The Torn Prince

by Zee Monodee

  His sisters jumped up, too.

  “Yes, go. We’ll get everything ready. Grandma’s Petit Trianon would be the perfect spot, don’t you think?” Isha was saying as India nodded along.

  Still, in a daze, Zediah found himself in the corridor. Zareb led the way to the side of the palace where all the cars were kept.

  “Wait,” he said, placing a hand on his twin’s arm. “Why are you doing this?”

  Zareb rolled his eyes. “To help you? Have you not noticed time is of the essence here?”

  “Yeah, but you never help me.”

  The words were the cue to air all their dirty laundry out in the open.

  Zareb sighed. “Have you ever needed help?”

  At this, he shrugged. Had he?

  “No, you haven’t,” his brother answered for him. “Zed, you’ve always been this guy who knew what he was about, what he stood for, and who wouldn’t be afraid to tell anyone, even the king, to piss off if something didn’t suit his code of conduct.”

  He blinked upon hearing this. “Really?”

  “You never needed us, Zed. You had you, and it seemed to be enough for you. Believe me, we all wanted to be you when we were growing up, and Mum was pushing this or that on us. You always were able to stand your ground.”

  He frowned. “You sound like you’re in awe of me.”

  He’d never have expected that!

  Zareb shrugged. “Then you met Rio. And for her, you did actually tell the king to piss off.”

  “You’re helping me because I went against our father?” This was getting a bit convoluted for him.

  “Because you weren’t afraid to do it. For her. She must mean everything to you, in this case.”

  A lump settled in his throat, and he nodded. Rio did indeed mean everything to him, along with Nour.

  “So, are we going to do this or what?” Zareb asked as he started down the corridor.

  Zediah smiled as a weight lifted off his chest and shoulders. A hug would definitely have ruined the moment. He’d be content with this new bridge-building between him and his twin. Plus, they also had a pressing matter to attend to.

  ***

  Four hours later, they were back at the palace. Zediah had dropped by the side entrance of the guest wing while Zareb had gone on farther into the grounds. He needed to get Rio first, then grab a car from the garage and head out there.

  The first part of the plan would prove tricky, though. Rio hadn’t opened her door to him earlier; he doubted she would now. He could always get a master key from Zareb’s office and sneak in, but he wanted her to trust him on this. For this, he had to talk to her.

  Nour’s bedtime was already past, so Oksana should have no trouble helping him out. Though loath to have to resort to such tactics, he, however, had no other choice. The least fuss they created in the palace, the better as they were on a clandestine mission here.

  He knocked softly on the door next to Rio’s room. It took a few tries before the panel opened partway, and a pair of suspicious blue eyes peered up at him.

  “You’re not getting him,” the nanny told him as she started to close the door.

  What? He blinked. He sifted through his mind as he blocked the panel, which ended up crushing his fingers. He yelped, then obliterating the pain, pushed his shoulder into the wood, and fully opened the door.

  Oksana glared at him.

  A lesser man would have shrunk in his shoes.

  This young woman was an asset. Not only did she take care of their son brilliantly, but she also protected him with her own life. Loyalty like this was hard to come by.

  “I’m not here to get him,” he told her. “I need your help to get to her.”

  The blonde crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Why should I help you?”

  He sighed, then told her about the plan already in motion. A small smile touched her lips, and she rushed to him to wrap him in a hug. When she released him, she motioned him towards the connecting door between her room and Rio’s.

  This one sure wouldn’t be locked. At the same time, he couldn’t barge in. But time was indeed of the essence here. He’d ask for forgiveness later. So with a soft click, he turned the knob and stepped over the threshold into her bedroom.

  His heart stopped when he found her standing in front of the window, a pale wash of moonlight bathing her in its silvery glow. For a second, he remembered seeing her in a similar position when he had come down the stairs at her house to find her in the kitchen. That night, she had done so to give him an easy out.

  Tonight, his heart told him, was no different.

  Her shoulders had stooped, her back rounded; she had folded in on herself as if to protect her own heart. Her hair was up in the messy knot again, the locks tightening her face, and he couldn’t dismiss the tear tracks on her cheeks when she turned to see why the door had opened.

  Her eyes grew wide when she saw him there, and when she recoiled on herself, his gut tore in two and bled out.

  “Rio,” he blurted, then went to her.

  “Don’t …”

  He froze, thinking she meant for him to stop.

  “Don’t take him from me,” she implored.

  The word had come as the start of this statement which broke his heart in two. Reaching her, he placed his hands on her upper arms and clasped them gently.

  “Never, Rio. Nour is ours.”

  “They won’t let him leave, Switz. And I can’t stay. Not when—”

  Daggers slashed at his chest thanks to her dejected tone. Her hopelessness permeated everything.

  “Listen to me. It’s not going to happen. I am not marrying Bilkiss. Not tomorrow, not ever.”

  She lifted stricken eyes onto him, and he closed his for a brief second, avoiding the swirling brown of pain in their depths.

  “But your family—”

  “Sod my family,” he bit out.

  She blinked. “You can’t … you can’t do this for me.”

  “Why not?”

  She bit her lip. “But you’re a prince.”

  “Wallis Simpson. The name ring any bells?”

  True, he wasn’t the future king, so he wouldn’t be abdicating the throne for her like Edward VIII, but she must know what he meant.

  “Zediah …”

  The hands left her shoulders to clasped her face. “Trust me.”

  Her lower lip trembled. “Promise?”

  In reply, he leaned forward and kissed her. Damn, it had been hours since he’d last kissed her. Drinking the sigh from her lips reinvigorated him, the blood flowing in his body as it should once more, the vice around his heart and chest loosening up because that’s what she did. She brought him back to life, made him the better man he always knew he could be, but not without her.

  “Come with me,” he said as he pulled away, then took her hand and led her to the door.

  She opposed no resistance, and he stopped himself from imagining if it was from resignation or excitement. She hadn’t sounded convinced he meant all he’d said. Well, what she’d soon see would speak for itself and for him.

  With quiet steps, they made it back to the side entrance he had used. A Range Rover ambled there, and he found Zik at the wheel when he drew closer. He and Rio piled in, then the car took them inside palace grounds, towards the edifice of the Petit Trianon, which was a replica of Marie Antoinette’s escape cottage. His grandmother had been obsessed with the French queen and had commissioned this structure to be built far from the principal residence.

  Rio remained silent beside him throughout the trip, and thank goodness Zik didn’t try to make small talk. Zediah nevertheless reached down and clasped her clammy hand with his. She didn’t return the pressure, but it was okay. She would be convinced of his intentions soon enough.

  Some twenty minutes later, they drew close.

  Zediah’s eyebrows rose when he spotted the small building. No wonder India was in charge of organizing the gala and other major receptions. The woman could turn any drab thin
g into a masterpiece.

  Indeed, twinkling lights had been strung along the upper balcony and around the frames of the many windows. Undoubtedly poor Omar’s job, as no one else was privy to this event. The Neoclassical style chateau with its dark sand-coloured façades shimmered in the night. Next to him, Rio sat straighter, and her hand tightened around his.

  Zik stopped the car in front of the dwelling, and Zediah helped Rio out. As he closed the passenger door, something came into sight, and she went absolutely stock-still next to him.

  To the left of the grounds stood a raised dais with four columns at the corners and a soft voile covering fluttering in the gentle breeze. A man in white sat cross-legged on it before a copper pot.

  Zediah grew still as he watched Rio take in the scene and put two and two together. She had to know what this mandap setup meant. And the fact he’d brought her here …

  She blinked as she turned to him. “Switz?”

  He gulped at the awe in her tone, the wide-eyed look, the mouth gaping open in surprise.

  “It’s for you,” he managed to say around the lump in his throat. “All for you.”

  When she fell forward and wrapped her arms around him, he hugged her tightly and closed his eyes at the feel of her whole body pressing so willingly, so trustingly, against him. He’d managed to convey what he meant, and it was all that mattered.

  Rio pulled away, stared into his eyes, then looked down on her attire of rumpled white blouse and jeans. “I can’t get married in these.”

  He grinned. “All thought of.”

  Clasping her shoulders, he made her turn towards the trianon, where Isha, India, and another young woman waited.

  “Go.”

  She seemed struck by shock, and it took a determined Isha to tug her along and disappear into the castle, where they would get her ready for the upcoming ceremony.

  True enough, a Hindu religious wedding, the saat phere ritual of the seven turns around the sacred fire, wouldn’t hold up in a court of law in Bagumi. But it was the meaning behind it that mattered. He wanted Rio as his wife and no one else.

  This sacrament would bind them in the eyes of the divine, and his parents would have no other choice but to accept her as his one and only partner. The live feed on the House of Saene Instagram page would relay a blip of this ceremony, just enough to tickle international attention yet prove their joining as a fait accompli.

  The idea had been Zawadi’s until Zareb had sent the Crown Prince packing. His twin had then accompanied him into Darusa. He’d had no idea a small but thriving Indian diaspora existed in a sort of Little India on the west side of the town.

  They’d found the priest at the only temple, the man sending them to a nearby shop where Zediah could buy the items symbolizing a woman had been wed. The owner of the shop, though, had probably thought herself inside a Bollywood romantic drama as she’d put two and two together. Then she’d pestered the princes how an Indian woman needed appropriate attire to get married.

  Hence, their little trip had been extended another hour. He had gone cross-eyed looking at the intricately embroidered top and skirt combos called lehengas. Until the perfect one had tumbled onto the counter. The shop owner had sent her daughter along with the clothing to get Rio ready.

  It seemed like ages later when Isha and India appeared in the doorway again. And when they moved aside, and Rio stepped into the soft light of the twinkling ropes all around the frame, Zediah lost his breath.

  She radiated—he had no other word for it. The butterscotch gold silk of the outfit glowed with subtle warmth as its embroidery of pale-yellow glass beads reflected the light, the soft colour bringing out the rich tones in her brown skin. Her hair had been brushed straight, the large, embroidered shawl draped on top of her head, and light makeup made her skin sparkle. The dark kohl around her eyes brought out the hazel in them. The gold jewellery adorning her neck, ears, and arms made her look even more like a goddess incarnating as a human woman.

  “Close your mouth, man. There might be flies,” Zik said next to him.

  Zediah shook himself out of his stupor and took a deep breath. He wanted nothing more than to drink in the sight of Rio, but they had more pressing matters to attend to. According to the priest, the auspicious hour for their wedding would soon be over. They better get a move on. To his relief, the old man, who had been adamant they consult the astral charts before embarking on this business, had discovered today was indeed the best day for their joining. It was as if Fate were smiling down on them.

  When the priest looked his way, he took his cue to start towards the altar, carefully leaving his shoes near the steps. The mandap being a sacred place, no shoes should sully it. As he got on and took his place in one of the Louis XV seats brought out for him and his bride, the priest started with the prayers. If Zediah recalled right, this one was to the god Ganesh, asking for luck for the couple and their families.

  His sisters then escorted Rio to the dais. He’d been told she would keep her eyes down and wouldn’t not meet his gaze for this trip. The sacred fire was lit, and he looked up as a broad shape started up the stairs. What was Zareb doing here?

  His twin made it to where they sat and crouched in front of Rio.

  “I know we didn’t start on the right foot, but I am here to present my sincerest apologies. You are good for my brother, and it is all that matters.”

  Zediah slid his gaze to Rio. A small smile had graced her lips, and she nodded to Zareb.

  “I know, sadly, your family is not present today,” Zareb continued. “But if you will allow me? I’ve read your brother is supposed to give you three handfuls of rice to offer to the fire. May I?”

  Rio nodded wordlessly as a tear rolled down her cheek. Damn it, his brother was making her cry! But it was true they’d had to jump into this wedding as a pre-emptive strike. She would have wanted her family present, and Zareb helping actually meant the world to him. His twin cared.

  She hovered her hand, palm up, over the fire, and Zareb poured the rice through her fingers and into the flames.

  Zareb left the altar, and the priest told them to stand. The shop owner’s daughter, who had dressed Rio, had been roped as the unofficial helper. She gave them the flower garlands they were to place around the other’s neck.

  Rio went first, as tradition demanded it. Next, he took hold of the long necklace of gold and black beads called a mangalsutra and which every married woman wore, tying it around her neck. The long scarf he’d been told to wear over one shoulder was then knotted to one end of Rio’s shawl.

  The chanting started, and Rio seemed to know what to do. He followed along, fearful he would mess up. The Sanskrit words settled a soothing veil over the whole mandap and its surroundings. The flames of the fire burning harder as the priest dolloped spoons of clarified ghee into it from time to time.

  He'd always believed this was the heart of a Hindu wedding—the seven circumambulations around the sacred fire which acted as a witness of their bond. He’d never known the meaning, and he doubted many did, but he’d had a crash course today.

  The first round had the couple praying for food and nourishment. The second asked for strength on all levels in their life together. The third requested prosperity, all while the couple promised to stay faithful and respect each other. In the fourth, they made the promise to look after their family and elders.

  Rio had been leading until now, the first four rounds concerned with family and household matters, which the bride slash wife would preside over. For the last three, the groom took the lead. Rio paused to let him step in front of her.

  The fifth circling asked for the couple to be blessed with good children and make them good parents. In the sixth, they prayed for health and a peaceful future together. In the last, the seventh, they promised to live a life of love and friendship, with nothing and no one able to come between them. As the husband, it was now his duty to uphold these last three vows as the provider and protector.

  And just like
that, it was over. The priest gave them the blessing signifying they were man and wife. The proof came in the form of the red vermillion powder—the sindoor—between his index and thumb to then swipe a thick line of orange from Rio’s hairline along her middle parting.

  They were married.

  “Kiss her!” Omar hollered from the garden.

  Rio raised shy eyes to him, and he smiled as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Hoots and hollers erupted around them.

  Zediah allowed joy to fill his heart. For as long as he lived, he would never forget this moment, the first time he had lain eyes on his wife.

  But the shadow of why they were now married settled like a pall of doom over him, and threading his fingers with Rio’s, he turned to Zareb.

  “It’s time.”

  His brother gave a solemn nod. The others also understood and sobered up. They would be going back to the palace and facing the king and queens. The woman and the priest were told to wait here, and a car would get them. The rest of them got into the three parked Range Rovers and made it to the palace.

  “I can’t believe you did this,” Rio said next to him.

  “I told you to trust me, remember?”

  She nodded, a small smile touching her lips.

  The return trip seemed to take half the time to get to the Petit Trianon.

  India came out of a car and ambled up to them. “Part of the wedding where you were doing the rounds around the fire streamed directly to Instagram. Only a handful of views so far.”

  Zediah nodded. They should be in the clear with the king and queens.

  Rio reached for his hand, and he clasped it tightly. One look and they started into the palace as one, a unit nobody would be able to break.

  The throne room seemed ominous for this stand-off but also fitting. He and his wife—as well as his siblings—had gone against the crown today. Zareb had volunteered as tribute to bring the monarch to face them. They all waited with bated breath, not a whisper to be heard in the cavernous gilt-edged space.

  The doors opened and revealed the straight-backed form of Queen Zulekha.

  “What is the meaning of all this?” she asked.