Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
And so he was, Altair thought. And so he was...but only in Kyria’s eyes. He mentally sent his gravest condolences to Malik, thinking that Vanna was right in insisting that his younger brother spend time away from Ramil.
Malik might be the best husband a girl could ever ask for, but Kyria still deserved to make up her own mind.
Five years ago
With only a day before Usbue Min Al-Abtal or Heroes’ Week began, the entire kingdom was caught up in a rush of excitement. Citizens willingly and eagerly volunteered to help local officials put up décor all over the city, hanging up welcome banners for their favorite heroes and wrapping flower chains around street posts. A modern and fast-paced version of the kingdom’s national anthem also played constantly from the government’s public speakers, and local news channels happily showed real-time footage of citizens dancing to the tune of it, smiles wreathing their faces.
The Sand Wars, which comprised of the kingdom’s bloodiest years in modern times, were over, and for the next seven days, the citizens would pay tribute to those who suffered and lost their lives in the name of freedom.
And so with the people’s attention diverted mostly to ongoing preparations, Malik was able to slip back into Ramil unnoticed and thus keep his arrival a secret. He was looking forward to seeing the look of surprise on Kyria’s face once she saw him – and learn that he was back for good – but when he arrived at the palace, his plan backfired and he was the one left reeling from an unpleasant shock instead.
Fuck.
He was fucked.
He was so royally fucked.
She stood at the center of the palace’s private stone garden, dark tresses flowing freely down her back, her eyes glowing as the four sheikhs around her traded jests with each other. Granted, one of them was his brother and the other three his cousins, but even so they were all still too pretty for their own good, and he wanted them to stay at least ten feet away from her at all times.
Something Tarif said made her throw back her head with a laugh, the action exposing the elegant length of her pale neck, and Malik whitened.
FUCK.
This was not how it should be.
FUCK.
He stepped back.
FUCK.
But before he could turn away and leave, it was too late. Some kind of sixth sense seemed to make her stiffen, and then she was whirling around. The tray of empty plates she was holding in her hands crashed to the ground. And as everyone’s heads snapped towards where she was looking, tears started to run down her face—-
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He opened his arms.
She broke into a run and threw herself at him. “Malik.” She was weeping. “Malik.”
A part of him wondered if the reason she was crying was because he was close to breaking her ribs with the way he was hugging her so hard. He knew it was possible, but he also knew he just could not let her go.
He just could not.
Not just yet.
He closed his eyes.
Fucked. I am fucked. I am eternally fucked.
It was almost two in the morning by the time he made his way to the palace’s luxurious underground baths, where Altair and his other cousins waited. Naturally arching stone ceilings blended well with gilded posts and marble-walled pools while recessed lighting tucked away in hidden crevices made the waters glow like liquid turquoise.
“Hear, hear, our hero has returned.”
“Fuck all of you.” He gave everyone the finger for added measure, but all four men laughed. Slipping into the water, he stretched his arms against the wall and leaned his head back. Hopefully, the supposedly healing waters of the palace’s Turkish bath could help clear his mind.
“She’s become more beautiful than you expected, hasn’t she?” Tarif asked slyly.
His eyes snapped open, and he shot his womanizing cousin a look of warning. “You’re forbidden from seeing her beautiful from now on.” The words were out before he could stop himself, and when he realized what he had just said, and how and why he had said such words—-
A groan of defeat escaped him.
“I’m fucked.” Malik let out a laugh, but the sound was bleak. The two years he had spent away from Ramil amounted to nothing. If any, it had only made things worse because whereas he had never seen Kyria as a woman before, he did so now—-
“I’m so goddamn fucked.”
This time, no one laughed, and when he looked at the other men’s faces, he saw that they knew exactly what he meant, and they, too, thought the same thing.
He was fucked.
Four years ago
Metal clashed against metal as the sheikhs skillfully wielded their swords to parry the attacks endlessly launched against them. Sword fighting was a traditional skill that Ramilian royals were expected to master, but more than that, their instructors wanted to forge the foundation of teamwork among the five young sheikhs. There would come a day when Khalil became king and the four his vassals; it was critical that their trust in each other prove as unassailable as the kingdom’s tallest mountains the moment Khalil took the throne.