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Khalid
I had to catch myself as I watched Callum escort Aria into the aft salon. When I saw him herding her like a cow with that cane, my mouth dropped open, ready to ask him what the hell he was thinking. Even if things went badly, and my uncle ordered my head chopped off, I would still be addressed as Your Royal Highness with all due courtesy until the moment the blade fell. I didn’t see any reason to be less genteel with Aria.
But I couldn’t give the impression of being divided. Her abilities made dealing with Aria enough of a wildcard. The last thing I needed was for her to try and set Callum and I against each other. So I remained silent, taking a sip of my espresso to maintain the illusion of being unbothered.
They were both soaked through from the rain, and Aria’s wet Abaya dragged behind her, leaving a water trail on the wood. She looked so small and vulnerable with Callum’s imposing figure towering a full head higher than hers. Even as she walked at a brisk pace, her fear was as palpable to me as the vibrations of the storm outside. I could only imagine the questions racing through her mind, the fear of what she imagined I wanted from her.
It was hardly a virtuous path I had set myself on, but a necessary one—not just for me but for my country. The goal was to make her understand that.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” I said, gesturing towards the Moroccan silk divan across from where I sat.
Instead of doing as she was told, Aria halted across from me, obviously struggling to mask her fear with typical American sass. “I don’t want to get your fancy couch wet.”
I stared up at her, holding back my irritated sigh with a great effort. There was a lot to like about Americans. Their constant snark and attitude wasn’t on that list.
Brits, including Callum, were happy to “take the piss” out of their friends, but they didn’t generally do it with perfect strangers. Americans did it with everyone, even their betters.
“Very well,” I conceded, deciding not to push the issue further. “Let’s discuss why you’re here.”
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” she seethed, droplets of water flying off her lip as she spoke.
“You’re not wrong. But so do you.”
I picked up the tablet sitting beside me on the sofa. I swiped through the screen, finding what I was looking for, then turned it around to show her.
Her face went white.
I took a moment, let her stare at the photograph displayed on the tablet, resisting the urge to look over at Callum and share a satisfied smile with him.
I kept my eyes on her, maintaining my silence as her strange, off-putting eyes got wider, and her jaw went slack. The picture on the tablet I held in front of her was of a black family, wearing clothing from the mid-90s. They were smiling, happy. And the woman carried a beautiful baby girl in her arms—a mocha-skinned child with a pink bow taped to her head.
Aria obviously knew who this family was, which told me everything I needed to know.
“I took the liberty of finding out about you. I hope you don’t mind,” I said, breaking the silence, but not my gaze. “If you’ll forgive me, Miss Aria Summers, your complexion seems to have taken a turn as you aged.”
It hadn’t been hard to find Aria Summers’ birth certificate and social security number application. The death certificate had been somewhat harder to find, thanks to a filing error. But Callum had found it nonetheless, making it clear that whoever this woman was, she wasn’t Aria Summers.
Alas, I had no idea what else to call her. From what we could tell, it was the only name she had ever used.
Aria stared at the tablet in my hand, her eyes wide and panicked. She had no retort ready, which suited me perfectly well.
“There are quite a few felonies you’ve committed,” I said, not allowing one drop of sympathy to leak into my voice. “You have entered the Kingdom under a false ID, which brings prison, flogging, and deportation when you’re done with your sentence. As for the U.S., I honestly have no idea what they’ll do with you. Or your father. I’m assuming he’s using a dummy identity too?”
Aria’s jaw clenched as she stared at the tablet, shaking with the effort of maintaining her composure. It was exactly the reaction I wanted, but I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for causing it.
She glanced down at the divan before reluctantly lowering herself onto it, her soaked abaya leaving a damp imprint on the fabric. She did not raise her eyes but instead kept them fixed on the floor, a look of hopelessness washing over her face.
The room seemed to grow colder as the silence between us stretched on, the steady drumming of rain against the windows the only sound.
I set the tablet down beside me, turning off the screen for good measure. “Now that I have your attention,” I began, my voice softening as I tried to convey sincerity. “I’d like to tell you why I brought you here.”
Her gaze flicked up to meet mine, and I could see the defiance still smoldering in those fierce eyes. Her hands clenched into fists on her lap as she waited for me to continue.
“Hard as it is to believe, I have no desire to hurt you. Or your family. But I need your help. And I’m afraid I’m desperate enough to insist that you give it to me.”
Her eyebrow ticked upward slightly, her lips tightening to hold back whatever deluge of insults she longed to hurl at me.
I had practiced the speech I would give her, even writing out bullet points so she would come away understanding the necessity of my request as well as the futility of trying to say no. Now that she sat before me, those ice-blue eyes burning into me, I found myself grappling for words.
“Your... gifts,” I said hesitantly, trying to choose my words carefully. “What you did to Captain Al-Tuwaijri. You can make a murder look like natural causes?”
Her eyes narrowed and she unclenched her mouth just enough to whisper, “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for his autopsy.”
Behind Aria, Callum shook his head in frustration. That wasn’t the answer either of us wanted. I had to keep my face impassive, not letting one thing slip that Aria could use against me.
“So you’ve never done it before?” I pressed.
“I’m not a murderer,” she said, lifting her chin in a pitiful attempt at imperiousness.
“Yes you are,” I replied, my voice steady. “You killed a man yesterday. Because he deserved it. And because you wanted to protect your friends. Now I want you to kill someone else, and I assure you he absolutely deserves it.”
Aria’s jaw tightened as she processed my words. Part of me hated myself for putting her in this position. This wasn’t how I wanted this conversation to go. This wasn’t how I wanted my life to go.
But this was my reality. My kingdom needed help, and this weird American woman was the only one who could give me the help I needed without instituting a full-blown coup.
“My uncle, the king, is a tyrant,” I confessed, scooting closer to the edge of the sofa, shrinking the distance between us. “He killed my father. I know he did. And now he rules our kingdom—my father’s kingdom—with an iron fist, showing no leadership or piety, only cruelty and oppression. I’m sure you’ve heard stories on the news. But the whole truth is so much worse than you know. I cannot stand idly by while he destroys everything we hold dear. Everything my family built.”
Aria’s expression shifted from defiance to confusion, clearly not expecting regicide to be the reason for her kidnapping. Her silence weighed heavily in the room, punctuated by the ticking of the antique clock on the wall. I studied her, trying to gauge her thoughts and emotions, but all I could see was her frustration.
Finally, she lifted her gaze to meet mine. “You can’t make me kill someone,” she said, her voice trembling.
“That’s true,” I nodded. “I can’t make you do anything. And frankly, I don’t think I’ll need to.” I softened my voice, let my mouth drift into the lightest of smilest as I changed tactics. “Your actions speak louder than your words, Aria. When faced with evil, you chose to use your gift to protect innocent lives. Even though you were in full view of me and of Callum. That makes you a hero in my eyes. And now, our people need a hero more than ever.”
The weird intensity of her gaze hadn’t lost its unsettling power, but some of the defiance drifted away, the lines of her face softening just a bit.
Good.
“Just because your uncle is more conservative doesn’t make him evil. Do you really expect me to just take your word that he’s got it coming?”
I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at her naivete. “You think this is about politics?” I asked, incredulous. “This goes far beyond that, Aria. He’s not just conservative – he’s dangerous.”
“Proof?” she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest.
Before I could respond, Callum spoke up. “If you were to touch him, you’d be able to tell what kind of a man he is, yeah?”
Aria flinched, clearly unnerved by Callum, something that was an objectively good thing, but bothered me nonetheless.
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “Yes, I would,” she admitted quietly.
“You touched me,” I said quietly, looking down to give her a break. To make her think I felt awkward bringing it up. “Did you see some power-hungry princeling who wants the throne for himself?”
“I didn’t hang on long enough,” she said, a bite to her tone.
I searched Aria’s face, trying to gauge her thoughts. She seemed to hate me less, but still no closer to accepting now than when she first sat down.
“Listen,” I said, returning to my soft, accommodating voice, “what I’m proposing will take a week at most. And when it’s done, you’ll be wealthy beyond your dreams. You’ll be able to take care of your father. And if it matters to you at all, the women in this country won’t be in bags anymore.”
At that, she squinted in confusion at me. “Why not? That’s your religion, right?”
“It’s not my religion,” I replied, not quite able to keep the exasperation out of my voice. “Modest dress is mandated but the burqa is pre-Islamic. And if you haven’t noticed, this isn’t Afghanistan. All this Wahabi nonsense and the ruination it’s brought our business sector will die with him.”
“Cuz you’ll be a better king?” she sniped.
“I won’t be a king at all. My brother will. And when he dies, his son will assume the throne.”
Finally, I saw something shift in her eyes. Was that all it took? Should I have led with the fact that I’m third in line to the throne?
As her expression softened, I found myself briefly mesmerized by that unusual blue in her eyes, the way they seemed to glow from within.
I swallowed hard, shaken by the unwanted attraction, and looked away. She is merely a means to an end, I reminded myself. Nothing more.
Still, I couldn’t deny she fascinated me. The way she carried herself with a subtle grace despite her unpolished upbringing. The quick wit and intelligence she displayed. And of course, her strange ability.
I doubted I would be as judicious if I were similarly blessed.
The storm outside intensified, lightning illuminating the room for a split second followed by the deafening clash of thunder. Aria flinched at the sudden noise, and before I knew what was happening, she lunged at me.
Her body collided with mine, knocking me off balance and sending me flat on the couch. She straddled me, her wet abaya clinging to my waist as she leaned down and grabbed my face in her cold hands.
Her eyes unblinking as she stared into me, right into my soul.