by Leslie North
“But you can,” insisted Hannah. “You really can. All you need is—”
“Not in this palace,” Chakir shot back. “Maybe out in the street, where nobody can see, you can. But that’s not how we do things. If word were to get out…”
“What? What would happen?” Hannah pressed.
Chakir didn’t know. That was the worst part. He didn’t know what action the council might take. They might press his brother to send him away, outside the palace. And with Ryan and Hannah here, he didn’t want to risk that. Not now.
But he also needed Ryan to be able to navigate the ceremony. Kishon would be watching. He couldn’t fail his brother.
“We can’t do it,” he said finally. “Mr. Medhi, we’ll see you tomorrow. Hannah, it’s time to go. Ryan has his soccer game. We can’t be late.”
Hannah hardly said a word on the way to the soccer field. The tension pulled tight between them, but what was Chakir supposed to say? A rehearsal would be the last straw for the council—they would see it not as practice, but as a mockery. He knew that without having to ask.
Several times, he opened his mouth to explain, only to shut it again. He wished she could understand that they did have to follow traditions. They did have to take that into consideration. It couldn’t always be a slash and burn attitude.
He found it unbearably attractive, the way she went for what she wanted.
He also found it unbearably irritating.
There had to be a middle ground, but Chakir didn’t want a middle ground. He wanted all of her, and he wanted all of his life at the palace.
Ryan had sucked all that tension right into his small body. Chakir could see it as soon as the boy ran out onto the field. It spilled out in the way he ran headlong after the ball, reaching it far before any of the others.
“Come on!” Ryan shouted to his teammates. “Get over here.” It was clear he didn’t know what he was shouting for, but he did it nonetheless. Chakir felt a strange pride at this. Ryan was, at least, taking a leadership role. The other boys were mainly content to run around the field. Not Ryan. He’d decided he wanted goals, and lots of them.
Midway through the game Hannah pulled Ryan aside. Chakir could hear her voice over the noise from the other chattering parents. “You can’t be so bossy,” Hannah told Ryan. “Give the other boys a chance at the ball.”
“I’m giving them a chance,” insisted Ryan. “They don’t get there fast enough.”
“Then you have to slow down.”
“Don’t slow down, Ryan.” Chakir knew as soon as he said it that he was treading on dangerous ground, but this was absurd. Ryan was going to be a leader in Hamari, whether Hannah liked it or not. “Lead your team. Just be considerate of the others.”
“Okay. I will.” Ryan ran back out onto the field.
Hannah met Chakir’s eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line. She said nothing.
“It’s his job to lead,” Chakir said. “That will be his role in Hamari and in his life. Best to learn to do it well while the stakes are low.”
“I’d rather have him learn how to treat people well,” Hannah shot back. “The stakes for that are always high.”
“It’s a children’s soccer game. It’s practice for everyone.”
“So he can practice kindness.”
“He can practice kindness and leadership,” Chakir said. “There’s no reason he can’t do both.”
The other team had the ball, driving it back down the field as fast as a group of five-year-olds could. Ryan sprinted ahead, running in a wide arc in front of the net. Parents on both sides cheered.
“Then you should have told him about leadership before he started.”
Chakir wanted to take her aside and have this conversation—right here and now. But they were both glued to the action on the field.
A player on the opposing team dribbled the ball forward, making a beeline for the goal. He was on a roll and looked unstoppable. The shouts from the other parents were loud in Chakir’s ears—they were so close, in the tents along the sidelines—and he wanted to shout his own instructions.
They’d be lost in the sound. Ryan would never hear him.
Ryan had plans of his own, anyway.
He sprinted around in front of the goal and leapt with all the strength in his body.
The soccer ball went high, meeting Ryan’s face in mid-air.
He fell to the ground, hitting hard enough that Chakir’s own bones rattled. Then he hopped right up, face red and delighted.
The other boys on his team surrounded him, cheering, but Chakir’s own celebration was stuck in his throat. He ran onto the field and scooped Ryan up, getting there seconds ahead of Hannah, his heart swelling with pride and fear all wrapped into one another. How badly was Ryan hurt?
“I stopped the ball,” Ryan said, throwing his arms around Chakir’s neck. “I stopped the ball.”
“Yes, you did.”
Chakir didn’t bother telling him that his days on the field were over.
17
“We don’t have time to talk about this now.”
Hannah stood in the doorway to a small suite of rooms off the throne room, watching as Chakir adjusted the ceremonial sash that he wore as part of his traditional royal uniform at occasions like these. He could feel her eyes burning into his back. He could also see her eyes in the mirror, but he had been avoiding her gaze for several minutes.
“I think we do have time. The show won’t begin for another thirty minutes, and Ryan is with Mr. Medhi.”
“It’s not a show,” Chakir said. “It’s an important traditional ceremony to welcome Ryan officially into the royal family.”
“If you have time to say that to me, you have time to listen to what I have to say.”
“If this is about the soccer team—”
“It is about the soccer team, Chakir.” Chakir stole a glance at Hannah in the mirror. She stood straight and tall, her chin in the air. “What were you thinking, making that decision? I want Ryan to play on the team. That means he might catch the errant soccer ball in the face now and then.”
“My decision did not come down to the injury. It’s about more than soccer. We can’t continue down this path. Not only is it not traditional—”
“Ryan isn’t going to be traditional. Not in the sense that anyone from the council is going to expect.”
“It isn’t safe.”
“I thought you said this wasn’t about the injury. He’s fine.”
“He looks like he has a black eye.”
Chakir could find nothing else to adjust about the sash, so he faced Hannah. She came into the room and stood closer, as if narrowing the distance between them would help her argument.
If that’s what she thought, then she was partially right. When she moved through the room, he caught a hint of her scent. It sent his mind reeling back to the garden, and to the room with the broken lock, and to her apartment…
He reined his thoughts in.
“You should be fighting for change, Chakir,” Hannah insisted. “You’ve seen how good it’s been for Ryan to have friends outside the palace. You saw how much easier it was for him to learn when we went to the market. And you’re not the only one. Mr. Medhi, Ms. Shadha, they’ve all seen—”
“They don’t have the same perspective that I have.”
“They’ve all seen what good it does to be more involved.” Hannah couldn’t be stopped. She was a runaway train. “I thought you would have seen that, too, even if it wasn’t your idea.”
“My idea?” Chakir was taken aback. “This is not about whether I came up with the plans to go against tradition. I’ve been a prince all my life, Hannah. I’m used to taking suggestions from others and weighing the merits. I’m not sure why you think I’m incapable of listening to people.” The hurt from the ridiculous accusation hit the stress of the day like a firework.
“That’s not what I was saying. I’m saying you do have the power to change things, if you only—”
>
“You have to stop.”
Hannah’s mouth snapped shut.
Chakir felt ugly, felt pulled in all directions, felt at his wits’ end.
“You have to stop trying to change everything you come into contact with, Miss Fisher. You have to stop trying to be involved where you don’t belong. What you need to do is be more like a royal mother: silent and proper.”
Her cheeks went white, then pink, and Hannah rocked back on her heels like he’d slapped her.
Silent and proper. Where had he heard that? His father had never said that about his own mother. Not once. Damn the elders for putting those words in his head. Chakir wanted to reach into the air and pluck them back. He’d eat them right here and now if he could.
Hannah took a deep breath, and in that moment she looked as regal as he’d ever seen her.
“You’re not the man I thought you were,” she said, and then she turned and went.
Ryan stood proudly at the front of the stage, wearing ceremonial robes that had been tailor-made for him in the same pattern as Chakir’s, Kishon’s, and Matek’s. Chakir and Matek stood a few steps back on the dais. Kishon stood on one side of Ryan, with Hannah on the other, as Qamar, leader of the council, put the child-sized crown on Ryan’s head.
“You are welcomed into the royal family of Hamari,” said Qamar. “May you carry our torch into the future for many generations to come.”
There was a weighty pause while everyone waited for Ryan’s response.
“I—accept the welcome,” he said, switching only one word out for another. “And I’ll carry the torch.” Two of the remaining five elders, arrayed beneath the dais in the front row, shifted their weight from foot to foot. They’d no doubt noticed every tiny mistake Ryan had made. There had been a few, but he’d made it through.
The crowd in the throne room burst into applause, and Chakir felt like he’d been dunked into a pool of fresh, clear relief.
He’d done it.
They’d all done it.
His brother had sent him on what was frankly a crazy mission to find an American boy and his mother, and at every step, the bar had been raised. But Chakir had assembled a good team, he’d adjusted things when he had to, and he had gotten Ryan across the finish line at the crowning ceremony.
Kishon’s hand came down on his shoulder in a congratulatory pat. “I’ll tell you, I didn’t think he’d be able to pass the test, brother. You’ve done well.”
Half of Chakir’s relief washed away under a fresh cascade of frustration. It centered over his heart like a bruise. He was so proud of Ryan. It hadn’t been an easy task for a five-year-old, but he’d gotten through the ceremony and was settling into life in Hamari.
And yet, for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate, Chakir also wanted to please the elders. He wanted it more than he was ready to admit to anyone, even Kishon. Why couldn’t he have both things at once? The elders wouldn’t be altogether happy with the way the ceremony had gone. They expected perfection, just like they expected Chakir to adhere perfectly to the long list of royal traditions that had grown over the years.
Kishon stepped forward to address the crowd, and Chakir was left standing next to Matek.
“Are you upset that it’s over? You don’t have to be,” Matek said in a low voice, a smile on his face. “I’m sure Hannah will come up with other projects for you.”
“Oh, stop.”
His cousin drew back. “Is something wrong? Ryan did well.”
“There were a few things he missed.”
“No one noticed.”
“A few people noticed.” Chakir gestured subtly at the elders.
“They’ll have to get over it,” Matek said breezily. “It’s over and done with. They all had the ceremony they wanted. And your brother is happy.”
That, at least, seemed true. Kishon beamed down at Ryan, his big hand resting on the boy’s shoulder. He said a few words to him, then raised his hands and called for quiet. “It’s an auspicious day for all of us,” he began, and Chakir’s mind slipped away. This was supposed to be a moment of pure triumph, and instead it had become…complicated.
“Enjoy the refreshments and celebrate,” finished Kishon, and he gave Ryan one last pat on the shoulder. Chakir stepped down from the dais and was immediately surrounded by the elders. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The criticism would begin in three, two, one…
He couldn’t pay attention to that now. He should go and congratulate Ryan.
Only Ryan was no longer on the stage.
Chakir spotted him at once, holding Hannah’s hand. The two of them skirted the crowd. It looked like they were heading for the exit. Ryan walked close to the wall, with Hannah fending off the guests.
He moved without thinking, breaking into a jog to catch up to them.
“Miss Fisher.”
Hannah looked back at him. At first she looked uninterested, but then he caught a flicker of pain in her green eyes. “What is it, Sheikh Chakir?”
That stung. “Traditionally,” he began, the word sticking in his throat. “Traditionally, Ryan should stay and mingle with the guests and be among his people.”
Hannah sighed heavily, narrowing her eyes. “All the stipulations you gave us had to do with completing the ceremony. Well, we’ve completed it. Ryan has completed it. And now the ceremony is over.”
“But the event—”
“The event was not part of the deal,” Hannah said in a clipped tone. “You need to honor that. We’re finished for the afternoon, and we’re finished with your help.”
Chakir felt Ryan’s eyes on him. As much as he wanted to argue, to somehow wrest control of this situation back from Hannah, he wouldn’t do that in front of the boy. Not on his crowning day, and not ever. That was a tradition in his family he wouldn’t break.
“We’ll be leaving now,” Hannah said quietly. “Come on, Ryan. What do you think? Should we walk in the gardens, or should we visit the market?”
She made for the door without another backward glance.
18
It was quiet in the hall.
Ryan and Hannah hadn’t made much noise in Chakir’s wing of the palace, but the relative silence pressed in on him the moment he stepped out of his rooms. Maybe it wasn’t the silence that bothered him, but the fact that they no longer lived down the hall.
The last of their things had been taken out by the staff this morning, but they’d been gone three days. Gone—Chakir shook his head. He was getting bogged down in these emotions, but they weren’t gone. They had simply moved to another wing of the palace. It was only fitting and right that they would. It was traditional. Ryan was a prince, but he wasn’t his or Kishon’s sibling or child, so separate quarters and a separate household made sense.
No, he thought. It wasn’t the sound of them in the halls he missed. It was the sound of them in his life. It was too quiet by half without them. All the excitement had been sucked out of the air. Hannah had always had a different point of view. He hadn’t even thought of their sparring as fighting. It had been…lively debate. She had been lively.
How had he come to rely on that after only a few weeks?
His mind felt slow and painfully sluggish without her. She had challenged him, yes. Irritated him, yes. But she’d forced him to think differently about so many things.
Now that she wasn’t by his side for hours every day, he felt her absence like he’d feel a missing arm. That comparison seemed overblown, even in the privacy of his own mind, but that was how he felt.
Hannah would have something to say about this meeting with the elders, if he told her about it.
Chakir made his way to the council room, the echo of her voice in his ears. You can change things, if you want to.
It was funny. Before he’d met Hannah, he’d had no interest in changing anything. He’d stayed firmly within bounds. Now all those traditions looped themselves around his arms and chest and squeezed. They hardly gave him enough room to breathe. He took in a
huge, deep breath, just to prove he could.
How did everyone live like this for so long, without ever bumping up against the boundaries of their own lives? He was a fish in a tank swimming up against the glass for the first time.
“Sheikh Chakir?”
Qamar’s voice blew through Chakir’s thoughts like a wrecking ball. He hadn’t been focused on this meeting with the elders, and now Chakir found himself sitting across from them, having sat down without a single word. The six council members stood around the table, concern etched on their faces. But was it concern for him or concern for the lack of decorum? Had Chakir ever walked into a room lost in his own thoughts and failed to greet the elders?
Well, he had now.
“My apologies.” He half rose and gestured them down. “Be seated.”
They sat in a rustle of fabric and disapproval, and Qamar fixed him with a steady gaze.
“Congratulations on the crowning ceremony,” the leader of the council began. “It was a wonderful celebration.”
“Thank you,” said Chakir. “I’m happy you were pleased.”
All of them, to a one, shifted in their seats.
“Well?” Chakir said. “Out with it. What do you really want to discuss?”
“The ceremony was a wonderful celebration, but the prince and his mother can’t be allowed to make similar mistakes in the future.” Qamar barreled straight into a list of every mistake Ryan had made. Chakir felt a pressure like steam filling his skull, like something out of a cartoon. “His mother, Miss Fisher, stood altogether too close at the conclusion of the ceremony, and afterward the two of them disappeared before we could extend our congratulations, which as you know is disappointing on a level—”
“Stop.” Chakir brought a hand down on the table, the sharp slap echoing through the room. “You brought me here to express your disappointment? Miss Fisher and her son deserve nothing but praise.” He could not stop himself, no matter how hard he tried. “They threw themselves into a new life and a new culture in a matter of a few weeks. They came here with open minds and hearts. And if they suggested some changes, it was done in kindness. New ideas are not a scourge, council members. They are not a scourge. We could benefit from new ideas in our culture. You could benefit from cultivating an open mind.”