One Night

Chapter Six

Ali grabs the cigarette butt and shoves it into his mouth to hide it. I cringe. The bottom of my shoe was on that. Ali and I trail behind the theif and Nawaz, side-by-side, to make it look like we are escorting them and not being given a hiding.

As we walk past the indoor garden in the main square, Ali spits the cigarette butt out. He straightens his shirt and continues as if nothing happened.

"You could have just held it in your hands. Nobody would have seen it."

His brown eyes drag to mine. They're the same shade as mine. On the training fields, everyone used to say we were brothers. He is more of a brother to me than Nawaz will ever be.

"You could've told me that earlier, man." He cringes and wipes his tongue with his sleeve.

The thief's eyes are filled with wonder as she walks through the palace, taking in the high ceilings and unnecessarily expensive artworks hung on the walls. Maybe she is planning what she might help herself to.

I wouldn't blame her. Some of the vases and smaller artworks may have gone missing because of me. I gave it to those who needed it more. The Hakeem didn't even notice. I almost wish he did, because then I'd know that he actually cared about the things he wastes so much money on.

When we reach the hall that the Hakeem hosts most of his meetings in, he invites all four of us to sit on the plush cushions with him. "Now, Malaika, could you start by telling me your version of what happened?"

Malaika? I bite my lip to avoid laughing, but a small sound escapes my lips. Either the name is a lie or her mother is sorely disappointed.

The Hakeem watches me with a look that would put me six feet under. A look given to those he sends straight into the Aleamiq prison.

"You are being disrespectful in front of royalty." He gestures his palm to the thief.

Royalty? This has to be a damn joke. I knew she was a liar, but to claim to be royalty? What is she getting out of this?

"Pathetic," I mumble under my breath, making sure she hears.

She watches me, her hands clasping together over her crossed legs. "It was my fault," she says to the Hakeem. That must be the closest thing to the truth that has left her lips since she arrived here. "I was flirting with Nawaz and things went a bit too far. Your guards thought I was uncomfortable and tried to help me. Their intentions were good."

"Is this true?" The Hakeem asks the rest of us. Nawaz easily nods, and Ali turns to me for a response.

She was telling him to stop and he wouldn't. Why is she protecting this worthless prince?

Because she still wants his affection—No, she wants his damn money. "You're pathetic," I tell her, lacing my words with venom.

"Zayen!" The Hakeems voice booms loud enough to feel like a slap. I'm sure he wants to hit me.

When I don't respond, his gaze flickers between the thief and I. She seems to be sinking into herself. Silence settles over us like dust in an abandoned home.

"As an apology for being disrespected, I would like to invite you to stay in our home. What do you say?" There's a warmth in his voice, but I've learnt to see what genuine warmth looks like and this is not it.

I want to tell her to run; that if she stays, she'll see a world much worse than anything outside these palace walls. Seeing the poor suffering hurts, but seeing the way the rich behave when there are people dying right outside is something that leaves scars on a soul that can never be healed.

But of course she is going to accept. More time with the prince means that she is more likely to take his riches.

She nods, a smile lighting her features. It lights her face, making her look more innocent. Her eyes crease, almost as if the smile is real. I hate to admit it, but her smile is beautiful. If only it wasn't a lie, like the rest of her façade.

"For disrespecting the royalty of Diyar, I am going to assign you as her guard," the Hakeem tells me. "So that you may it up to her in the coming nights. Is that understood?"

I'm shaking my head before he can finish. "Wh—?"

"Is that understood?" I don't know what threats lie behind his stern voice, but I have been here my entire life and I have seen what this man is capable of.

"Yes."

He nods slowly and then glances over at each of us. "Good. Now, let us go back down and be civil. People are watching. You especially, Nawaz. Do not disappoint me."

"Na'am, papa," Nawaz agrees.

"Don't call me papa. You are not a child." The Hakeem grunts as he gets back to his feet and straightens out his white thobe.

The prince's face falls, his eyes dropping to the ground in shame. The thief seems to sympathise with him, her features softening at his reaction. As if for a moment she is not acting, and truly wishes to reach out and touch him.

I can't find it in me to feel a morsel of sorrow for him. The Hakeem told me to stop calling him papa the day Nawaz was born. I was a child.

~~*~~

Have you ever read an Arabian themed book before?

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