Black Keys (The Colorblind Trilogy #1)

by Rose B Mashal

  And infectious.

  “Thank you so much,” I said with gratitude filling my every sense and a grin decorating my face. I had no idea if he had any idea how much this meant to me. I couldn’t even tell how much this meant to me. So much. More than so much.

  “You’ve very welcome, Beautiful Princess,” he said with the smile still living on his lips.

  “It’s so beautiful,” I said in awe as I stared at it some more.

  “Beautiful princesses should only get beautiful things,” His words expressed sincerity and it made my chest swell at the sound of it.

  It wasn’t the amount of diamonds that were placed in the piece of jewelry that he’d just gifted me that made me so in love with it. No, it was the jewelry itself and what it resembled, what it meant and what it felt like to realize all of those things.

  “When did you buy it?” I wondered. Because this beautiful thing in my hands wasn’t something you could just pick up from a store, and mine only broke last night. Of course he would have had to search for it or so…I just couldn’t get when would he buy this, nor where.

  “Last night when I went to see Salma, I asked one of the guards to go to the family’s jewelry designer and get him to do this for you. I gave him the details and how I wanted it to look, and once I got the box in my hand, I came back right away,” he explained, smiling.

  “Oh, my goodness!” I gushed. “I can’t believe you got it done in such a short time.”

  He only shrugged with the smile still on his lips.

  “Wait, what do you mean by ‘details’?”

  “I had the picture for it in my mind and I told him about it; he made it just like I wanted it.”

  “Wow! It’s as if you designed it yourself!”

  His answering grin was outstanding, and my chest ached some more.

  I couldn’t wait any longer, I wanted to wear it right then and there. It just had to be worn, and it felt like I would put it inside of my heart if I was able to.

  I took the necklace out of the box. The diamonds in the cross charm made it heavier than any charm I’d ever worn before, but then again, I’d never worn something that beautiful before. I’d always worn pretty stuff, yeah, but nothing was ever that beautiful.

  The cross-shaped charm was decorated with tiny, small and large diamond stones–so many diamonds. A large stone in the center was shaped like a rose and it was surrounded by four hearts–three of them were the same size, and one that was much longer and took the place of the bottom part of the cross.

  It was breathtakingly beautiful. It was a cross made of hearts. Hearts. And he designed it. Him. The prince.

  I fumbled a bit with the lock, but got it done eventually, then looked down at the cross hanging over my chest and couldn’t help grinning widely and thanking the prince once again.

  “It’s too much,” I said.

  “Nothing is too much when it’s for you, Beautiful Princess,” he told me.

  A blush crept up my face and neck as I looked into his beautiful green eyes. His words–yet again–sounded very honest and his expression looked very true. And I…I couldn’t understand.

  “Why are you like this?” Because I had to ask.

  Our eyes stayed locked together for longer than a few moments, before he sighed then answered my question, “I’ve been wondering the same thing, Princess.”

  More confusion. His answer made me even more confused. I couldn’t understand if he meant that he was wondering the same thing, as in why was he like that with me? or if he was wondering why I was like that but wouldn’t ask me the question that I’d just asked him.

  I bit my bottom lip, my eyes narrowing a little and my head cocking to the side, as I tried to solve the mystery that was the prince sitting in front of me.

  Why was he so very patient with me this way? Why was he that kind? I’d hurt him last night and told him we couldn’t be even friends. I’d never apologized. For anything, that is. Why would he be like this?

  He gave me a cross! He gave me hearts! He also gave me no hint of an explanation as to why he was like this. Why was he treating me like this? Why was he so good to me? Why?

  Lies.

  Games.

  Traps.

  “Why are you okay with me wearing a cross while your mother is not?”

  He frowned. “My mother is not okay with you wearing a cross? I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, trust me. She’s not!” I almost snorted, did he know his mother at all?

  “Why would you say that?” His frown deepened.

  “She told me that herself.”

  “She did what?” His confused frown turned into shocked, wide eyes.

  “Yep, she said she wished her only child had gotten married to someone better than me, and that she would’ve been grateful if you’d married a Muslim instead, when I wouldn’t take off my cross at her demand.”

  I watched as his nostrils flared and anger filled his eyes as he clenched his fists. “I can’t believe she said that!”

  “I have no reason to lie.”

  “Of course. It’s not what I meant, I just–” He didn’t complete his thought, only moved a hand through his wild locks of hair, gripping it in frustration, groaning before shaking his head and looking down toward his lap. “She shouldn’t have said that,” he eventually said in a low voice.

  “Yeah,” I emptied my lungs in a long sigh.

  “People should never be judged for what kind of faith they’ve chosen to be theirs, Princess.” His eyes met mine again, and it made me wonder if his words were meant for his mother’s actions or…mine.

  I didn’t reply to him, I only held his gaze for a few moments, searching for a confirmation to my doubts, but I found none. He was always so hard to read.

  It didn’t stop my wondering, though.

  “True,” was my one-word reply.

  “I’m sorr–”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I interrupted him, shaking my head. “And it’s no big deal, anyway.”

  “No big deal?” he asked, surprised. “You mean it didn’t hurt you? To be taken as a less-than-good person, without you doing anything to give the person judging you a bad impression of yourself? It doesn’t hurt at all to know that only because of your faith someone will always think less of you–no matter what? It doesn’t hurt, Princess?”

  My eyes moved between his for a second, perceiving, observing. I swallowed thickly, “I guess it does.”

  It wasn’t news to me that I’d hurt the prince more times than I cared to admit since the day of the wedding, but it was out of my hands. I wouldn’t lie and say I didn’t mean it, because I did. I meant to hurt him. It was just that…God! I couldn’t believe how similar I was to…the queen.

  Yeah, to the queen of all people.

  But it wasn’t like that with me; I didn’t judge a person because of their race or religion. The girl that was as close to me as anyone could get–my assistant–was African-American. A very decent number of my employees were Jewish or Atheists. I didn’t have anything against different races or religions. Or…did I? No, of course not. It was only this particular religion that I had a problem with. And I had my reasons. I did. I wasn’t like her…no, I wasn’t. Or…was I?

  Good God!

  The prince nodded, “I know it does.” And that hurt more than what we were talking about. “So, I apologize for what my mother said to you,” he said. “I won’t justify her actions because there is nothing that could justify that, but I do hope that one day you can forgive her and realize what a good woman my mother is.” I had to hold back an eye roll at hearing that.

  “She is,” he insisted, as if he were able to read my mind and knew his words were unbelievable to me. “She’s a queen, she’s responsible for lots of things in this kingdom, and it’s a lot. Her biggest dream was–is–for me to be the next king after my father. Our marriage almost ruined everything for her, threatened this dream and the possibility of it ever happening. She’s already had everything planned for
me, even my bride. She just wants someone to blame, and her blame–unfortunately–is misplaced; it should be directed at Yoseph, not at you.” He sighed. “This still doesn’t justify her actions, but I hope it helps you understand her reasoning a bit, Princess. She’s just upset and overprotective, and she’s not the only one who feels betrayed.”

  The way the prince was talking, I really couldn’t understand how he did it, or how he was able to comprehend all of those things. His words about his mother–how did he understand her so well like that? How was he able to convince me to understand all of that? It was really strange. And above all, I wondered how he was able to understand me that much.

  He knew I felt betrayed.

  And again, I found out that I had more in common with the queen than I’d ever imagined.

  The biggest question that was roaming inside of my head was, was this why he was treating me this way? So nice, so kind and so…caring? Was I really just like everything he’d just said about his mother? Because it felt like it. It felt like his words were all about me, along with his mother.

  Was it only because I felt betrayed that I was treating him this way? Hurting him over and over again? Was my cruelty towards him misplaced, just like the queen’s blame? Was I really mistaken when I blamed him for everything that was happening to me, while there were other people I should be blaming, especially since I knew he wasn’t really the one to blame?

  There was a ‘yes’ brightening in my mind behind each and every one of those questions. And it wasn’t easy to take in. It was saddening and embarrassing at the same time.

  I pressed my lips together into a tight line, then I nodded. Because I understood. Most of the things, at least. To a point.

  I only hoped that the prince would’ve told me as well, that if I found it really, really hard to ever forgive the queen for what she’d said to me or how she’d made me feel, whether that meant the prince would find it as hard to forgive me for all of the times I’d unintentionally and intentionally hurt him.

  Or if he would’ve told me why I cared so much for how he felt, for me or because of me.

  My head was spinning already.

  The prince offered me one of his small smiles and asked, “Do you fancy eating now?”

  “I’m famished,” I admitted.

  His smile grew bigger and he nodded, “C’mon.”

  “Oh, snap!” I gasped when I attempted to get up only to find my new necklace falling from my neck to my lap. I held it up, confused as to why it would fall down after I’d locked it, and grateful that it hadn’t happened somewhere else where I couldn’t find it later. I held it up and examined the clasp, finding that it was different from the other clasps I was used to.

  “Let me?” the prince’s voice asked. His hand reached out in an offer to take the necklace from my hand, and I handed it to him.

  He sat closer to me than he was a minute before. I moved my hair to the side and waited for him to put it on for me like he’d done so many times on the night of the wedding.

  “There are two clasps on this necklace, the bigger one covers and secures the smaller,” he told me as he worked the locks. His breath fanned over the side of my neck, making my skin tingle and my heart beat faster, reminding me of last night and all the times I felt his very warm breath on my neck and face. One specific memory made me shiver and close my eyes as I relived the moment that I hated and loved all the same.

  When I opened my eyes again, I found the prince’s once more staring deeply into mine.

  I had to hold my breath at the look in his eyes. He was so close, his face only an inch away from mine, our lips almost touching–he was that close. And I knew, I just knew, that look. Oh, God! That look! I knew what he wanted. I knew what I wanted. And I knew it was the same thing. But…

  “Are we pretending?” I had to ask because I had to know. He never replied to my request last night about pretending that we never shared that thing, and I wanted to make sure of what he wanted to do, or if he was going to do it. I felt like a small child, wanting to play but knowing I wasn’t allowed to do so. But the difference was that the one not allowing me to play wasn’t a parent, it was my own head. My head was denying my heart what it wanted to feel. To touch. To do.

  “I’m not,” was his quick, whispered reply, which made me question his sanity, or the limits of his forgiveness. Because it was too much for me to believe that he’d forgotten all of the hurtful words I’d said to him yesterday, and was still able to look me in the eye with so much passion in those beautiful green eyes of his.

  I couldn’t believe it. Too much. It was too much.

  Games.

  Lies.

  Traps.

  “Don’t kiss me,” I whispered back, and against everything in me that wanted the opposite.

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  And I was surprisingly disappointed and upset. To a point.

  The hours that followed were peaceful. We ate and had very light conversations. Mona came and went a few times. One of those times was to take back the World Cup-thing that gave off the wonderful-smelling smoke, and I had to ask her about that tradition, and why she’d only done it starting from yesterday and not since the day of the wedding. She answered that the scent of the rosebuds that were decorating the bed on the wedding night was still filling the room and the musk would’ve killed it, so she didn’t do it the first two days. Her answer made me notice how there were lots of things that I wasn’t aware of, or hadn’t paid attention to–like the fact that I hadn’t even noticed the disappearance of the rosebuds that had covered the floor the past three days and were gone in the middle of the day yesterday. Or the disappearance of the shattered glass in the bathroom right the next day. It also made me notice how everything around me was super-organized and everything was very neat, even those silly traditions. Well, some of them. A few of them.

  Crazily, I liked the way I was bonding with Mona more each day.

  The prince then asked me if I wanted to take that tour of our wing, and I eagerly agreed. My mind forgot everything bad with every new room I saw. Everything was decorated perfectly. And there was nothing I couldn’t love. The rooms were pretty, each one of them. The three guest rooms, the three sitting rooms, the two dining rooms and the two living rooms. The kids’ rooms were what made my heart flutter inside of my chest; they were too cute and just adorable. Two rooms with two beds, each.

  Imagining that those could’ve been rooms for my kids made it hard for me not to tear up. I’d always loved kids and I’d wanted them forever. And even if those rooms weren’t meant for my kids, I still couldn’t help my motherly hormones or whatever inside of me that made my heart ache with longing and hope.

  I had a scarf over my shoulders when the prince snuck us out once again, but this time it wasn’t down and under the palace–nope, it was on top of it. We got there with hidden ladders behind the secret doors, and the sight from up there was magical.

  The sky was beautiful shades of orange and red, and the sun looked amazingly stunning with its perfect round shape and the outstanding golden color. The prince made a little comment about it that made me blush, saying that it was the same beautiful color as my locks.

  We watched as the sun disappeared more moment by moment, saying a silent goodbye as it hid behind the clouds, making space for the moon and changing the day right before our eyes into night, something that, like star-gazing and mountain climbing, I hadn’t paid that much attention to before in my life. I had no idea how I was so blind to such beautiful things around me.

  “You really like nature, huh?” I asked the prince as I studied him while he studied the sky. It was really inspiring, to learn that this powerful man had such a tender soul that loved to watch the sun as it set and as it rose, loved to gaze at the stars, loved the sky when it was blue and when it was black. Someone who had the whole world in his hands, yet liked simple things that many people didn’t even care the slightest for.

  “I adore it,” he simply replied
, and I had to smile, hugging the scarf to my chest in comfort.

  “So, nature is your passion?” I asked, tilting my head to the side, wondering if he liked horses more or nature.

  “Along with other things, yeah,” he said with his eyes still gazing away at the sky. I wondered about those other things and what they were, his next question snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “What about you, Pretending Princess?” His tone was teasing and his narrowed eyes and lopsided smile were playful, both making me blush hard and look away.

  It was so easy to read him this time, because he wasn’t trying to hide it. And I completely understood why with the tone and the look. My questions were those of someone who was curious to get to know the other. It was as if I was doing the very thing I’d told him earlier before I fell asleep that I would never do: be friends with him. And I wondered if my mood swings–as they must’ve appeared to him to be–were giving him whiplash yet.

  But it really wasn’t that simple. I wasn’t just moody, with my mood shifting easily and so much, it was just hard inside of me, and hard to explain. The prince was someone interesting; he was very kind, caring, smart and handsome, simply any girl’s dream. But he was a Muslim. A part inside of me wanted to get to know him and maybe really be friends. Sometimes I even thought–with all of the chemistry and my attraction to him–that we could be even more. But every time I thought that, I could never help the feeling of being a cheater. As if I was betraying the two people I loved the most, even more than my own parents. And I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t go on. It was easy to pull away, but it was even easier to be pulled back to him. It was such a war.

  Before I could tell him about my obsession with reading that I barely had the time to fulfill, a gasp left my mouth at the sound of loud voices.

  The sound wasn’t annoying, not at all. It was just surprising. And loud. And I didn’t know what it was or where it was coming from. I looked around me in search of the source, but found none, so I asked the prince, “What is this?”

  “It’s the azan,” he answered.