leader of the delegation. His tone was warm, yet beneath the veneer of hospitality lay the unmistakable steel of a sovereign who understood the stakes all too well.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” the woman responded, her tone a little wary.
Soraiya couldn’t help but notice the slight arch of the woman’s eyebrow, which betrayed her skepticism. It didn’t faze Soraiya. She felt confident that, between them, they’d win her over.
“ Bonjour , Madame Cardusi,” Soraiya greeted, as the French delegation leader—a woman of sharp features and shrewder eyes—approached.
“Your Highness,” the woman replied. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” she said with a warmth that hadn’t been there for Zak.
“And you, also. I trust you and your husband are both well? And your children?”
At the mention of her children, Madame Cardusi’s expression relaxed as she boasted of her eldest son’s achievements.
After she’d finished greeting the rest of the delegation, Soraiya glanced around to see Zak staring right at her. Certainly her father and brothers wouldn’t have appreciated such warmth directed to her, rather than themselves. Her father had always made sure she knew her place. And she knew her place here. It was queen, not daughter. She wondered if the French delegation’s obvious high regard for her would help her, or whether Zak would be challenged by it. But she’d find out. Sooner or later.