"I will not listen to any more of your insolent behaviour boy. You brought this on yourself. You marked this young woman and now you must take her as yours."
In that instant Ziza felt her heart shrivel, die and plummet deep into the bottom of her ac...
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"Sahib, we'll be landing soon, please fasten your seatbelt." Rafiq looked up from the screen of his laptop at the sound of the flight attendant's voice. He dismissed her with the simple wave of his hand before doing as he was told. A click-click-clack of the keys on his laptop filled his cabin before putting his laptop to sleep. The thirty-two-year-old crown Prince sat back in his plush seat and looked out the window of the royal private jet at the waves upon waves of the magnificent golden desert sands. Finally, after two-and-a-half years of working overseas, Rafiq was returning home. The jewel desert country known as Dhakhar. Though coming back home and seeing his country filled him with a sense of homesickness he hadn't felt before, he still couldn't shake the gnawing tension of what awaited him once he stepped off the plane. Overseeing of the expansion of Shahaad Oils to scattered parts of the world beyond his country's borders had kept him away for so long, but he'd never stayed much even before then.
At eighteen, straight after high school, he joined the army, a mandatory task for every male in the royal family to serve the nation a minimum of three years. But unlike what most of his counterparts chose, he'd attended university while on active duty. After which he promptly established an oil company at the tender age of twenty-two, headquartered in Dhakhar's capital, Tamar. Though he'd had the upper hand in starting his company, it'd hadn't made him soft with his work. Rafiq's industry was what he ate, breathed and dreamt, making him one the most successful businessmen in the world.
It wasn't long before the plane was taxing to the end of the runway. His entourage, comprising a convoy of at least a dozen palace guards and his younger brother, Prince Hassan. There were no crowds or paparazzi. Just the way he'd wanted it. However, that fact was that, that section of the airport being private, reserved for the royal family and other highly respected dignitaries not wanting to deal with the commotion of camera flashes and the noise. Which reminded him of why he was here. Yes, he was back to stay in Dhakhar because of the change of work, but it had scheduled him to arrive almost two weeks later. At his father's urging, if he could call it that, persuaded him to leave the minute details of the rest of the work in the capable hands of his subordinates. His more recent "extracurricular activities" had set the locals' tongues wagging even more than usual and his father blowing a gasket, as the Americans say. With a sigh, he marched down the stairs, head above the rest while the guards saluted.
"Brother, welcome back home." Hassan drew his elder brother into a long and warm embrace.
"It is good to see you after this long Hassan. It is also good to be back home," Rafiq said after they separated.
Hassan was, in fact, his half-brother. They were born from different mothers. Rafiq's mother, the first wife to the king, died shortly after childbirth, resulting in his father marrying again and Hassan being born from that second marriage. Many, especially, foreigners assumed they shared the same parents because of the striking similarity in their features, though where Hassan's physique was like a rugby player, Rafiq was taller with an athletic form. Nevertheless, even with those facts known by the public, Rafiq never saw it like that. Hassan was his kid brother. Period. He saw him as just his little brother, the one who he looked out for when they were younger. But at twenty-six, Hassan didn't need Rafiq's big brotherly protectiveness, seeing as the once small boy had grown into a fine young man.
