“A cat. His name is Stormy. I’m surprised you haven’t seen him swimming in the pool.” She bit her lip. No need to give away the fact that she knew he was the one who watched her.
She glanced around the room. Life-sized portraits graced two of the four walls. The third wall contained only windows, and the fourth some sort of official document. “Who are these people?”
“Family.” He cleared his throat, and glanced at the sleek gold watch on his wrist. “I need to go now. Enjoy your visit.”
She stood when he did. “Thank you.”
He reached his hand toward her cheek, but pulled back, glancing at something over her shoulder, then strode from the room.
Cahri frowned at his back. She didn’t think she had done anything wrong, but he’d seemed agitated when he left.
She stood there for some time. He was even more handsome than she remembered. His scent lingered after him, and she inhaled to pull in as much of him as she could. She shook her head.
Twenty or thirty portraits lined the walls. She went from one side to the other peering into their eyes. What were they thinking? Former princes, soon to become kings. A family. One of the portraits caught her attention. Was this the picture the prince had been staring at?
The woman wasn't a native, not with pale skin and blue eyes. Cahri reached out to her. She's like me, a stranger. Her fingers traced the etching on the gold plate, 1875, Royal Family. This foreigner was queen. It could be her one day.
Doubtful.
Farther down, the dates became more recent. The last portrait was of Prince Jonathan.
Not Prince Josiah?
The date indicated it was painted five years ago. His eyes had the same look of intensity Cahri perceived in Prince Josiah's eyes. This prince displayed a harshness the current one did not have.
Where is this prince? Why is his picture here? She tapped her foot against the tile floor.
Oh. Prince Jonathan had been killed in a car accident a few years ago.
As she walked back to the door, she stopped to look at some of the other portraits then wandered over to the document protected by a glass box. It listed the kings and the length of their reign.
If these walls could talk, what story would they tell? Were all of these men good kings? Cahri shivered. Would the prince be a good king? A good husband?
Anaya had talked enough about him that Cahri felt she knew him, but her knowledge was incomplete. She liked what she'd seen today. He’d controlled his obvious desire to touch her. And she had wanted to feel his caress.
****
Josiah left Cahri in the gallery. He forced himself to keep walking toward his appointment with his father instead of staying and learning more about her. The desire to kiss her had caught him off guard, but he’d stopped himself just in time. No point in giving his father a reason to dismiss her.
At his knock on his father’s office door, he heard a gruff, “Enter.”
Josiah stood in front of the desk, waiting for the older man’s acknowledgement.
The king lifted his head. “Ah, good. You’re here. I have decided to throw a banquet next week.”
“Father, it's too soon for a banquet.”
“It is not. These women have had over two months of teaching. It is time for them to put it to good use. What better way than with a banquet among the nobles? You may be the one getting married, but I will have my say in whom you choose. I will not allow you to pick without discretion.”
“But, Father…”
“Enough. It is done. Leave me.”
Josiah left angrier than when he'd come. He'd made his interest in Cahri known to his father, who had denied Josiah the chance to end this charade. Fine! He’d do it his father’s way, but he would see. The one he had chosen would pass his tests. She would be his queen, and his father would be happy to have the light-skinned beauty as his daughter-in-law.
Chapter Eleven
Cahri wandered to the common room. All the others huddled together. Something special? Anaya stood against one of the back walls.
Cahri approached her, sensing something was wrong. Her pulse quickened. “What's going on?”
“The chosen are to attend a banquet given by my father. Many of the nobles will be there. They’ll be given permission to offer proposals, and you may choose to accept or stay. He also wants to have an inspection of his own and cut back on some of the women who remain.”
“Why are you so sad then?”
“You have become my friend. I know you didn't want to come here and still struggle with it at times. I worry that as soon as my father looks into your eyes, he will see your turmoil as well. He will listen with his spirit to what he feels God is telling him. He makes his faith a priority and makes no decision without a great deal of prayer.”
“I would expect any Godly king to do so.”
Anaya ran her hands along her arms as though wiping away a chill. “While being a bride to the prince is a desirable position, being a noble's bride is almost as advantageous, and my father wants to get rid of those who are willing to settle. Thus, the reason for the banquet.”
“Please don't worry. If I am meant to stay, then I will. I also think of you as a friend and have come to accept the fact that I am somehow supposed to be here at this time. If I am chosen, then I will be the best wife I can be.”
“But don’t you see? If my father sees your desire to leave, he will dismiss you and you can’t be chosen by the prince. All my work will be for nothing.”
Cahri patted Anaya’s arm. “Don’t be so anxious. I was raised to trust and serve God. I accept that your father listens to Him. I know God exists and, even though it doesn't feel like it sometimes, I know He loves me. I also know it is His will for me to be here.” Cahri paused, waiting for Anaya to look at her. “Your work has not been for nothing. I have learned so much from you in these last weeks.”
In her heart, the truth blossomed even though she hadn't realized it until that moment. God awaited her return, but must have decided a gentle tug would be in order. She saw Him in the garden, in the art, in the sunrise, and in her own writing. Peace settled on her heart as she meditated on what she’d told Anaya.
“Come, then. We have to prepare you for the banquet. We have just over an hour.”
“The banquet is tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask a question?”
“You may ask, but it doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” She smirked at Cahri then winked as they hurried down the hall.
“What did you do every day before I and the others came?”
“Ah, you mean what do I do with my time since everything I want is pretty much done for me?”
“Yes.” Cahri furrowed her brows. Had she gone too far? Was it too personal a question?
Anaya laughed. “I stay quite busy. My mother has been turning over the overseeing of the palace to me for a few years now. Whomever my brother chooses will share those responsibilities with me until I marry, thus the need for the classes.”
“Ah yes, the classes.” Cahri rolled her eyes at Anaya, who snickered.
“I travel to our other properties, enjoy riding the horses, and playing with the dogs. There are also a number of children here who belong to guests and to servants. Sometimes I will sit with them, and we'll read a Bible story or play a game.”
“You’re allowed to play with and teach the children?” Cahri hoped it was something she would get to do if she stayed.
“Yes, of course. My father has a special place set aside just for them. I also spend a lot of my time reading my Bible and learning about God.” She stopped and pointed to the steaming water in the bathtub. “In you go.”
“You read the Bible?”
“Yes, don't you?”
“Not much anymore, not since my parents died.” Cahri felt her face heat.
Anaya nodded and remained quiet.
They spent forty-five minutes getting Cahri ready.
“Ugh. Could you help me into this dre
ss?” Anaya tugged at the zipper along her spine.
Cahri slipped the garment in place. “You're going too?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “After tonight, I am no longer allowed to act as your servant. I am to take my place beside my parents and brother at the table, which will reveal my identity as the princess. I will try to persuade Matthias to bring you to my room, but I don't know if it will work.” She rubbed her forehead. Something bothered Anaya.
Cahri touched her arm. “What is it?”
“My parents think it is time for me to get serious about choosing a husband. I wish to marry for love, but because I am a daughter, I don’t get to choose, not without a great deal of input from my father any way.” A sigh escaped her lips. “My father has chosen five men from good families who he feels would make me a good husband, and I must pick one. I will marry in a year or so, sometime after my twentieth birthday.”
“You're nineteen? You seem so much older, so much wiser.”
Anaya shrugged. “Come, we must not be late.” She hurried from the room. “Go back to the common room until you’re called to the banquet hall. I will see you there, but do not acknowledge me and try to remember my father seeks a reason to dismiss more women. He will be watching, even when you can't see him. Keep your eyes lowered with respect at all times. If my guess is correct, nobles will surround you. They will try to catch your eye and lure you away. Good luck.”
Cahri entered the common room. Tension emanated from every woman present. Many chattered nonstop, demanding to know why dinner wasn't being served already. Cahri shook her head and frowned at their lack of manners. Most had come with nothing, but in the time they'd been here they’d become self-centered and hard to please. It was just past dinnertime, according to her watch. Complaining must come as natural as breathing to some.
She picked up a plush, red cushion and moved to the corner out of the way. Her goal was to remain unnoticed. After just a few minutes, Ashura came into the room and called for quiet. Though not a large man, he exuded a confidence whenever he entered the room. He always dressed the same, in a white collarless shirt which hung half-untucked, an all-black vest with black embroidery, and khaki dress pants.
“The banquet you are about to go to is for you to practice all of the skills we have taught you these past weeks. There will be many nobles present, as well as the royal family. Be on your best behavior.” He surveyed the room. “Follow me.”
Chapter Twelve
Cahri rose from her cushion but didn’t join the crowd of energetic women scrambling for positions at the front of the line. The others were so excited about going to the banquet, meeting nobles, and being in the presence of the royal family.
She focused on her trembling hands. Nerves. Anaya didn’t think the king would find favor with Cahri, but choosing a noble did not appeal to her. It would defeat her purpose in being there. When she'd first arrived, she hadn't wanted to get married, but since she'd met the prince… well, the possibility of life with him infiltrated her thoughts more often. Above all else, she was learning that she wanted God's will in this whole situation. She belonged here, at least for the moment. If she wasn't chosen, a trip to Paris sounded fine, too.
Several maids showed them to their assigned seats. Cahri sat where instructed, about halfway down the length of the table on the right side. Many of the others grumbled and complained about their seating arrangements. The ones further away from where the royal family would sit more so than some of the others. She kept her eyes on the table, glancing around once in a while at the enormous room.
Colorful tapestries hung on every wall. Skylights, two stories above, allowed the waning light to filter down. Candles burned on the table and around the room, providing the only other source of light. Bowls, plates, and glasses shimmered in the candlelight. Had she been less nervous, and with less people, she would have deemed the setting romantic.
The nobles arrived and sat among the women. Cahri kept her hands clasped in her lap as she acknowledged the greetings on her right and on her left. She squelched the desire to look up. She bit her lip and took a deep breath.
The man on her right wore black slacks and a white shirt. His hands proclaimed his youth and nerves, or perhaps impatience as he fidgeted with his silverware. His voice sounded mature, but wasn't deep. On her left, however, sat an older gentleman. He wore slightly wrinkled gray slacks and a navy blue shirt. His voice was gruff and distracted. She glanced at his face from the corner of her eye when she could see it — he seemed to be looking over every woman present. His hair was silver, his face wrinkled and leathery. She hoped he didn't try to get her attention.
After the nobles took their seats, the royal family entered the room. Chairs scraped back, including those of both of the gentlemen on either side of her. Stand or stay seated? Cahri couldn't remember. She hesitated. Both men stood. She breathed a sigh of relief. Stand. After weeks of repeating the act, she should have remembered. Nothing like nerves to erase easy-to-remember lessons.
When the gentleman on her left resumed his seat, she did as well. Now what was she supposed to do? She picked at a speck of lint on her pants leg and tapped her foot. Patience had never been natural to her.
What were those verses her parents wanted her to memorize? She came up blank. When she had a chance she’d have to sit down and find them.
After the royal family took their places, the first course appeared. Soup of some sort. She closed her eyes to pray as the king thanked God for the food. Although she hadn't prayed in ages, something told her she would need it tonight.
God called to her without rest. She gave her head a mental shake and returned her gaze to the soup. It smelled odd. She furrowed her brows and took her first taste. Yayla corbasi — yogurt soup. It tasted sour, but she refrained from commenting and forced herself not to cringe after each bite. She took several slow bites but couldn’t eat it all.
The scrape of spoons against empty bowls indicated both gentlemen had finished their soup. They began conversing with those around them. The younger man spoke to Iksura, who sat on his other side. They talked about the weather.
Boring.
She didn’t know who the older man chatted with, but she could see his hand resting on the lady’s knee.
Cahri thanked God he paid no attention to her. She’d hate to have to slap his hand from her leg.
The bowls were removed and replaced with kisir — bulgur salad. The lettuce had seen better days, and several pepper seeds and onion skins peeked from beneath the wilted leaves. After one bite, she rubbed her tongue on her teeth to remove the taste of the lettuce, then forced herself to eat a few more bites. Politeness required it. Quite a few complaints arose from the other women around her, though in stage whispers.
A server removed the salad and placed a shish kebab before her with a side of white rice. She stared at the kebab for a few minutes. How was she supposed to eat this? At home, she’d just pick it up and eat, but here?
She stabbed a piece of meat with her knife and slid the meat and vegetables off the skewer with her fork. An errant tomato flew off the skewer and rolled to the center of the table. Heat suffused her cheeks, but she didn’t retrieve it. Better to leave it than acknowledge the mistake. She took a bite of squash and almost choked.
Who on earth cooked this food? All of their meals had been edible at least, and some of them quite good. Had this been done on purpose?
She swallowed the first bite and took a drink of water. The lamb tasted like sandpaper, and the rice came close to cracking her teeth. Her stomach rumbled and gurgled in protest. She pressed herself to take another bite but squelched the desire for another drink. After the third bite, she could no longer control her need for something to wash it down. She took a slow swallow. And then another. The gentlemen on either side of her sent their compliments to the kitchen staff.
Taking a deep breath, she plunged in for another bite. The last she could force herself to take. She took another drink of water and eyed her glass.
Almost empty.
What would be served for dessert?
She peered at the glass again. The desire to gulp the remaining liquid welled up within her, but she pushed it down. Though the servants filled the glasses of the men, none of the chosen women had gotten more water.
She was not alone in getting inferior food since the other women complained quite a bit. Nausea drew her attention back to her stomach. With a deep breath, she tried to relax the tension building in her neck and the queasiness in her stomach.
Within minutes, dessert arrived. It appeared to be similar to baklava. She hesitated before she picked up her fork and said another hasty prayer. After a small taste, she almost gagged and couldn’t force herself to take another bite. Her hand trembled as she placed the fork beside her plate and wiped her mouth. She rubbed her stomach to help alleviate some of the pain.
By the time dessert was over, Cahri found it hard to breathe, and her stomach rebelled even more. The king announced the dancing would begin soon. She found a chair next to the wall out of the way. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths. Her stomach raged.
Halima, the quiet one who liked Stormy, came and sat beside her. “You all right, Cahri? You no look good.”
“I don't feel so good. Did you see a bathroom on the way here?”
“Yes. Come. I help.” Halima took her hand and led her to the bathroom.
“Thank you, Halima, but you should go back before you’re missed. I don't want you to get into trouble because I feel unwell. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Halima appeared confused. Instead of repeating herself, Cahri shooed her away with her hands. “Go.”
Halima nodded and left.
Water. She needed water. She splashed some on her face. After a few deep breaths, her stomach declared it would wait no longer. She ran for the toilet, almost missing. Leaning all her weight on the wall, she took a deep breath, thankful it was over. She stayed a few more minutes in the bathroom to assure herself a repeat performance wasn’t imminent. She washed her face again, rinsed her mouth, and left.
One Choice Page 8