Chapter 2 - The Prince's Pawn
The weight of the crown
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Khalid
When I first traveled to America at the age of nine, what most struck me was how informal Americans were. The sight of a former U.S. President pausing between bites to thank his serving staff for bringing him a fresh beverage was immediately shocking. So shocking, in fact, I’d summoned my nanny to my side, interrupting her meal, so she could explain what on earth I’d just seen.
In my defense, decorum forbade me from asking either our host or my father. He was the king, after all. I would have to wait for him to address me if I wanted a conversation with him. And nine-year-olds aren’t known for their patience. Certainly not spoiled princes.
Rebekkah, my Nigerian nanny, had whispered into my ear that Americans insist on pretending all people are equal, that no one is better than another.
“But we are better,” I whispered back. “My father is a king.”
Her response left me even more shocked. “Americans don’t believe in royalty, Your Royal Highness.”
When we’d returned to our limo after the meal, Father had taken off his shoe and slapped my legs for talking out of turn, but it was worth it. My fascination with Americans and their refusal to acknowledge hierarchy grew into a borderline obsession with Yankees.
Now nearly twenty years later, I marveled at the group of Americans waiting for me in the conference room, entirely oblivious to the cameras I had placed in there.
If I didn’t already know who the supervisor was, I would never be able to guess from their body language. The two men—one white, one Indian—chatted casually, laughing about some video game they both played. And the woman sat off to the side, her back to the camera, piping in from time to time. No one used titles or interrupted anyone else.
How freeing that must be. Whenever I entered a room, everyone stopped their conversation and stood. Bowing isn’t a tradition here, thankfully. Father always said, and I agreed, that it’s unnecessary.
You can tell the leader of any group of men just by looking at them.
With this group, I was glad to see they’d brought a woman with them, even if it was probably just as set decoration. They didn’t need her here; the CEO just wanted to make a statement about diversity.
But given the new king’s behavior in the last year, I could hardly blame them for wanting to make a statement, even if only a subtle one.
The other vendors I’d interviewed this week had sent exclusively men and stank of nervousness for the entire presentation. Even with the mitigating circumstances, it turned my stomach to deal with men who came here for my money, all while thinking of me as some scimitar-wielding barbarian.
This never happened when Father was alive.
Foreigners were happy to come here under his reign. They marveled at the architecture, raved about the restaurants, and brought their families for a holiday when their business dealings were done.
Now all that was over.
“Spying on the yanks again, sir?”
Callum’s thick Scottish brogue jolted me out of my irritation.
“I’m not spying; that’s your job,” I said, turning to see him standing in the doorway, ducking his head just slightly to fit. I didn’t like the look on his face. “Something wrong?”
“Princess Sarra is here. She’s asking to see you,” he said, scratching his beard the way he always did when he expected trouble.
Unable to help myself, I sighed, looking up at the clock. I only had a few minutes before I needed to head into the conference room. “I don’t suppose there’s any avoiding her. Send her in.”
He nodded and backed out of the room, heading to the lobby to retrieve my oldest sister.
I didn’t have time for this, but I couldn’t send her away. The fact she’d come here in person spoke volumes about how serious this was. I already had enough trouble with my uncle and all the sycophantic cowards who backed his claim to the throne. The last thing I needed was all the aunties mad at me too.
Unlike Callum, I heard Sarra coming from a distance, her stiletto heels clacking loudly all the way down to my office. I got up from my chair as Callum opened the door for her, and she swept in with a flourish of black chiffon, the voluminous material covering all but her eyes.
“Peace be upon you, my sister. I praise God you are well.”
“Bold of you to assume I am well, brother,” she kissed me on both cheeks, the fabric of her veil protecting my face from the mocha-colored lipstick she doubtless wore underneath.
Her eyes stood out from her veil, boldly made up with heavy liner and metallic purple eyeshadow, belying the solemn expression radiating from her.
“What are you still doing at work when he called on you an hour ago?” she demanded, setting her Hermes handbag gently on the chair from which I had risen. “I’ve already gotten calls from multiple people inquiring if I’ve heard from you.”
“I’m speaking with contractors today…” I gestured at the screen where the three Americans now sat in silence, each absorbed in their phones.
Sarra squinted briefly at the monitor, snorting in disgust at the Americans. “He’s the king now, Khalid. You can’t just wave him off like you used to.”
Thinking of that fat malcontent sitting on my father’s throne brought bile into my throat. “He’s a hypocrite and a useless…”
“Stop that!” she hissed, whipping her head around to make sure the office door was closed.
“He knows exactly what I think of him, Sarra. Why do you defend him?”
“Because I like your head where it is. And mine.”
Behind her, I could see Callum looking straight at me, his wide eyes silently agreeing with my sister.
“Brother, you can’t keep doing this. People will talk. They’re already talking, saying you don’t believe in Agnatic seniority!”
“Of course I don’t think the throne should be passed from brother to brother! And neither did Father. It should go from father to son so the kingdom can progress. Everyone knows that! Looking at the way his brother is destroying everything he built while he was alive, it’s very obvious why he didn’t believe in it.”
“If Father felt so strongly about the law, he could have changed it and made Omar his heir. But he didn’t,” Sarra snapped. “The law is the law and your belief is immaterial There’s nothing you can do about that. Faisal was named Father’s heir well before he died. He is the rightful king and it is treason for you to suggest otherwise.”
I crossed my arms and leaned back, fixing her with a stern glare of my own. “That doesn’t mean I have to make it easy for him. I have another contractor to speak to and I won’t cancel. He might be content to make our people an international laughingstock but I won’t help him do it.”
A line appeared between Sarra’s eyes, the silent frustration of a woman accustomed to not being listened to. She may have been my older sister and, in other countries, would have been my father’s heir to the throne. But in this country, she could never be queen. And in addition to her husband, she was obligated to obey me and my brother.
None of it was fair. None of it made sense. But she’d been swallowing her disappointment far longer than I.
With a sigh, Sarra picked up her handbag from my desk and looked back at Callum, still standing silently at the door. “He never listens to me,” she pleaded in English. “Would you please keep him from getting killed?”
“To my dying breath, Your Royal Highness,” Callum said solemnly. He spoke Arabic of course, but his accent was rather thick. Many simply preferred to have him speak his native English.
Sarra turned back to look at me. “Go see him as soon as you’re done here. And come with an apology ready. Do you understand?”
“Yes. All right,” I conceded.
She gave me another kiss, and with that, she swished out of the room, leaving an echo of her high heels and a whiff of Chanel perfume in her wake.
When the sound of her steps faded, Callum closed the door once again. “She’s not wrong. If you’re right and he had your father killed, he wouldn’t blink twice at offing you too. Best not to give him an excuse to make an example of you.”
Callum could protect me from just about every threat. But if the king decided my time was up, there would be nothing he or anyone else could do about it.
My older brother, Omar, traveled with a whole staff of bodyguards and assistants. Everywhere he went, at least nine other men accompanied him. But not me. It was almost always just me and Callum, a decision Omar questioned… until he’d seen Callum in action. After that, there had been no more questions.
I met Callum at St. Andrews University. I was fresh from my private education at home, he from a tour in Iraq. His service for the Brits didn’t exactly make him popular around here; neither did his status as a half-breed. But after getting to know him in our first year, I made him an offer—Protect me and I’ll make you rich. It was a good one, and Callum accepted it without hesitation.
As my father’s second son, I didn’t have to go into the military like my brother did. But I think the camaraderie soldiers feel for each other is a lot like how I feel about Callum. I would die for him. And he’d already proven on two occasions that the feeling was mutual.
“You think he’ll kill me for not skipping out on my vendor demo?” I asked, looking up at the clock.
“Probably not, but I wouldn’t push to find out.” Callum nodded at the screen. “Which ones are these then?”
“The e-learning SaaS. Their software will help us onboard people more easily. Trying to get people hired in both hemispheres is too big a lift. We need to automate it and their tool looks like it will do the job.”
He nodded, though I could see his eyes glazing over.
“They brought a girl with them,” he said, sounding mildly surprised.
“I noticed that. It’s a good thing I guess… It means they don’t think we’re total barbarians.”
“She’s pretty cu— Christ, I take it back. Look at those eyes,” Callum took a step back, no longer interested in the Americans on the screen.
I looked up and, sure enough, the woman had turned to face the camera for the first time.
“Whoa,” I breathed out, understanding what Callum meant.
A chill snaked down my spine at the sight of her ice-blue eyes with what looked like a black ring around the irises, the 4K resolution making it feel like the eyes of a demon were upon me.
Not what I was expecting, that’s for sure.
“I see what you mean,” I said. “Technically she’s cute but, wow. It feels like she’s probing my soul.”
“Nice she wore the veil, I reckon.”
“Not really,” I grumbled. “No cause for a Christian girl to have to wear it. Even here.”
“Doubt she’s a Christian, honestly. American girls are all dirty atheist tramps now.”
“Swear to God, Callum, who hurt you?” I laughed, leaning over my chair to pick up my white ghutra, securing the scarf on my head with the black corded egal.
“The same people who hurt you. Revolting club sluts,” he said, crossing his arms to make it clear he was absolutely not joking.
“Well, I like club sluts,” I shrugged, laughing at the memory of all the pretty girls in Edinburgh who had been so enamored with how “exotic” I was.
“Yeah, you like them too much. By the way, your brother pestering you about marrying again?” he asked, the question wiping the smile off my face.
“Bastard.” I flicked a rubber band at him, which he caught easily with a smug smile. “I think that’s what my uncle wants. To marry me off to one of his friend’s daughters.”
“Or your cousin.”
“Don’t remind me,” I said, suppressing a gag.
My father’s first wife, Sarra’s mother, was his first cousin, and none of my sisters seemed to have any ill effects. But it wasn’t something I wanted to sign up for. Even before I went to school in the west, it just seemed gross. We were raised together and as far as I was concerned, they were no different from my sisters. Lucky for me, Father never pushed the issue. He let me go off to St. Andrews, making it clear that as long as I didn’t come home with any bastard children, he wouldn’t press the marriage question.
My uncle wasn’t as placid on the subject and I had a sneaking suspicion it was the reason he had asked me to come see him today.
“All right, let’s get in there and see the demo,” I said, checking myself in the mirror to make sure everything was straight.
“Best pay close attention, Your Royal Highness. The king’ll probably want a full report on what was so important you made him wait,” Callum said, opening the door for me.
All I could do was nod as we walked out of the office and toward the conference room. For now, the king needed me and the money my companies made to keep his tin-pot dictatorship afloat. But one day, that might not be the case.
I would just have to find a way to be rid of him before then.