by Snihur, Erin
“Yes, you do. The honorable and just, Haseem el-Meer, has just lied to his Sheik. I wonder what other lies you’ve spouted to my brother,” Maarku mocks.
Haseem continues to glare at Maarku, even as he continues his speech, “How much in the market did you see?”
“Enough,” Haseem mutters and moves his gaze back to his tablet, “You should start preparing for the masquerade tonight at the palace. The Sheikha is throwing it to welcome her guests who will be staying for the celebration.”
Shrugging, Maarku beelines for the tray of fancy bottles of liquor, “We were not invited to a masquerade.”
“We are now,” Haseem growls and marches off, disappearing into one of the many rooms of the suite.
Staring down at the glass of amber liquid in his hand, Maarku grimaces. Setting it down, he runs his hands through his hair. For once in a long time he’d gone the whole day without taking a drink and thinking about her.
And all because of Mina…
5
Maarku grimaces at the sight of himself in the reflection of the limo as he steps out. His black and gold mask feels restricting and all he wants to do is throw the damn thing threw a window. Pausing, Maarku stares up the long staircase towards the entrance to the palace. Around him, men and women exit vehicles and make small talk as they waltz up the steps.
What he wouldn’t give to be walking the streets of Kulaz’ capital with Mina. But he doubted he would ever see her again. Now, he had to contend with stuffy conversations and horrible masks that hide people’s true veneer. Was the Sheikha of Kulaz so vain that she enjoyed celebrating through masquerades and multiple commemorations for her crowning?
Haseem had only managed to produce a few financial records for the country of Kulaz, but if their new Sheikha continued with the many parties and balls, there wouldn’t be much left for her people to rely on in a harsh winter or fruitless harvest.
Thankful that Haseem is nowhere to be seen amongst the large crowd of people socializing, Maarku makes his way over to the refreshment table as quickly as possible. Ignoring the official harold for the evening, Maarku snorts at the sight of the man. Why give him my name and title if this is a masquerade? Takes the fun out of the evening if he announces who people are to the entire room.
Plucking a glass of champagne from the table, Maarku turns and observes the room. Perhaps it is his shadowy costume and mask that keep people away from attempting to make small talk with him and to Maarku. That is fine. Easier to observe the pompous peacocks.
While observing, Maarku’s ears perk up at the sound of familiar, tinkling laugh coming from somewhere in the room.
It couldn’t be… Maarku whispers to himself.
Striding through the crowd, Maarku stops behind a circle of people and his eyes are instantly drawn to the laughing woman wearing the light pink and gold dress ensemble. Her gold mask is layered with peacock feathers that distract the eye away from her flashing silver eyes. In front of her, a man is telling a humorous joke about his recent trip to the Serengeti.
Ignoring the others in the small group, Maarku inserts himself into the circle, opposite the peacock feathered woman and sips at his champagne. His eyes never leave her as he allows his gaze to take her in.
Even with her mask, Maarku is positive the woman standing before him is his Mina from the capital. Inwardly, a voice scoffs at him. Your Mina?
Shaking the possessive thoughts away, Maarku waits until a lull in conversation before he speaks up, “I don’t know about any of you, but I for one was greatly impressed by the culture and splendor the capital has to offer here in Kulaz.”
Those around him murmur their agreements. Maarku’s grin widens when the woman’s eyes in the peacock mask, clashes with his. Her perfectly plump lips seem to part in shock at the sight of him and Maarku’s chest tightens at the sight.
“I almost fought a local woman over a beautiful piece of fabric,” Maarku jokes, earning a round of laughs from the group.
Shrugging, Maarku finishes his champagne, “But who am I to deny a woman fabric.”
“How gallant of you,” the woman wearing the peacock mask murmurs over own champagne glass.
The sounds of music in the ballroom has everyone’s eyes drifting in its direction and Maarku takes that opportunity to move closer to Mina and holds out his hand.
“Would you care to dance?”
Eyes widening slightly, Mina seems to pause before whispering her one worded question, “Batin?”
“Good evening, jamal,” Maarku’s smoky voice answers back as he motions with his eyes to his hand, “So, how about that dance?”
Hesitating, Mina scans the area and Maarku huskily murmurs to her again, drawing her eyes back to his, “This time, there will be no interruptions from your friend.”
Blushing, Mina nods and accepts his hand. Maarku follows the other couples as they make their way out onto the dance floor. The slow moving dance is quite intimate and Maarku tries to cool his libido as he begins waltzing Mina around the room. Around them, couples are smiling and enjoying themselves. Maarku’s mind is full of questions.
“Who are you?” Maarku asks, his hand tightening on her waist as he tries to keep his distance between their two bodies as they lightly brush against each other.
Mina seems to shiver beneath his fingers as they spin around the room. Her face blushes bright red and Maarku instantly recognizes the sight of a woman filled with desire. If things had gone the way he wanted on the bridge that afternoon, he and Mina would have fulfilled their lusts. Instead of dancing away from them.
“Someone...who wants you to kiss her,” Mina finally whispers, her voice heady and dazed.
* * *
After returning from the market, Amina hadn’t had a moment to think of Batin and their afternoon until the moment he appeared at the masquerade. Now, dancing with him around the ballroom, Amina’s breath is labored and her core is beginning to grow wet with desire.
When Batin asks her, “Who are you?”, Amina feels his hands tightening possessively around her waist. At his tightening hands, her body brushes against his chest and Amina blushes at the thought of her nipples protruding through the dress.
Amina is supposed to be responsible. She is a Sheikha, after all. But there is still a part of her that wishes to be rebellious and enjoy life to the fullest. She had ignored her advisor’s suggestion for a costume for the masquerade and had her own mask and dress made in secret. No one seems to know that she, in fact, is the Sheikha they are all celebrating and Amina enjoys the anonymity. Now more than anything, Amina wants to be reckless and enjoy life before she becomes unmasked to the world.
It is this recklessness and the overwhelming musky scent of Batin that have Amina whispering, “Someone...who wants you to kiss her.”
The change in Batin is instant. His nostrils flare and his fingers bite into her waist in a pleasing way that makes Amina whimper with desire.
Batin’s husky voice seems to growl as he leans in close, “I aim to please.”
Pulling her through a group of dancers that are entering the dance floor, Amina gasps in an instant when Batin pulls open a small closet off of the ballrooms hallway and pushes them both inside the darkened room. Eyes strengthening in the dark room, Amina inhales sharply at the sound of Batin cursing softly. The room is tight and Amina backs up, gasping at the feeling of the cool wall stopping her in place.
“Are you sure, Mina?” Batin murmurs, his presence growing closer as both of his hands press against the wall on either side of her head. Trapping her against the wall, Batin’s face moves slightly closer to hers, so that their breaths intermingle.
“Yes,” Mina answers and bravely reaches out to cup his hardening length. She had felt it against her stomach while they danced, but now, she was even more shocked by the size and feel of its warmth.
Cursing once more, Batin sucks in a harsh breath as he exhales his words, “You are playing with fire, little one.”
“Burn me, Batin.”
Not needing any further consent, Batin strikes, his lips landing on hers. Swallowing her moans, Batin and Amina fight for dominance as she wraps her arms around his neck. Batin’s hands move away from the wall and run down her arms and back up from her waist to her heaving chest.
Groaning as Batin massages Amina’s breasts and teases her nipples through the light fabric of her dress, she bites down lightly on his bottom lip at the feeling of his ministrations.
“Naughty girl,” Batin growls as their lips pulls away and he quickly pulls his hands away from her breasts, much to Amina’s disappointment.
“Don’t worry, jamal, I won’t neglect them,” Batin growls and in an instant, swoops Amina up against the wall and forces himself between her legs. Amina’s legs wrap tightly around his waist and she moans as he pushes the skirt of her long dress up past her thighs. Palm rubbing against her panty protected core, Batin curses once more at the feeling of her wetness.
“Batin…” Amina begins, but her voice trails off when the feeling of one of his fingers pulls aside her panties and begins caressing her dripping lips and budding clit.
Amina cries out as electric currents of pleasure seems to shoot through her body and she throws back her head against the wall and grinds against his finger. Shuddering when Batin pushes his finger into her pussy, Amina moans as it clenches tightly around the digit.
Squirming in his arms, Amina freezes when Batin’s finger meets the barrier of her hymen.
“Mina…” Batin pauses and his sweaty forehead comes to rest on her own forehead. Amina winces as his finger leaves her core and she immediately feels empty.
“Are you a virgin?”
Laughing sarcastically and breathlessly, Amina takes matters into her own hands and pulls at his belted pants, “Not for long.”
“Fuck,” Batin curses and tries to turn his hips away to stop her from pulling at his belt, “Mina, we can’t.”
“Yes, we can,” Mina hisses back and triumphantly smiles when her hand makes contact with the belt buckle and pulls it loose.
Keeping his grasp tight on her ass, Batin curses again, this time, in Arabic as he delves a hand into his pocket and produces a condom. Holding it up to her, Batin grins down at her as Amina stares at the square in his hand.
“If you can put it on, I’ll do it,” Batin huskily murmurs.
Plucking the condom from his hands, Amina raises a challenging eye at him, “Do you think you withstand my touch? I wouldn’t want you to get overly excited.”
“Do it, jamal,” Batin orders.
And do it they did.
6
Maarku yanks off the tie around his neck, unbuttoning a few of the top buttons of his dress shirt in the process and throws it at the partition that blocks him from Haseem and the driver of the limo. Finally, able to breath, Maarku clenches his fingers open and closed a few times. He needs a drink, but at the same time, he needs to stay sharp. To prove to Khalid once and for all that he can get through life without scandal or his drunken behavior bringing down their name.
Inwardly, Maarku wonders if he would see Mina again tonight. After their explosive liaison in the closet, the woman who had worked her way under his skin, disappeared. Tonight, a new night, he would have to keep his wits about him as he looked for his Mina.
The partition lowers and Haseem’s face turns to gaze at Maarku, no doubt having seen the tie hitting the partition, “Problem?”
“Not anymore,” Maarku grumbles and waits as they stop before the large gates of the palace. Being waved through by the guards after they receive the invitation from Haseem, Maarku breathes a sigh of relief.
“Relax. It’s just a small dinner party, what could go wrong?” Haseem comments, obviously noting Maarku’s nervousness. The guard hadn’t commented on Maarku’s rumpled appearance the night of the masquerade a few nights ago and for that he was thankful. Having a woman disappear on him like Mina did is a new one for Maarku. He had wanted to keep her with him in that closet for hours, but she’d barely looked at him as she left. He was used to regret. He’d held the emotions close to his heart for many years.
“I can’t help but feel as though something bad is going to happen.”
“If it does, remember you are wearing a bulletproof vest,” Hassem chuckles, earning a brief worried look from their driver.
Rolling his eyes at his babysitter’s joke, Maarku turns his attention to the approaching palace. At the center of the large circular driveway, sits a fountain spouting water in all different locations and is alight with a rainbow of color. Smirking in amusement, Maarku’s hands twitch. His younger siblings would love to have a rainbow display in the fountain located in private gardens of Aman.
When the vehicle finally arrives at the front of the line of the awaiting entrance, where attendants stand guard to assist the guests out of their vehicles, Maarku exhales, tamping down his nervousness and masking his face with the familiar, cool and indifferent face his father taught him to wear as a child.
Haseem steps out first and immediately nudges the awaiting guard aside to open Maarku’s door. Unfolding out of the vehicle, Maarku fidgets with his cuffs and then straightens his dark suit jacket.
“Let me know if you see anything...dubious,” Maarku murmurs to Haseem, who nods wordlessly.
Waltzing up the steps, Maarku zones out the sounds of Haseem following a short distance away and waits as he hands the required invitation over to the second set of guards who swipe their metal detectors over him and Haseem. Watching as they remove any perceived weapons from his guard, Maarku and Haseem are finally allowed to enter the palace. The foyer they enter is brimming with people. Young and old.
Maarku’s eyes light up in amusement as he turns a glare on Haseem, “Small dinner party, huh?”
Shrugging briefly, Haseem murmurs, “Must have read it wrong.”
Inwardly rolling his eyes, Maarku eyes the lineup people off to his left, that leads down a hallway to a large and open ballroom. No doubt where the new Sheikha is welcoming her guests.
Not wanting to wait in such a long line full of dull small talk, Maarku nods towards the line as he mutters to Haseem, “If anyone asks, I’ve already gone through. Keep an eye out.”
Haseem sighs his displeasure, but Maarku ignores him, choosing to go to the right where a large balcony is opened up and he’d seen a few guests coming out to welcome others in the lineup. Once outside, Maarku can finally breathe again as he takes a sharp turn and nearly collides with a hulking beast of a man in a dark suit. His hand is up and he’s touching an earpiece in his ear as he speaks in hushed tones.
Not even bothering to apologize, the man grunts and continues murmuring into the earpiece as he disappears through the archway to the foyer with guests. Watching him go, a thought in the back of Maarku’s mind wiggles its way to the forefront. Where have I seen that man before?
Inwardly worried he’d just stumbled across an enemy of his brothers or worse, his own, Maarku makes for the side of the balcony that runs along the length of the ballroom. Inhaling the sweet floral scent of the evening once last time, Maarku plunges inside.
All around him, men and women are laughing and drinking as they await the actual dinner to get started. Tensing, Maarku assesses the room before swiping a glass of champagne gracefully off a tray a waiter whiz by him.
Show time.
7
Amina had never known as much pain as the pain of standing in high heels for over two hours. And she is sure her advisors are enjoying her obvious dislike of being the designated greeter for the many, many guests that are attending her dinner. Isn’t this dinner only supposed to be for the select few higher up members of society that would be calling her palace home until her crowning celebration? Amina inwardly questions.
Scanning the area around her, Amina curses inwardly when she can’t spot Alexander in the crowd. Usually she can plead with him with her eyes, to make some excuse of why she needs to be excused. In the last few hours she had not been give
n a break.
Smiling had taken its toll on her face and she prays that her cheeks will stop hurting soon. On the outside, Amina appears very happy and calm in her pink gown. Thankfully the long length of the dress hides her aching feet and the square bodice is not as restricting as some of the gowns she’d seen worn tonight. Her dark, black hair shines through the intricate braid as her silver, diamond crown sits atop her head like a beacon. All eyes seem drawn to it.
Trying to shake herself of her tiredness, Amina leans in closer to the elderly matron who prattles on about a story of her father when he was a young boy. She’d heard the story many times. Too many to count, even if she’d tried.
“And then⎼,” but before the older woman can continue her story, Amina spots Abrar slinking closer and closer to her. Flashing him a smile, Amina calls out his name.
At his approach, the elderly matron halts her story and Amina smiles innocently at Abrar, “My Lord, you must hear this story about my father while I continue to greet my guests. It is just wonderful.”
Abrar attempts to sputter a decline, when Amina turns from him and marches away from the now smaller line up. Smiling and nodding to all who bow her way, Amina waits until she is alone in the hallway and slips out onto the balcony. Drifting over to a private corner, Amina ignores the others around her and takes in a deep breath of the fresh mountain air.
As it fills her lungs, Amina hears a soft curse behind her and swiftly turns around to spot a familiar figure slipping through the archway to the balcony. Keeping herself hidden in the darkness of the corner, Amina sucks in a harsh breath at the sight of her one night stand, Batin, as he marches over to the balcony railing and visibly exhales, before spewing a few muttered curses.
“Damn you, Khalid, for making me come here,” she hears him hiss to the moon and before she can stop herself, Amina steps into the moonlight, gaining his attention.