Harts of Arizona Series

by Yahrah St. John

  Amar paused for a moment, remembering what his father had said. Grant me this dying wish, and I promise you will see that I have always loved you. Would the will hold any clues to his father’s mystery promise? “Okay. Okay. But as soon as the will is read, we’re out of here.”

  A Muslim service was new to Rylee. They’d bathed Amar’s father’s body and shrouded it in a linen cloth. Then members of the cabinet and other heads of state gathered to offer their collective prayers at the palace and view the deceased before he would be paraded through the streets by carriage so the Nasirian people could say their goodbyes.

  Amar was quiet and distant, and Rylee couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Rylee didn’t understand much of the traditions and wanted to ask questions, but she hadn’t dared. She was thankful when Karam and Basheera had arrived at her door early that morning to prep her. She’d expected lavish silks and robes, but instead their custom was to avoid decorative clothing and jewelry. Instead they’d put her in a traditional Nasirian dress and hijab.

  Amar, Rylee and Sharif sat silently in a carriage as they rode behind the one carrying Amar’s father through the streets. After ensuring Bishop Enterprises’s business was addressed, Sharif had flown out from Palo Alto to Nasir. Neither he, Rylee, nor his boss spoke a word. Thousands stood along the sidelines eager to see the Sheikh and the Royal Family. Rylee noticed how Amar was treated. He was in the last of the carriages as if he were an afterthought. He generously shook hands with several folks as they walked past, and they seemed to know of him regardless of the fact that he was not considered part of the Royal Family. Rylee wanted to comfort him or say something, but he was introspective, so she merely squeezed his hand.

  After the royal processional, the Sheikh was buried. Amar reached for Rylee’s hand at that moment, and she was happy for this sign that he still remembered she was there. They walked hand in hand to the burial site and stood silently together while Khalid and other family members gave prayers; Amar was not one of them.

  Hours later, they all retired to the palace and Rylee stood at Amar’s side as more dignitaries stopped by to pay their respects. The pomp and circumstance that went with each greeting and announcement of royalty made her head spin, but she smiled when spoken to and uttered polite pleasantries. The only person she knew was Sharif and even he was preoccupied with several friends.

  Khalid, however, was in his element. He fit right in with the other royals, and for the first time since Rylee had met him, he seemed happy.

  She left the gathering for a moment and went for a walk outside in the garden. It was the first time she’d had to herself all day.

  She felt someone behind her and looked up to see Amar. “Are you alright?” he asked. “When I looked up and didn’t see you at my side, I panicked.”

  “What did you think happened?”

  Amar shrugged. “I don’t know. But I told you to stay by my side, yes?”

  “You did, but I needed some air. It’s a little suffocating in there with all those egos.”

  “Kind of how you thought about me once upon a time, yes?” Amar laughed, glancing back at the palace. It was the first time Rylee had heard that laugh since they left Tucson.

  “Oh, you still have an ego,” Rylee said, smiling. “It’s just been put on the backburner.”

  He grinned broadly and then turned somber again. “Won’t be too much longer now. Tomorrow, we’ll read the will and then we can head back to the States, and I can put this place behind me.”

  “Will you ever come back?” Rylee asked, staring up at him.

  “Doubt it,” Amar said. “I know my place, and this isn’t it. Tariq can always come to the States. But there’s one thing I do know.” He swung her into his arms.

  “And what’s that?”

  “That I couldn’t have done this without you.” Amar circled his arms around her middle. “And that I can’t thank you enough for coming here with me.” He bent down and placed a feather-light kiss on her lips.

  “You’re welcome.”

  The next morning, Amar and Rylee gathered with the rest of the Mahmud family in the palace for the reading of the will.

  Ibrahim sat at the late Sheikh’s large cherry-wood desk and began reading the bequests. Most of them were typical and gave away, to members of the Sheikh’s family and cabinet, land, jewels, artifacts and other works of art the Sheikh had collected over the years.

  It wasn’t until Ibrahim got to the last few items that the shit began hitting the proverbial fan.

  “I, King Abdul al’ Mahmud, do bequeath equal shares of Mahmud Oil to my sons, Khalid and Tariq, with ten percent held in trust until my first grandson is born. Since Amar has amassed his own empire, I know he has no interest in the oil business.”

  Amar could see Khalid’s gleam of amusement that his father had cut him out of the oil empire, but Amar was alright. He had no interest in oil, and it was as it should be.

  Rylee squeezed his hand.

  “I, King Abdul al’ Mahmud, do bequeath all horses, including my prized Arabians in Nasir and Kentucky, to my first-born son, Amar, since we share a common love of all things equestrian.”

  Rylee beamed by Amar’s side. “That’s wonderful!”

  “And very generous,” Khalid hissed. “Did you just say all horses? I’ve been running the stables for years here in Nasir, and he gives him” — he pointed to Amar — “all of them. It’s just not right.”

  “It was your father’s wish,” Ibrahim replied.

  “Are there any more wishes?” Khalid asked, then answered his own question, “I believe that about wraps it up.” He rose to leave, but Ibrahim interrupted him.

  “Please sit down, Khalid. I’m not done.”

  “What else could there be?”

  “I have a royal decree that I must read,” the barrister replied.

  Khalid sat up straight. “Well, then get to it.”

  Amar could see Khalid’s chest puff out. He couldn’t wait to hear announced to the world that his father had named him King.

  “I, King Abdul al’ Mahmud, do decree that next King of Nasir is my eldest son, Amar al’ Mahmud.”

  Stunned silence fell across the room, and all eyes turned to Amar. His mouth fell open. He, like everyone else, had assumed the decree would announce Khalid as the next ruler of Nasir. He hadn’t expected for his father to defy royal succession rules and appoint him, his bastard son, as King.

  Silence soon turned into chaos.

  “This can’t be done,” Queen Saffron screamed and jumped to her feet. “He can’t do this!”

  “He can, and he did,” the barrister replied.

  “No!” the Queen said. “I married him with the guarantee that my son, not his bastard” — she pointed to Amar — “would be the rightful heir to the throne!”

  Khalid’s blood boiled, and he rose in a huff. “This is a travesty, and I will fight it.”

  “I’m sorry, but the King signed this document, and it’s legal and binding.”

  “Like hell it is,” Khalid said. “I” — he pounded his chest — “have trained for this my entire life. I have given my blood, sweat and tears for this country, and I will not let a bastard come and rule. What did you do, Amar? Did you make him sign a deathbed decree?” Khalid charged toward him.

  Amar rose, prepared to battle with Khalid, but the barrister’s words stopped Khalid in his tracks. “That’s not true. This decree was written several years ago.”

  “What?” Amar was stunned. He didn’t know what to make of any of this.

  “Your father was of sound mind and body when he wrote this decree. Amar,” he said, reaching inside his portfolio and removed an envelope, “he wanted you to read this.”

  Amar’s head was spinning. Me as King of Nasir? All he knew was that he couldn’t breathe and he needed to get out of there. He snatched the letter and race
d out of the room.

  Rylee sat in the study, flabbergasted by Amar’s father’s declaration. Everyone had left the room, leaving her alone with the barrister as he packed up.

  “Are you alright, miss?” Ibrahim asked.

  Rylee blinked, trying to bring him back into focus. “Uh, yes, I’m fine.”

  Rylee watched him put several files in his briefcase before she asked the question on the tip of her tongue. “What now?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “For Amar? What now?”

  “Well, the royal decree makes him King of Nasir. He can do what he sees fit.”

  “What does that entail?”

  “I suppose you’re wondering what that means for you?”

  Rylee nodded.

  “Amar will be tasked with running this kingdom. He’ll be required to lead a country of hundreds of thousands and make important decisions on finance, commerce, laws and more. It’s not an easy task, especially since he hasn’t been groomed for it.”

  “You think he will fail?”

  “The people of this country have a long memory. They haven’t forgotten that his father went off to America when he was engaged to Saffron and got an African-American woman with child. It nearly cost him his marriage to Saffron. The only reason she agreed to take him back after the infidelity was with the proviso that her son be King. I warned Abdul not to make this decree, but he was determined.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “The why is in the letter Amar has in his very hands right now.”

  That’s what Rylee was afraid of.

  Amar had taken off for the stables the second he received the letter. His only thought: He had to get away. It didn’t take him long to saddle up his favorite Arabian and take off for the desert. He raced the horse for miles before he finally got winded, especially with the sand kicking up. He stopped to catch his breath at a nearby tent where several herdsmen were shepherding sheep and camels. What was he running from? From his fate?

  How could he have known that his father would royal decree him as King of Nasir? It was ludicrous. He didn’t care what Ibrahim said. The man must have been out of his mind.

  Amar jumped down from the horse and spoke several broken words of Arabic from the summers he’d spent in Nasir and from forced Arabic lessons before the Sheikh had ended his visits. He’d lost the skill after little use of the language, but managed a few words now.

  The herdsmen seemed to understand and offered him respite in one of their tents.

  Amar nodded his thanks and sought refuge inside it. The tent was sparsely decorated with some sleeping bags, pillows and minor food provisions. But Amar didn’t care. He sat down cross-legged on the pillows and pulled the letter Ibrahim had given him from his britches’ pocket. He gingerly opened it.

  My dearest Amar,

  If you’re reading this letter then you know that I have used the royal decree to name you King of Nasir. My decision might come as a shock to you, but secretly I have always known you would make a great king. What you lack in knowledge of the country’s ways, you have in determination and fortitude. Your strong will impressed me from the moment you were a baby and stood up on your own at ten months.

  Your brother Khalid, although capable, is too hungry. He wants it too much, which is why I think he needs this reality check to humble him and make him a better man. I too used to be like Khalid, ruled by title and privilege. That’s until I went away to America at twenty-one and met Camilla, a beautiful professor. I’d never seen someone so stunning in my country, and I was swept away, so much so that I wanted to turn my back on my native home. And when she told me she was pregnant with you, I nearly did. But my father sent his men after me, forcing me home, reminding me of my obligation to Saffron and the promise he’d made to her family. So, I was a coward and chose duty over love.

  That decision was the single biggest regret of my life. Not having a relationship with you was the other. To choose duty required me to give you and your mother up. And the only way I knew to do so was to keep you at arm’s length. I allowed myself a month each summer to remember the love we’d shared and to bask in your adoration, because that’s how you used to look at me when you were little. But as the years passed, the adoration was replaced with ice and hostility for a love denied. I couldn’t bear it, which is why I made your visits shorter and shorter until I terminated them altogether.

  The decree was the only way I knew how to show you just how much you meant to me. To show you that I loved you and that I was never ashamed to call you my son. To show you that you made me proud when you started your own company, Bishop Enterprises, with no help from me. To show you I respected the man you’d become, despite me. I know this decree is a consolation and is perhaps a little too late, but please know that you always had my love and my heart.

  Your father,

  Abdul al’ Mahmud

  Amar dropped the letter to the ground, and, with his head in his hands, began to cry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. And then it came to him.

  It was the summer of his ninth year. He’d been so happy to come to Nasir. He hoped that by showing his father what an excellent horseman he’d become, the King would be proud of him. But instead, he’d overheard Khalid whispering with another boy that Amar was a bastard and that he would never amount to anything.

  Amar had wanted to cry, but instead he let his anger fuel him and he’d vowed to never cry again, to never let anyone cause him that kind of pain. Until now. His father had broken him. He’d finally shown him unequivocally that he loved him as much if not more than his brothers, because he had been willing to defy duty and country to make him King. He was validating Amar the only way he knew how.

  The problem was, Amar had never wanted validation. All he’d ever wanted was his father’s love and now he had it, but at what cost? Was he willing to give up everything, Rylee included, to prove to his father and the people of Nasir that he was somebody?

  Chapter 17

  Early the next morning, Rylee paced her and Amar’s palace suite. She glanced at the clock. It was five AM and still dark, but she hadn’t slept. Amar hadn’t come back to the palace after the reading of the will, and she hadn’t been able to go downstairs for supper. How could she when all of his family were vipers and would be throwing daggers at her for Amar’s assumed betrayal? So she’d stayed in her room, asking Karam to bring her a bowl of soup because her stomach was jittery.

  Where could Amar be? When will he come back? Will he ever come back? For me? He’d promised not to leave her side while she was here, but he had. He’d left her all alone without any allies.

  The door to her suite suddenly burst open, and Khalid came stumbling in. “Ah, here’s my brother’s mistress,” he slurred as he stepped into the room.

  From where she was standing, Rylee could smell the liquor on his breath, and she didn’t like the leer he was giving her as she stood in her nightgown and robe. “What do you want, Khalid?”

  “I want that no-count brother of mine,” he hissed, circling around her.

  “Well, he isn’t here,” Rylee replied, watching his every move. Khalid was exactly the type Amar had warned her about. She doubted he respected women or their opinions very much.

  “That’s obvious,” Khalid replied. “How long do you think he’s going to stay your lover now that he has this whole kingdom” — he spread his arms wide while still holding on to the liquor bottle — “of women at his beck and call. Do you know how many women he can get now that he’s King? They will fall to his feet.” He motioned to the floor. “And let’s not forget that Amar must marry and produce a male heir. To appease the people and cabinet, he’ll have to choose a wife from Nasir. And you,” he said, pointing to her, “will be a thing of the past.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this,” Rylee said and headed toward the open door. “You should
leave!”

  She’d barely reached the door when Khalid rushed over and slammed it shut. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” He pushed her backward and when he did, Rylee’s head slammed against the door. “I may not be King, but I’m the Prince of Nasir and you’ll show me respect.”

  The blow was slight, and Rylee recovered long enough to defend herself. She’d been around bullies before and pushed Khalid right back. “That may be so, but I’m not one of your subjects. You can’t treat me—” She never got the words out because Khalid backhanded her, and Rylee went sprawling to the floor.

  She looked up at him, holding her cheek.

  “Oh, God!” Khalid said, dropping to his knees. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have …” But he didn’t get to finish his sentence because suddenly Amar was in the room hauling Khalid to his feet. Rylee saw Amar’s fist connect with Khalid’s jaw, sending him careening to the floor.

  “How dare you touch my woman?” Amar yelled, lunging for him.

  “I’m sorry,” Khalid said, fear in his eyes. “It was an accident. I never meant to hurt her.”

  “You think so.” Amar grabbed him by the collar and landed another punch.

  “Amar, no!” Rylee screamed, but Amar didn’t seem to hear her. He just hit Khalid again.

  “Go on!” Khalid said, holding his bloody lip. “Hit me!” When Amar paused, Khalid sucker-punched him, landing a good jab at his right jaw.

  “Stop it!” Rylee yelled at both men, but neither one of them heard her. They were too caught up in their own hurt.

  “Hit me again!” Khalid taunted, putting his fist together and circling Amar. “You know you want to.”