by Miranda Lee
‘Amy!’ Amy corrected, but she could feel the disgust emanating from Fatima.
‘If the King ever hears of this there will be trouble!’ Fatima warned. ‘Serious trouble.’
‘I know!’ Amy bit back on tears as she left the nursery. She tried to block out the cries that followed her down the long corridor as she made her way deep into the palace.
This meeting with the King was necessary, Amy told herself, as nerves started to catch up with her. Something had to be said.
Still, even if she had requested this audience, she was not relishing the prospect. Sheikh King Emir of Alzan was not exactly open to conversation—at least not since the death of Hannah. The walls were lined with paintings of previous rulers, all dark and imposing men, but since the death of Emir’s wife, none was more imposing than Emir—and in a moment she must face him.
Must face him, Amy told herself as she saw the guards standing outside his door. As difficult as this conversation might be, there were things that needed to be said and she wanted to say them before she headed into the desert with the King and his daughters—for this was a discussion that must take place well away from tender ears.
Amy halted at the heavy, intricately carved doors and waited until finally the guards nodded and the doors were opened. She saw an office that reminded her of a courtroom. Emir sat at a large desk, dressed in black robes and wearing a kafeya. He took centre stage and the aides and elders sat around him. Somehow she must find the courage to state her case.
‘Head down!’ she was brusquely reminded by a guard.
Amy did as she was told and stepped in. She was not allowed to look at the King yet, but could feel his dark eyes drift over her as a rapid introduction was made in Arabic by his senior aide, Patel. Amy stood with her head bowed, as instructed, until finally Emir spoke.
‘You have been requesting to see me for some days now, yet I am told the twins are not unwell.’
His voice was deep and rich with accent. Amy had not heard him speak in English for so very long—his visits to the nursery were always brief, and when there he spoke just a few words in Arabic to his daughters before leaving. Standing there, hearing him speak again, Amy realised with a nervous jolt how much she had missed hearing his voice.
She remembered those precious days after the twins had been born and how approachable he’d been then. Emir had been a harried king, if there was such a thing, and like any new father to twins—especially with a sick wife. He had been grateful for any suggestion she’d made to help with the tiny babies—so much so that Amy had often forgotten that he was King and they had been on first-name terms. It was hard to imagine that he had ever been so approachable now, but she held on to that image as she lifted her head and faced him, determined to reach the father he was rather than the King.
‘Clemira and Nakia are fine,’ Amy started. ‘Well, physically they are fine...’ She watched as his haughty face moved to a frown. ‘I wanted to speak to you about their progress, and also about the tradition that they—’
‘Tomorrow we fly out to the desert,’ Emir interrupted. ‘We will be there for twenty-four hours. I am sure there will be ample time then to discuss their progress.’
‘But I want to speak about this well away from the twins. It might upset them to hear what I have to say.’
‘They are turning one,’ Emir stated. ‘It’s hardly as if they can understand what we are discussing.’
‘They might be able to...’
Amy felt as if she were choking—could feel the scar beneath the silk around her neck inflame. For she knew how it felt to lie silent, knew how it felt to hear and not be able to respond. She knew exactly what it was like to have your life discussed around you and not be able to partake in the conversation. She simply would not let this happen to the twins. Even if there was only a slight chance that they might understand what was being said, Amy would not take that risk. Anyway, she was here for more than simply to discuss their progress.
‘Fatima told me that the twins are to spend the night with the Bedouins...’
He nodded.
‘I don’t think that is such a good idea,’ Amy went on. ‘They are very clingy at the moment. They get upset if I even leave the room.’
‘Which is the whole point of the separation.’ Emir was unmoved. ‘All royals must spend time each year with the desert people.’
‘But they are so young!’
‘It is the way things have long been done. It is a rule in both Alzan and Alzirz and it is not open for discussion.’
It hurt, but she had no choice but to accept that, Amy realised, for this was a land where rules and traditions were strictly followed. All she could do was make the separation as easy as possible on the twins.
‘There are other things I need to speak with you about.’ Amy glanced around the room—although she was unsure how many of the guards and aides spoke English, she knew that Patel did. ‘It might be better if we speak in private?’ Amy suggested.
‘Private?’ Emir questioned. His irritation made it clear that there was nothing Amy could possibly say that might merit clearing the room. ‘There is no need for that. Just say what you came to.’
‘But...’
‘Just say it!’
He did not shout, but there was anger and impatience in his voice, and Emir’s eyes held a challenge. Quite simply, Amy did not recognise him—or rather she did not recognise him as the man she had known a year ago. Oh, he had been a fierce king then, and a stern ruler, but he had also been a man sensitive to his sick wife’s needs, a man who had put duty and protocol aside to look after his ailing wife and their new babies. But today there was no mistaking it. Amy was speaking not with the husband and father she had first met, but to the King of Alzan.
‘The children so rarely see you,’ Amy attempted, in front of this most critical audience. ‘They miss seeing you.’
‘They have told you this, have they?’ His beautiful mouth was sullied as it moved to a smirk. ‘I was not aware that they had such an advanced vocabulary.’
A small murmur of laughter came from Patel before he stepped forward. ‘The King does not need to hear this,’ Patel said. Aware that this was her only chance to speak with him before they set off tomorrow, Amy pushed on.
‘Perhaps not, but the children do need their father. They need—’
‘There is nothing to discuss.’ It was Emir who terminated the conversation. Barely a minute into their meeting he ended it with a flick of his hand and Amy was dismissed. The guards opened the door and Patel indicated that she should leave. But instead of following the silent order to bow her head meekly and depart, Amy stood her ground.
‘On the contrary—there’s an awful lot that we need to discuss!’
She heard the shocked gasp from the aides, felt the rise in tension from everyone present in the room, for no one in this land would dare argue with the King—and certainly not a mere nanny.
‘I apologise, Your Highness.’ Patel came over to where Amy stood and addressed the King in a reverential voice. That voice was only for the King—when he spoke to Amy Patel was stern, suggesting in no uncertain terms that she leave the room this very moment.
‘I need to be heard!’
‘The King has finished speaking with you,’ Patel warned her.
‘Well, I haven’t finished speaking with him!’ Amy’s voice rose, and as it did so, it wavered—but only slightly. Her blue eyes blinked, perhaps a little rapidly, but she met the King’s black stare as she dared to confront him. Yes, she was nervous—terrified, in fact—but she had come this far and she simply could not stay quiet for a moment longer.
‘Your Highness, I really do need to speak with you about your daughters before we go to the desert. As you know, I have been requesting an audience with you for days now. On my contract it states that I will meet regularly with the parents of the twins to discuss any concerns.’
It appalled her that she even had to request an appointment with him for such a
thing, and that when he finally deigned to see her he could so rapidly dismiss her. He didn’t even have the courtesy to hear her out, to find out what she had to say about his children. Amy was incensed.
‘When I accepted the role of Royal Nanny it was on the understanding that I was to assist in the raising of the twins and that when they turned four...’ Her voice trailed off as once again Emir ignored her. He had turned to Patel and was speaking in Arabic. Amy stood quietly fuming as a file—presumably her file—was placed in front of Emir and he took a moment to read through it.
‘You signed a four-year contract,’ Emir stated. ‘You will be here till the twins leave for London to pursue their education and then we will readdress the terms, that is what was agreed.’
‘So am I expected to wait another three years before we discuss the children?’ Amy forgot then that he was a king—forgot her surrounds entirely. She was so angry with him that she was at her caustic best. ‘I’m expected to wait another three years before we address any issues? If you want to talk about the contract, then fine—we will! The fact is the contract we both signed isn’t being adhered to from your end!’ Amy flared. ‘You can’t just pick and choose which clauses you keep to.’
‘Enough!’
It was Patel who responded. He would not let his King be bothered with such trivialities. He summoned the guard to drag her out if required, but as the guard unceremoniously took her arm to escort her out, Amy stood firm. The veil covering her hair slithered from its position as she tried to shake the guard off.
It was Emir who halted this rather undignified exit. He did not need a guard to deal with this woman and he put up his hand to stop him, said something that was presumably an instruction to release her, because suddenly the guard let go his grip on her arm.
‘Go on,’ Emir challenged, his eyes narrowing as he stared over to the woman who had just dared to confront him—the woman who had dared suggest that he, Sheikh King Emir of Alzan, had broken an agreement that bore his signature. ‘Tell me where I have broken my word.’
She stood before him, a little more shaken, a touch more breathless, but grateful for another chance to be heard. ‘The twins need a parent...’ He did not even blink. ‘As I said, my role is to assist in the raising of the twins both here in the palace and on regular trips to London.’ Perhaps, Amy decided, it would be safer to start with less emotive practicalities. ‘I haven’t been home in over a year.’
‘Go on,’ he replied.
Amy took a deep breath, wondering how best to broach this sensitively, for he really was listening now. ‘The girls need more than I can give them—they...’ She struggled to continue for a moment. The twins needed love, and she had plenty of that for them, but it was a parent that those two precious girls needed most. Somehow she had to tell him that—had to remind him what Hannah had wanted for her daughters. ‘Until they turn four I’m supposed to assist in their raising. It was agreed that I have two evenings and two nights off a week, but instead—’
He interrupted her again and spoke in rapid Arabic to Patel. There was a brief conversation between the aides before he turned back to her. ‘Very well. Fatima will help you with the care of the children. You will have your days off from now on, and my staff will look into your annual leave arrangements.’
She couldn’t believe it—could not believe how he had turned things around. He had made it seem as if all she was here for was to discuss her holiday entitlements.
‘That will be all.’
‘No!’ This time she did shout, but her voice did not waver—on behalf of the twins, Amy was determined to be heard. ‘That isn’t the point I was trying to make. I am to assist—my job is to assist the parents in the raising of the children, not to bring them up alone. I would never have accepted the role otherwise.’ She wouldn’t have. Amy knew that. She had thought she was entering a loving family—not one where children, or rather female children, were ignored. ‘When Queen Hannah interviewed me...’
Emir’s face paled—his dark skin literally paled in the blink of an eye—and there was a flash of pain across his haughty features at the mention of his late wife. It was as if her words were ice that he was biting down on and he flinched. But almost instantaneously the pain dispersed, anger replacing it.
He stood. He did not need to, for already she was silent, already she had realised the error of her ways. From behind his desk Emir rose to his impressive height and the whole room was still and silent. No one more so than Amy, for Emir was an imposing man and not just in title. He stood well over six foot and was broad shouldered, toned. There was the essence of a warrior to him—a man of the desert who would never be tamed. But Emir was more than a warrior, he was a ruler too—a fierce ruler—and she had dared to talk back at him, had dared to touch on a subject that was most definitely, most painfully, closed.
‘Leave!’
He roared the single word and this time Amy chose to obey his command, for his black eyes glittered with fury and the scar that ran through his left eyebrow was prominent, making his features more savage. Amy knew beyond doubt that she had crossed a line. There were so many lines that you did not cross here in Alzan, so many things that could not be said while working at the palace, but to speak of the late Queen Hannah, to talk of happier times, to bring up the past with King Emir wasn’t simply speaking out of turn, or merely crossing a line—it was a leap that only the foolish would take. Knowing she was beaten, Amy turned to go.
‘Not you!’ His voice halted her exit. ‘The rest of you are to leave.’
Amy turned around slowly, met the eyes of an angry sheikh king. She had upset him, and now she must face him alone.
‘The nanny is to stay.’
ISBN: 9781460309957
MASTER OF HER VIRTUE
Copyright © 2013 by Miranda Lee
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