by Snihur, Erin
Had it been an assassination? Was Amina in danger too? Though they didn’t have proof, Maarku and Haseem had both deemed the old Sheik’s death suspicious. In the back of his mind, Maarku’s deepest darkest thoughts come to life. Was Amina involved? Was she just as cruel and conniving as the women in his past or like her advisor, Abrar?
Maarku has no way of knowing what Amina’s intentions are. On the outside, she seems so perfect. But then, so had Lisette.
His heart hardens and resolve turns to steel, Maarku snorts at the thought of that vile woman from his past surfacing again. He thought he had finally pushed her to the deep depths of his mind. However, over the Christmas holiday, Khalid had mentioned the ring Maarku had bought for the woman he thought loved him. Maarku had hated the mention of that ring. Hated thinking about how Lisette had laughed at him when he’d told her that Khalid had cut him off and that only her love would make him go on. Apparently only money would make Lisette’s love go on and their relationship had ended right then and there.
Continuing to stare at the throne, Maarku sneers slightly at the memory of losing the woman he loved and throwing that idiotic ring into the ocean before going on a binge of drinking and women. Shaking his head, Maarku promises himself once more, never again shall a woman take hold of my common sense.
10
Amina had just exited the outer balcony of the throne room to greet her subjects officially as their new Sheikha. The ceremony had gone well and now, all that was left were the festivities that would follow in the next few days. From balls to entertainment from across their country, Amina was supposed to experience all of it. Although all she really wants to do is curl up with a good book or sneak about the capital city, masquerading as Mina, a humble city dweller.
Now, standing around enjoying appetizers and glasses of champagne, Amina scans the crowd in an effort to find Maarku. Inwardly, Amina wonders if she’d frightened the man off. Had the realization that he’d slept with the Sheikha of Kulaz sent him fleeing back to Aman?
Noticing a group of people congregating near the entrance of the ballroom, Amina sets her glass down and moves closer. Sidling up one of her advisors who also gathered in the crowd, Amina tries to stand on her tip toes and immediately regrets wearing comfortable slippers in lieu of heels.
“What is going on?” Amina asks the group and all eyes turn to her and widen at her presence. A few even back away to make room for her to get closer to what they were all staring at.
One of her advisor’s nods towards the center of the group, “A man was found unconscious at the bottom of the steps leading out of the throne room, Your Majesty.”
Gasping at the thought, Amina pushes further through the crowd, demanding everyone get back, “Who is it? Has a doctor been called?”
Shrugging, the advisor sheepishly looks around, “I believe it is a Prince of some kind, but I cannot be sure. I believe his security detail has called for the palace doctor.”
Prince? Amina’s mind races. As far as she knew, the only Prince in attendance was a few younger sons to a visiting Sheik and Maarku. Heart racing with fear, Amina pushes through the remaining crowd and as she comes to the edge, she gasps in shock.
There lying at the bottom of the stairs on his back, is Maarku. His clothes are rumpled and there is a large bruise forming on the top of his head. His left ankle is also twisted in a painful position. Beside him, his security detail is trying to rouse him.
Without thinking, Amina lunges forward and collapses to her knees beside Maarku’s security detail as she asks, “What happened?”
The man stops patting Maarku’s cheek to stare back at her, before he seems to shake himself to focus on the situation before them and resumes trying to rouse Maarku.
“I think he fell down the steps,” the man gruffly replies.
Taking a sniff, Amina peers closer at the bump on his head, “Had he been drinking?”
“No.” The man gruffly replies.
Looking up the steps in front of them, Amina sees no one around the edge of the balcony. Why was Maarku even still in the throne room? After the greeting of her people everyone had been directed to the ballroom for after-crowning libations.
Behind her, Amina can hear the gruff voice of the royal family’s doctor approaching. Rushing to stand, Amina steps aside as the doctor takes her spot and begins firing questions at Maarku’s security guard.
“How long has the patient been unconscious?”
“It could only have been less than fifteen minutes. I went to pull the car around.” the security guard answered and inwardly, Amina feels a twinge press against her heart. Maarku had been leaving. He didn’t even want to congratulate her on her crowning. Perhaps the lies she’d fed him had indeed caused a rift between them. Perhaps, now that he had slept with her, he would leave.
You’ve only known this man for a few days, Amina! Get a hold of yourself! A small part of her mind screams at her, but Amina doesn’t care. After the night of the masquerade it felt like they had a connection. Somehow, this mysterious man had wormed his way into her very mind and under his skin.
As the doctor examines Maarku’s neck and flashes a small light under his eyelids, he sighs and motions to an awaiting servant, “I don’t think he’s had a concussion, but this bump on his head is possibly what is causing his unconsciousness. I don’t suppose you’d allow me to remove him to the nearest hospital?”
Shaking his head, the guard mumbles, “I would need to bring in extra security.”
Sighing, the doctor appears to want to argue, but Amina pipes up, “Doctor, I believe during my father’s living years, he instituted a mini hospital in this very palace with mobile equipment. If we were to move the Prince to the nearest room, could it be possible to set up such mobile equipment?”
Nodding in agreement, the Doctor bows, “It will be done, your Majesty.”
Snapping his fingers at a few servants, the Doctor begins ordering for Maarku to be lifted onto a gurney and for IV’s and heart rate monitors to be brought to his new chamber.
Pushing his way to the front of the crowd, Abrar takes in the scene before him before marching over to Amina, his eyes wild with confusion, “What is the meaning of this, your Majesty?”
“Prince Maarku has fallen down the steps, harmed his head and ankle, so he is being taken to a room where the doctor can attend to him,” Amina explains. Though it seems quite obvious to her as two, large burly servants arrive with a gurney and lift Maarku gently onto it, all while under the supervision of his guard, as the man furiously types something into his cellphone.
Sputtering, Abrar throws up his hands, “But your Majesty, there may not be any available rooms and…” his voice trails off as he scans the crowd, who watches them with wide eyes before he motions for Amina to follow him. At her back, Amina can feel Alexander following as she follows Abrar to a more private corner of the room.
“What is going on, Abrar? I must see to our injured guest,” Amina protests as her fists clench and out of the corner of her eye nervously watches as the burly servants carry the unconscious Prince up the steps to an awaiting chamber.
Waving his hand dismissively towards the crowd, Abrar gazes at her as if she is a mere child, “Your Highness, you must understand that by taking Prince Maarku into our home, you are inviting scandal and mockery to fall upon the Crown.”
Inwardly, Amina prays Abrar isn’t referring to their liaison in the closet on the night of the masquerade.
Scoffing at Abrar’s accusations, Amina places her hands on her hips and studies the shifty-eyed man, “What scandal and mockery? Prince Maarku has been nothing but gentlemanly towards the Crown. An action that seems to have been overlooked by your nephew.”
At Amina’s mention of Sahl, Abrar’s face visibly pales from white to red as he fists his hands at his hips before he exhales a breath and gives her a look that reminds her of a person not taking someone seriously, “You are still young and are easily swindled by the Princes’ charms. Prince Maarku i
s a known playboy and has only recently been welcomed back into the fold of his family. For almost a year he has been traveling the world involving himself in drugs, drink and women. Scandal after scandal. I believe, the only real reason he has been allowed back into his family is because of Kulaz.”
Shaking her head, Amina turns to watch as Prince Maarku disappears up the stairs and down a hallway with his guard following close behind.
“What would a Prince of Aman want with Kulaz?” Amina asks softly, more to herself, but Abrar hears it anyway. With a gleam in his eyes, leans forward and hisses the one word that has Amina’s heart cracking and her blood freezing.
“Marriage.”
11
Amina watches from the doorway of Maarku’s newly assigned room as his guard paces at the end of the bed, all the while animatedly speaking into the phone in rapid Arabic.
“I don’t know how it happened! All I know is the Doctor says he will wake when he is ready to wake. They hooked him up to these machines that are monitoring his vitals and the only thing we can do now is wait.” The guard growls into the phone and Amina visibly flinches at his tone. She immediately feels sorry for whoever is on the phone.
“There were no witnesses and I am positive he wasn’t drinking. He’s been overly cautious when it comes to alcohol on this trip,” the guard responds after a moment of silence, probably to answer the unheard person on the other end of the phone.
“No!” the man suddenly hisses “You don’t need to fly out here. Amelia needs you right now. Your brother will understand.”
Brother? That must mean the guard is speaking with Maarku’s brother. The Sheik of Aman, Amina inwardly deduces.
Behind her, Alexander appears and Amina jumps in subtle shock as the door to Maarku’s room creaks, gaining the furious guard’s attention. Maarku’s guard stares at her for a moment. As he stares, Amina can hear the faint sound of a deeper voice growling through the cell phone.
Biting her bottom lip, Amina forces herself to smile slightly and nod towards Maarku’s prone figure, “If you’d like, I can sit with the Prince while you take your call in the hallway.”
At the man’s hesitancy, Amina rushes out, “Of course, my guard will supervise and we’ll leave the door open so you can still be close by.”
Fiddling with the long and open wrist sleeves of the simply pale rose colored dress that clings to her curves at her waist and falls down past her ankles, Amina immediately blushes under Maarku’s guard’s appraisal.
Distracted back to his cellphone, the guard grunts and motions for them to enter as he says, “No, I’m not ignoring you. Her Majesty has just arrived to visit Maarku.”
Amina’s eyebrows raise as the guard quietly mumbles into the phone, “I’ll tell you about it in my report.”
Waiting until the guard is firmly focused on his phone and is pacing the hallway outside Maarku’s room, Amina turns her gaze on Alexander who watches the guard pace with a critical eye, “Do you think the Prince is here for a dubious reason like Abrar claims?”
Alexander grunts softly and turns back to look at the Prince. Unconscious in his bed, with an IV drip and his bandaged foot raised by a sling attached to the bed frame, Maarku has seen better days.
“I watched you both in that market. I fear my opinion is conflicted,” Alexander murmurs before continuing with a protective look in his eye as his gaze lands on her, “I will, however, say that Abrar is not to be trusted and I will do everything in my power to protect you from those out to harm you and the Crown.”
Smiling, Amina pats Alexander on the arm, “Thank you, my friend.”
Nodding at the comatose prince, Alexander grins and ponders aloud, “Perhaps he’ll awake, find you nursing him and fall madly in love, like in those infernal fairy tales you used to read.”
Blushing at the way she used to inhale romantic fairy tales about dashing princes and beautiful princesses, Amina waves a dismissive hand at her friend, “Possible, but highly unlikely, if I continue to stand here with you.”
Marching over to Maarku’s bedside, Amina pulls a plush chair close and sat down, intent on getting comfortable. As she stares into the handsome Princes’ face, Amina feels her body begin to betray her. Her lips tingle at the reminder of that night in the closet. Those tingles that shoot through her spine and warm her aching core are nothing like the fairy tales described in books. They remind her of the bodice ripper fiction she had hidden beneath one of the floorboards in her chambers. Who didn’t enjoy a good smut book every once in a while?
Smiling at the thought of comparing Maarku’s tall, muscularly build to that of the men in her fictional dreams, Amina shakes her head to clear her thoughts. Instead, she begins to hum. Mostly from the many number of musicals she’d enjoyed watching on TV or the many times her father had taken her to London secretly so that she could experience the world without the confines of the Crown.
As she begins to hum, her eyes drift over the handsome man and her mind daydreams of what their lives could have been, had they not been restricted to the confines of being royalty.
12
Someone is humming. That much Maarku knows. Everything is dark. He knows that too.
Damn it, your mind is so jumbled, now you’re starting to think in rhyme! Maarku’s inner self growls.
At that thought, a sharp pain in his head makes itself known and when Maarku tries to sit up and pull open his sleep addled eyes, a stab of pain races through his left ankle. Crying out at the pain, Maarku collapses back into the comfort of darkness.
Suddenly, a pair of warm, small hands are pressing against his chest and pressure is felt as the humming ceases and the sweet caress of a voice sounds, “Try not to move, Bat⎼, I mean, Maarku. The doctor is on his way.”
Doctor? Maarku inwardly questioned, why would I need a doc⎼.
Before he can even complete his thought, an eruption of images appeared in his dark mind. First, he was watching Amina being crowned and then, standing before her empty throne. Finally, the last image appears. Maarku staring down the long steps, contemplating if he should truly leave before the after party had really begun or if he should try to gain Amina’s attention one last time before calling his brother and declaring a failure. Then, something else. Pressure on his back, but from what, he doesn’t know.
“Are you in a lot of pain? Can you open your eyes?” the sweet voices ask as the hands at his chest soften and no longer press on his chest to keep him down on the softness, of what Maarku assumes is a bed.
Realizing he still has not opened his eyes, Maarku flinches at the pain of pulling his eyelids apart and the bright light that enters the exact moment his eyes are fully open.
“Close those drapes, Alexander! And dim the lights!” The sweet voice orders, though Maarku can only see the blurred, curvy figure. Even as the light dims, it takes many moments of blinking for Maarku to see clearly. When he finally can see clearly, Maarku immediately recognizes the sweet voices’ owner.
Amina. Curly, dark hair hanging down her back, Maarku’s newly awakened eyes take in her beautiful, rose colored dress that cinches at the waist and falls down her frame like a luscious waterfall.
Groaning under his breath, Amina’s form visibly stiffens as she presses her hands more firmly to his chest, “What hurts, Maarku? I promise the doctor will be here soon.”
Cursing inwardly at the way she dips before him, Maarku tries to keep his gaze firmly on her face, but the heart shaped cut of her dress gives him an excellent view of her cleavage. Oh Allah, you have sent a vixen to torment me!
“Maarku? Can you speak?” Amina continues to pester him with questions as her hands go to the IV in his wrist.
Cringing at the sight of the needle, Maarku reaches over and pulls the tape off, along with the needle, ignoring Amina’s gasp and attempts to stop him.
“Maarku, you mustn’t remove the IV! It’s for your own good!” Amina protests as he pulls off the pulse monitor from his finger and swats at his hand to stop him from
getting up. Hands now firmly on his chest, Amina glares at him with her now grey eyes filled with silver fire.
“Stop moving!” Amina demands and looks over her shoulder, “Alexander, please tell him to stop moving! Where is his guard?”
Maarku watches as Amina’s guard appears behind her and smirks in amusement, “He went to get the doctor. Why? Is our patient giving you trouble?”
Maarku wants to laugh with the man, but all he can do is groan in pain when he tries to open his mouth. His jaw feels very tight, along with the rest of his body. Probably from the fall.
“Men,” Amina mutters under her breath and gives him a specialized glare, all women probably reserve for misbehaving children.
“You mustn't move, Maarku. Your ankle is very badly sprained and if you try to get up it might make things worse. Plus, you have a bump on your head. You don’t want to aggravate it.”
Maarku stares into her fiery eyes and smiles slightly when they soften. His voice is hoarse and lips cracked. Maarku struggles, but manages to whisper, “Thank you.”
Maarku had never seen someone beam so brightly from a simple ‘thank you’, like Amina did at his whispers. It is such a simple thing to feel joy over. Most women he had dated in the past had beamed when he’d given them jewelry or had taken them to expensive dinners and to beautiful resorts. Amina is just joyful to receive his praise. Something she didn’t need or ask for.
Perhaps she isn’t like all the others as we had initially though?
13