“You said you are in regular contact with your uncle?”
“Yes. We speak as often as we can.” Why did she have a bad feeling about that envelope? “When we can’t connect via telephone, we chat online. He sends me articles about what’s happening in Ditra, the good and the bad news. So, I’m fully aware of the progress he’s made for my people.” She rubbed her forehead. “Trust me. He’s a much better ruler than I could ever be.” Second, third, and fourth thoughts about what basically amounted to abdicating hit her hard. The guilt was nearly overwhelming, but Ilara had convinced herself that she just needed to get through her birthday next month and the guilt would go away, along with her right to rule.
“He’s been telling you how well off the people of Ditra are, correct?” he asked.
The horrible feeling in her stomach intensified. “Yes.”
“Interesting,” he commented conversationally. “That explains a lot.” He pulled a picture out of the envelope. “Unfortunately, your uncle has been lying to you.” He laid the picture on her desk. Ilara stared at it, trying to make sense of the image. It was of a group of people and they looked…haunted! Hungry. No, not hungry, they looked as if they’d been starved! Their bones pressed against their skin, and their eyes looked too big for their faces. Not to mention sad. As if they’d given up hope.
“What is this?” she whispered through numb lips as the horror of the picture hit her.
“Those are a few of the citizens that you have abandoned to the dubious mercies of your uncle,” Jabril explained flatly.
Jabril watched Ilara’s features carefully, trying to determine if she was telling the truth or…something else. His instincts told him that she was being completely honest, that the horror in her eyes was sincere. But he wasn’t sure he could trust his instincts where she was concerned. From the moment he’d opened her office door, he’d been taken aback by her beauty. When she’d turned those angry, chocolate eyes towards him, his body had tightened with immediate awareness and…lust. He didn’t like it, but there it was.
For decades, he’d planned to take back the land she considered her country. The land wasn’t strategically important, but it was his land, his people! This woman’s father had taken the land through impressive maneuvers and held onto it for too long.
Jabril couldn’t wait any longer. People were suffering due to her negligence. Instinct pushed him to protect his people and better their lives. Every day of his life, he’d been taught the need to protect his people, to fight for them and ensure that they had opportunities to thrive.
This woman had done the exact opposite. She’d abandoned them to a maniacal, self-serving despot, refusing to protect the citizens of the country she claimed to love.
At least, that’s what he’d believed up until this moment.
Was there more to the story? Was she truly unaware of what her uncle was doing to the people who lived under his rule?
“Are they sick?”
He kept his face still, refusing to give her any leniency. “I suppose one could say that. The people of Ditra survive on stale bread, when they can buy it at the stores. Or when they can find a store that is open and has food to sell.”
She frowned, startled by his words. “Bread? They don’t have…?”
“The markets were closed years ago,” he replied, hardening his resolve against her perplexed expression. She had abandoned her people. He was on a mission to save them, a pair of lovely eyes would not sway him!
Her fingers trembled as she put the picture down, hiding her hands behind her.
“Someone tried to kill your uncle when he went through the market one day.”
Her face paled and she shook her head, although he wasn’t sure if the gesture was one of denial or confusion. Either was possible, he conceded. “Why would anyone want to kill my uncle? My people love him! They adore him!”
Somehow, Jabril was able to avoid rolling his eyes. “Ilara, your uncle’s guards are in prison for treason, because your uncle didn’t think they had protected him well enough that day. He brought in a company of mercenaries from South Africa to protect him. And they are brutal with anyone they even suspect of harming your father. Dozens of people have been thrown into prison, without being charged and without a trial, simply because these mercenaries suspected that they might harm your uncle.”
She glanced down at the horrible picture again. He pulled another out of the envelope. This was the remains of a farm, the barn and house nothing more than charred, blackened rubble. The crops were in ruins and weeds beginning to invade in the background. “This person dared to speak out against your father’s farming proposal.”
He took out a third picture, laying it silently on the desk. This one showed a family desperately huddled together, holding each other as men in black uniforms lit their house on fire. Ilara cringed away. But, impressively, she took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and looked at the picture. Jabril’s anger towards her lessened slightly.
“No!” she whispered, transfixed by the image. “No, my uncle told me just last week that the farmers were being subsidized because the markets were flooded with food and prices were dropping to historic lows. The low prices meant that the farmers couldn’t bring home a sustainable wage. He’s right to subsidize! It’s good agricultural and economic policy.”
Jabril sighed. Apparently, her uncle hadn’t only manipulated the people in Ditra, but was pulling Ilara’s strings as well.
Horror such as he was witnessing would be hard to fake, he acknowledged. It was possible, if Princess Ilara were a trained actress. But to his knowledge, the princess had studied only business, economics, and public policy.
Regardless, she had to know the truth. He pulled out several more photographs. “This is the market in the capital city,” he explained, placing a picture of the once thriving market that had filled several blocks with produce and other goods. It was now barren, the beautiful, colorful tents, that the vendors took pride in weaving and decorating, were in dusty shreds, hanging drunkenly from broken supports. Even the wooden shelves were broken, crumbled heaps of tinder on the ground. There were a few areas that had products, but not many and the price on the small pile of apples was about ten times what she remembered paying.
“No!” she snapped. “No! This is a lie!” She turned to her laptop and started typing, before turning it around to show him pictures. “This is the Central Market,” she told him, revealing a market with fabulous tents and laughing vendors showing off their figs, oranges, lemons, pomegranates, persimmons, and other exotic fruits and vegetables that were grown in the fertile soil of Ditra. In the background, there were also purses and dresses, hats, and various other craft items for sale. “This is what is happening.” She pushed the pictures Jabril had given her away. “These are lies!”
Jabril looked at the picture on the monitor with a shake of his head. “No Ilara, the pictures your uncle sent are the lies.”
She visibly pulled back. “I don’t believe you.” She sat down, wrapping her arms around herself. “Why would he do that? It is in the best interests of every ruler to ensure that their people are healthy and prosperous. That’s how I was raised! My uncle as well.”
Jabril noticed that the last four words were almost an afterthought, tacked on to reinforce her argument. But she wasn’t sure and that gave him pause. She hadn’t known, he was sure of it.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to ease her into the truth. The people of Ditra were in dire circumstances and he had to act quickly, before more people died. Relaxing his stance slightly, he changed tactics, shifting from fury over her negligence, to insistence that she face reality and fix the situation. “Your uncle has drained the resources of Ditra for his own personal gain. The people are starving, businesses have gone under because of the new tax regulations, which are complicated and apply a massive burden to most businesses, and even the military has been oppressed, curtailed so that he has them entirely under his power.”
Ilara
shook her head, but Jabril could see the doubt in her face. “No! He’s a gentle ruler!” she repeated, unconsciously pushing her chair back and crossing her arms over her chest, trying to get away from his words.
Instead of saying anything more, he pulled other pictures out of the envelope, spreading them across her desk one by one. He showed her pictures of desperate people, abandoned stores, deserted villages, and the capital city with empty streets, which should have been thriving.
He didn’t say anything, allowing the images to speak. She’d grown up in Ditra and recognized the street signs and the buildings. Jabril watched carefully, waiting for signs that she might dismiss what was happening.
Unfortunately, he needed Ilara. He needed her cooperation in order to make a swift change. He could regain the land without her through force, but as she’d pointed out, more people would get hurt. The people of Ditra had endured so much already. If he could unite his country without violence, he’d do it. If he couldn’t gain her cooperation, then he had a plan B, but marrying Ilara would give her the right to rule and speed up the recovery process for the people and the economy.
“Stop!” she gasped, turning the pictures over so she didn’t have to look at them. Jabril considered that a good sign. She couldn’t be part of her uncle’s horrible machinations if she couldn’t stand looking at the destruction.
“He didn’t do this,” she murmured, standing up and looking through the small window of her office, trying to hide her expression.
“Why do you say that?” he demanded,. She wanted to deny everything, but he suspected from her reaction that she’d had clues before this moment.
“Because my uncle sends me reports about what’s going on in Ditra. He and I talk. He’s encouraged me to come back and take my place.”
“Why haven’t you then?” he asked, tamping down his sudden fury.
“Because…” she closed her eyes, pressing her lips together as the pieces came together. “Because he convinced me that getting my degree was more important for the people of my country. It would help me help them more effectively.” She pressed shaking fingers to her lips. “He said I had to think long term and getting a degree from a good school would serve them better in the long term.”
“So that’s why you left Ditra,” he commented, more to himself than to her. “He’s right. Getting an education should have helped. But you graduated last summer.”
She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “He...convinced me that getting a bit of experience out in the world would help.”
Jabril didn’t say anything. He let the silence fill the room, allowing her to think it through. From what his security team had discovered, Ilara was an intelligent, thoughtful woman with deep loyalty to Ditra. Only now was he starting to understand why she hadn’t returned to take her place in the government.
“I don’t believe you,” she finally said, turning to face him.
Her words were disappointing, he thought, but not unexpected.
“Come with me,” he ordered. “We’ll fly to Ditra and you can see for yourself.”
Without a second thought, she shut down her computer and grabbed her purse. Her willingness further eased his anger towards her. If she’d known what was going on, even suspected, she wouldn’t be willing to prove him wrong.
“Your information is wrong,” she insisted as she shoved her laptop into her computer bag. “I don’t know where those pictures were taken, but they aren’t from Ditra.” She stood up straight, glaring up into his eyes. He admired her spunk, even if he could see her trembling from head to toe..
Princess Ilara might be a beautiful woman, but the people of Ditra needed his focus now. They needed him to protect them. Focusing her full, rounded breasts or her slender waist was not helping them in any way.
With absolute resolution, she tilted her head towards the door. “I’ll show you the real Ditra. And if you decide to invade my country…”
“My country, that your father stole from me,” he corrected.
Ilara didn’t acknowledge his words. “…Then I will expect an apology and an investigation into who told you those lies,” she finished, nodding to the envelope with the pictures.
“And if I’m telling the truth, you will marry me and help me save Ditra.”
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Loving Pierce (Heart & Soul Series Book 4) Page 9