One Night

Chapter Twenty Four

Zayen

Alara and I stand in the same hall where Nawaz admitted that he knew he was my brother.

There was nothing to say to him—especially because he was under a trance and would most likely not hear a thing.

But this whole time, he knew. When he had his personal guards beat me, he knew he was doing it to his brother. When he stood beside our father at royal dinners, he knew I should be standing with them too.

He was angry. Because I hid the truth.

I failed to be a brother. And I feel like I have failed again. Now, this unknown man has power over the prince. Not only that, but he could have power over me as well because the knowledge of me being the true heir could be detrimental.

Alara brushes her fingers through her curls nervously. She has on a new white Abaya, made of silk. I wear the matching thobe. Her eyes find mine and she shares a small smile with me. "Thank you for staying with me all night."

As if I would let her out of my sight. I told her I will protect her.

There were many times through the night where I wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with her and pull her into my body. She made the most adorable sounds in her sleep. But we followed the guidelines given.

I stayed far away from her, with the door open. It made me miss my best friend, Ali. He would have laughed at me for being such a rule follower. He would always do everything he is not supposed to, and would somehow get away with it.

I wonder how he is now. If he is still the same. Everything happened so fast that I never got to see him before we left.

My hand lifts to touch Alara, wanting to feel the softness of her skin. I quickly drop it, realising that would be stupid and inappropriate. Sometimes things happen so fast. We can lose people we care about in an instant. Right now, she is the only sense of familiarity I have.

Maybe that is why we nearly kissed in the dark. It was on my mind all night. I couldn't figure out why I would want to do that with her, but I think it was only because I was trying to keep her close. I'm glad we didn't go through with it. We can't mess this up.

The man who seized us walks in. He wears a plain white thobe, identical to mine. Akilah walks in beside him, her chin held high.

My jaw clenches. There are so many things I want to do to harm her. She looks over at Alara and I and sighs deeply. "Oh, don't look at me like that." Her navy black hair is tied into a long, perfectly neat ponytail. "You two both knew you were taking a major risk by following me. I had nothing to lose, and you did. Simply put, you made a bad choice."

"But," adds the older man. Everything about him is neat—from the lining of his beard to his spotless shoes. "We do not want you to lose."

That doesn't seem true.

"Right," Alara says under her breath.

He steps towards her. "You must take accountability. You made the choice to follow a stranger in a world based on dominance. The world is always at war, always fighting against or for something, and you can not follow blindly. You have to look at the facts, which you did not."

That silences Alara, because it's true. We followed with emotion clouding our vision. With our loved ones at risk and no real factual evidence to go by.

Maybe my ability to fight well is less about combat, and more about making the right choices.

"I want you to dine with me," he says, gesturing towards a wooden door to the right of us. "Then we can have a tasteful discussion over a delicious meal."

He could easily poison us. But then again, there are much easier ways to kill us considering that we both fell asleep in his home.

He has a very powerful presence. I've been around the Hakeem my whole life and have never felt it.

With the Hakeem everything always felt like it was for show—the guards, the pretty gardens, the huge events. He wanted power and privilege.

What does this man want?

That question is the only reason I turn and lead myself towards the door.

A guard stands outside. He holds his arm out, blocking me from passing. "Shoes," is all he says.

"Apologies, but it is a tradition. Plus, I have white rugs that I'd like to keep white," the old man says.

I turn to him, keeping my posture tall. I'm possibly a head taller than him. I can be scary. Maybe that's why my father let me be a guard, when he could have hid me as a servant. "I'd like to know your name before I get comfortable in your home," I insist. I can't keep referring to him as an old man.

"I am the Wazir of this land. You may call me by my name, Ameer." The Wazir. Surely not. "I'm sure that brings up more questions, which is why I suggested we dine." He gestures with one hand to the room. His hands are wrinkled with age and contain deep blue veins that run up his arms.

Both Alara and I remove our shoes, leaving them outside. I'm very glad I have socks on, and that the old m—the Wazir allowed us to bathe and change. 

The room is beautiful. White rugs line the floor, contrasting the brown table at its centre. Lush white pillows with gold stitching and patterns are placed around the table. Gold plates and vases are set on the table, with white roses as decorations.

It's similar to the palace in Qadura in design, yet completely different. Everything feels foreign here.

"We eat here?" Alara asks, her cheeks flushed.

I nearly smile. The memories of her home come back, of the mat she used as a bed and the broken bucket she used to clean herself with.

It is unimaginable to know people live like that, but to her it must be unimaginable that people live like this.

We all lower ourselves onto the cushions, including Akilah. I watch her closely.

"So—"

Alara cuts off Ameer. "Where is Nawaz? Why is he not here?"

I almost feel guilty for not having thought of Nawaz. I was too busy wanting to know about where we are and how this man could be the Wazir.

"Let me ask you a question first," he says.

Another man, also in all white clothing, places a basket of breads down on the table.

"Can you define goodness to me. What does it mean to be a good person?"

Alara frowns. She folds her arms on her lap and under the table, she nervously fiddles with her fingers. "To always do the right thing."

"Sure, that's given." He tilts his head. "But what is the right thing?"

A fist bangs against the table, causing it to rattle. "Amana." Honesty. "But we're in a room full of liars, no?"

~~*~~

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