Acting Royal #Wattys2017

8

JENNY

Jenny wanted to turn around and run the second she walked into the room. It was another hall-sized room, only this time it had an interesting seating arrangement, one she's never seen before. Large gold chairs were pushed up against the walls and snaked their way around the entire perimeter of the massive room. The amount of chairs in the room seemed totally over the top and wildly unnecessary, mind you, she was in a palace. She looked up at the ceiling, it was covered in a mosaic that looked like it was made from million tiny pieces. Huge Persian carpets hung from the walls, and the smell of incense hung thickly in the air.

"It's called a majalis," Rafiq whispered in her ear. "It means sitting place. Presidents and royals have sat in this one for hundreds of years," Rafiq gave Jenny a reassuring pat on the back before moving away. Jenny turned and saw Zayn. He was staring straight at her and his gaze was so piercing and penetrating that it made her skin prickle. She flinched under the violent intensity of it and quickly turned away. But even with her back to him, she could still feel it. God, what the hell was he thinking? Why wouldn't he look away? It was as if he was trying to tell her something, she just didn't know what.

Jenny was finding it incredibly difficult to focus on the task at hand, i.e fool entire family into thinking she was nice, loving fiancé. But she seemed to be doing a good enough job of it, because everyone smiled as she regaled fictitious stories of their whirlwind relationship; flowers, romantic walks on the beach and a proposal on bended knee on a yacht. She then started telling everyone about her fake upbringing with her successful, respectable doctor parents. Girl from a private school, girl from the right side of the tracks. All lies. She wondered what they would think of her if they found out she was a simple farmer's daughter. A girl that grew up shoveling cow shit and playing in the mud. But they all seemed to be smiling. Everyone except him.

He'd come in a few minutes after her, the man she'd noticed glaring at her from the window earlier that day. And although he did eventually introduced himself as Zayn's cousin, Amir, and had lavished her with pleasantries, "Pleased to meet her, glad she would be joining the family, so happy for her," etcetera, there was something about him she didn't trust. At all. He didn't seem to move like a normal person either. He seemed to slither like a snake. Like something that was dangerous and could strike at any second. And there was also something in his eyes that made her blood run cold.

Suddenly the queen made a move across the room and Jenny turned just in time to see the king come in. "You're here." Zayn's mother said rushing up to him.

Jenny recognized him immediately from the large portraits she'd seen hanging on the walls. The portraits had not done him any justice, though, because in person he looked much more intimidating and serious. Jenny felt her chest tighten and a knot formed in her stomach.

"Apologies for the lateness." his voice was deep and commanding, the kind of voice you would imagine a king having.

"I'd like you to meet Jennifer Milton, Zayn's fiancé. We've been having a wonderful time getting to know her." The queen said, guiding this intimidating figure in her direction.

Jenny immediately rose from her seat, but she had no clue what to do. Did she shake his hand... curtsey? What was the correct protocol for greeting a king? But before she could decide what to do, the king quickly and curtly kissed her on both cheeks. But it was anything but warm and inviting. There was so much coldness and formality in the act that it made her nervous.

She braced herself for the conversation that was about to come, but nothing. No questions, no small talk, no pleasantries. Instead, he walked to the other end of the room and quickly became absorbed in a hushed conversation with Amir. She also couldn't help but notice the strained look that passed between Zayn and his father. They didn't even greet each other.