by Leslie North
Hamid faced Talitha, who stood tall and proud under an accent light, her hair catching its glow. He ignored the urge to run his thumb over her lips, bright red in lipstick for the occasion. Why was his body like that? Why did he respond to her even when it was the wrong moment completely?
“You should not have brought up these ideas in such a public way, Talitha. You’ve put me on the spot instead of discussing it privately and allowing time for me to consider the proposition and decide if it’s worth exploring and only then bring it up with the council and other leaders.” It was a struggle to keep his voice even, but he did it.
Talitha met his gaze. “You must see the benefits to changing the system,” she insisted. “There’s clearly been some unrest about it all along. Tensions have been hidden under the surface. I didn’t mean to expose them, but now that they’re out—”
“This is not the time to be dealing with those tensions.” Frustration rose hot from the base of his spine. “You made good observations, but again, I wish you hadn’t made them in the middle of the event.” It wasn’t only frustration with Talitha—that was the worst part. He hadn’t seen the injustices in the tournament and the contract system. He simply hadn’t seen them. Of course it was probably time to modernize, but now? Here?
Talitha raised her chin. She still hadn’t backed down, and once again she struck him as queenly. She had dressed in a formal, ceremonial dress for the tournament, but the pattern—those flowers that he’d been taken with earlier—now made her seem like a queen from somewhere else entirely. Her own touches overwhelmed the outfit. The long, floaty scarf draped across her head and shoulders matched a strip sewn into her long dress. Modern, chunky earrings took center stage.
“This is not the way we follow traditions,” he said tightly.
“I’m sorry that my comment caused such a ruckus.” Talitha took a step toward him. “I thought it was private—I didn’t mean for it to become such a public stir. I wouldn’t have done that, Hamid.”
“There’s no undoing it now.” He stood up tall, trying to get his posture to communicate to his brain that this was not the time to let his emotions get the better of him. They felt like a storm set loose in his gut, flashes of lightning included. “This is the new focus of the tournament, and it might be that way for years.”
“Maybe it’s not all bad.” She gave him a small smile. “You said yourself that you thought there must be a better way, but you had an obligation to continue with all these traditions. Maybe I loosened things a little when I opened my mouth, and now you can work out the best way to proceed in the future.”
“That’s not what I said.” It had been a diplomatic way of conceding some of the point without agreeing to a wholesale overhaul of the tournaments. Hamid struggled to sort out all the various emotions that assailed him, one after the other. An old grief—if my father were here—and a new betrayal—why couldn’t she have waited to speak to me?—and disappointment.
“I’ll go speak to the leaders,” Talitha offered.
“No. You’ve done enough damage.”
Her mouth fell open, hurt in her eyes, and Hamid badly wanted to take back the words. But she had done damage. And he could not risk more of it. Not to his reign, and not to his life. “Things will never work between us. You’re simply too different—too unrestrained—and even if you tried to follow the traditional path...” He shook his head. “It’s not natural for you. Forcing yourself to fit in will be impossible for both of us.”
“How? How would it be impossible? Your mother did it.” Tears shone in Talitha’s eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.
He thought of his mother then, and the way she and Talitha laughed together over murmured jokes whenever they saw each other. Nenet had often spoken of her youth in the palace and the freedom she’d claimed for herself. They were alike, Talitha and Nenet.
“My mother had her dreams. Of course she did. But she set them aside when it came time to be the queen.”
Talitha’s shoulders drooped, and her shaken expression told Hamid that she knew this time was different. It wasn’t like when she’d touched up the banquet or redone Rafiq’s room. This was a discussion about the future, and they could never have that kind of future. Not the way his parents had. They’d guided the kingdom well, and he wanted to do the same or better. How could he do that if the ground underneath his feet was constantly shifting?
And Tali, in the end—she wasn’t like his mother. She was much more independent and free-spirited. She pushed harder and demanded more. If they did marry, Hamid would be caging her in. He’d be keeping her down. And angry as he was about the way the morning had gone, he couldn’t bear the thought of taking away her future.
“It wouldn’t be fair to you,” he said gently, his heart breaking. “It wouldn’t be right for you to stay here. You should go back to your real life and your family. You’ve lived in the palace long enough for a broken engagement to look credible, and your father’s debt will be forgiven.”
A soft knock sounded at the door, and Nenet swept in, looking regal as ever in her traditional outfit. She went immediately to Talitha’s side and put a hand on her shoulder. The two women exchanged a look, and then Talitha gave a small shake of her head.
“I heard some of what you said from outside the door, Hamid.” He wished she hadn’t. Some part of him had hoped for a clean break so that Talitha wouldn’t have to go through these goodbyes. “And I think you should reconsider. I heard you referencing me, and how I put away my dreams for the sake of being queen. Maybe you’re right about that. But it’s also true that my dreams changed. I found fulfillment and happiness in my marriage to your father, which—”
Hamid held up a hand. “Mother, this is a different situation.”
A tear slipped from one of Tali’s eyes, and she turned away from him as she brushed it away. She’d gone pale, shaking. Nenet steadied her. “Would you like to sit down, dear?”
Talitha shook her head and faced Hamid. “Is this really what you want? For me to leave now, and for you to put out some press release saying that our engagement has been called off? Is this the end for us, Hamid?”
Hamid’s ribs were caving in, pressing dangerously close to his heart and lungs. He couldn’t get a full breath, but he forced one anyway. No. It’s not what I want. But when had his personal wants ever topped the priority list? As king, he had to put the country first. Never his whims, or even his long-lasting desires. He had never had a desire as long-lasting as this one. He’d never wanted anyone to stay close to him more than he wanted Talitha to stay close.
But it wasn’t good for the country for its king and queen to present a divided front. It wasn’t. It wasn’t even good for the tournament. By now, the news of the meeting would have spread to all the participants. Rumors would be flying about whether or not the concession would be given as usual. In the meeting room they’d left, the leaders would be discussing it among themselves, and Hamid couldn’t control that discussion any more than he’d been able to stop Talitha from starting it in the first place.
“I have to do what’s best,” he said finally.
She nodded, lips tight, and looked down. For a wild moment he thought she might say something else—might fight for them to stay together. Her body had been so passionate, her kisses so genuine. Surely something had to come out of that. But if she fought, then what? They’d be in this meeting room, arguing, and that would make things even worse.
Slowly, Talitha’s expression settled into a neutral smile, even as his mother’s grew worried. Nenet dropped her hand from Talitha’s shoulder and stepped back.
“You don’t have to go,” Nenet said. “You can stay and watch the games. Sit next to me, if you like. The people will be expecting to see you.”
“Oh, I don’t think they will.” Talitha raised a knuckle to the corner of her eye and dabbed away the last remnants of her tears. “Once the news breaks, I’m sure they’ll put two and two together, and they’ll understand why I had to lea
ve early. In the meantime, make my excuses for me, would you? And give Rafiq a hug from me.” She embraced Nenet, the older woman promising to smooth things over. “Goodbye, Hamid.”
Talitha let go of Nenet’s shoulders and straightened her back. Without another word, without a backward glance, she left the room. Outside, the volume of the chatter rose—Talitha!, someone said—and he could almost see the way she drew everyone’s attention as she moved through a crowd, the way she smiled at everyone, making them feel like they had her full attention.
His mother folded her hands in front of her, and the corners of her mouth turned down in a disappointed frown. “I’ll see you at the games, Hamid,” she said, and swept from the room.
Hamid put a hand to his chest and tried to rearrange himself into something resembling calm. But the truth was that his heart had gone with Talitha. It was currently walking down the hall and out of his life, and he didn’t know if he’d ever find it again.
19
The week after Talitha left seemed as long as the weeks she’d spent in the palace. Longer, to Hamid. Time stretched out every time he entered a room where she’d been—Remember her dress in the light from that window? Remember her laughing with Mother during that dinner?—and he had too much time. Since Hamid’s father died, he hadn’t had enough hours in the day. Now every day lasted an eternity. There had been times when he’d seen Talitha before she knew he was there, and several times a day he caught himself smiling sadly at a memory of something she’d done—a way she’d looked when she was completely unguarded, not pretending to be Talitha, honored guest of the palace and woman who always fit in.
The seventh day found him completely unable to concentrate on his work, sitting useless at his desk with a stack of paperwork. He stood up from behind the desk, which seemed to be hemming him in, and went out to the corridor to pace. Beauty and the Beast were out there, walking in a stately circle at the base of one of the ceramics displays. At the sight of him they turned and ran.
And Hamid walked.
Midmorning light came in through the huge palace windows, illuminating all the spaces he’d once walked with Tali. Noticed her. Laughed with her. The memories assailed him everywhere, not just when he was sitting at his desk.
His steps took him to the guest suite, where he didn’t bother to look inside. It had been restored to its original state before he returned from the tournament, per his orders. There would be no trace of Talitha there but her memory. Still, his body tensed in anticipation of her floating out the door, a smile on her face.
Of course, she didn’t come out. And there was no sign of her out in the garden, either. Only flowers in bloom, splashes of colors everywhere that reminded him again of one of her dresses with their bright shades and flowing fabrics kicking up in the wind. Somehow, they had always complimented her honey-blonde hair. Tali’s beauty had matched with everything. Nothing she put on could tone it down or make it less obvious—not that he’d have wanted it to be less obvious. The sun caressed his hair and he wished it was her hand. A silly wish, never to come true.
A sound from the rooftop made his heart leap. The breeze, probably—Why get so worked up, Hamid? He told himself there was no particular reason to climb the stairs to where they’d shared a meal and she’d joked about sketching him in the candlelight. He was not hoping to find her there. He was not hoping to take her in his arms and kiss her one more time. Or a hundred more times.
Instead he found Rafiq.
Rafiq, standing at Talitha’s wide easel.
Hamid’s son had spent the last week withdrawing into his rooms and himself. He’d hardly been able to coax the boy to dinner. But out here, Rafiq was totally absorbed in some project, his stance relaxed, head cocked to the side.
He moved closer and was amazed to see a drawing of himself. Talitha’s drawing, pinned on the left. She must have followed through on her joke. It was him, the way he’d looked that night. But it was the drawing on the right that stole his breath. Rafiq had put on a smock and was working intently, his hand held at the angle Tali had shown Hamid. Rafiq wasn’t copying Talitha’s drawing, no—he was making a matching one of Talitha with a photo clipped to the easel for reference.
Hamid made his steps louder so he didn’t startle Rafiq, and moved up behind him to put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve gotten quite good,” he told his son. “You’re drawing Talitha?”
“I’m putting her back next to you.” Rafiq pursed his lips, then added a few more confident lines to the page.
“And what’s the smaller paper? In the middle?” The postcard-sized sheet of paper was still blank.
“I’m going to draw myself there, so I’m with you both,” he said.
A lump rose in Hamid’s throat, tight and regretful, and he had no words. At that moment Miss Mildred, the old nanny, appeared at the top of the stairs, huffing and puffing. She dipped a curtsey and gave Hamid an apologetic smile. “Rafiq, it’s time to go down for lunch,” she said. But Rafiq turned into himself, his shoulders drooping, and didn’t reply. He only put the pencils down with a soft click and followed the nanny with his head down.
Hamid came down after them and found a delegation waiting for him inside the hall. A delegation made up of Raed and his cousin Skandar, both of them in sharp suits. He smoothed the front of his own suit and glanced toward Rafiq, who silently followed the nanny around the corner.
“You’re still here, Skandar,” Hamid said by way of greeting. “I thought you were flying out today.”
“Raed convinced me to stay.” Skandar’s hawk-like nose and ever-perfect hair made him look like a model. Hamid and Raed had teased him about it as children, but he wasn’t in the mood for teasing. He might not be ever again. “He wanted company while he demanded an audience.”
“Demanded an audience?” Hamid moved in the direction of his office. Better to stay in motion. His brother and cousin flanked him on either side. “I didn’t think my own brother needed to demand an audience.”
“Yes, well,” Raed said. “Talitha’s new procedure for getting the crown to hear our petition seemed like a good process to follow.”
Hearing her name stung. “What is it the two of you want?” The three men went into Hamid’s office and found his mother there waiting in one of the seats by his desk. She rose gracefully to her feet, and Hamid kissed her cheek. “What do the three of you want?”
Skandar motioned Raed forward. “Go ahead, cousin. I’m only here for moral support.”
“Life was better when Talitha was here.” Raed didn’t hesitate another moment. “You were happier. Your relationship with Rafiq was better, and your son was happier when she was here. Even Mother wants her back.”
Ah—an attack. Hamid glanced at his mother.
She gave him a subtle nod.
Raed stuck his hands in his pockets. “And her idea for proper, structured bids on the oil contracts was a good one, and more sustainable. All the parties involved already agree. A cross-tribe consortium will lift up all the tribes.”
Hamid finally found his voice. “The councilors won’t agree. They’ll want to keep our traditions.”
“The councilors already agreed,” Skandar added smoothly.
“You met with the council without me?” He could hardly muster the requisite anger for the argument. Seven days without Talitha, and he was bone-tired. He couldn’t put any force behind the words.
“We did,” Skandar said. “We met with them, and even the ones who were most resistant saw the truth in the numbers. Keeping the symbolic traditions, like the games, alive is important—but everyone agrees that modernizing the business approach makes sense for the country. It’s time.”
Something broke inside of him—the wall that kept his emotions from ever showing. “Yes, but—” Arguments against changing the bidding died on his tongue. “But Talitha is gone. She’s making a new life. None of this will feel right without her at my side.” It felt horrible, admitting it in front of all of them, letting them see his pain.
He’d never thought it would come to this. Not ever.
His mother stepped forward, pulling him down into a hug. “It will be all right, Hamid. If you can come around to changing these traditions, you can change other things, too. You can get her back.”
The director of the college Tali had attended for a couple of years after high school—not long enough to get a degree—was a stern man with silver hair and incongruously warm eyes. He sat across the desk from Talitha, waiting for her to speak. Introductions done, and now it was time. His office was a bit too hot, all polished wood and stacks of books. It could use a makeover. But thinking about refreshing the director’s office made her think of how she’d transformed Nenet’s rooms, and then how excited Nenet had been about the results. That day in the shops—oh, it had been fun, hadn’t it? How things had changed. She missed the Queen Mother terribly.
The ache faded away into jittery nerves as the director looked over her resume. She hadn’t had much to add to it ahead of the meeting—much less than Tali would have expected. There was the work in her father’s jewelry store, of course, but she’d hesitated over the work she’d done in the palace. What if they asked for references? Better to leave it out. It would only break her heart to talk about it. Forget, forget. Push it away.
Why was she so nervous? She’d made a life out of convincing other people to give her what she wanted, even if it was little by little.
Tali cleared her throat. “I came here today to make the case that the courses I completed during my former years as a student should count as credits toward a new degree.”
The director narrowed his eyes over the top of his glasses. “Your goal is to undertake a new course of study, then?”