My Emir ✅

Chapter 49- Khalifa

    Shoulders squared up to maintain a relaxed but stoic posture and glammed in an attire at exuded royal grace, the only thing that differentiated Zayn from the portraits of the past Emirs that were plastered on the walls was the face behind the turban that concealed half of his face. One would have never noticed the glossing of his eyes when he got pronounced as the Emir of Kano, His Highness, Zayn-Ashraf Malik I.
    He would give his one and all to honour that title.

  After receiving congratulatory greetings, from the many faces in the hall, they dispersed to the durbar grounds for the events lined up for the day. Till then, he had about an hour to himself.

    After he was sure that the throne room was cleared and devoid of anyone's presence, he strolled back in the direction of the room, only stopping when he reached the place. He responded to the greetings of the two guards who were stationed at the huge double doors. They were uniformed in red and green traditional attire.

    Zayn walked into the throne room, savouring the feel of the huge responsibility on his shoulders. One that he had agreed to take on. There were portraits lined at one particular wall of the room, just behind his throne. He would need some time to ease into that.
   Staring at the throne in front of him, he pushed back the thoughts of what would have happened if Hassan or his father were the ones to ascend after his father. That would have been pure dread.
   Zayn traced his fingers over the majestic chair as he made his way to the portraits, each looking clearer with the development of technology. He recognized every person in each portrait by face (that could be attributed to visiting the room too often), their achievements through the course of time, and the stories he had heard from his father and grandparents. One day, his picture would hang up right beside his father's, while his son stands right in his current position.
    He couldn't gaze at his father's picture for long, afraid he wouldn't be able to keep his mind from reeling down memory lane.

    " Khalifa," A voice echoed softly through the space.
   That voice was his saving grace. He didn't need to turn back to know who it was.

   " Malika," he also called out. He heard her footsteps draw closer to him by the ticking of the clock. She stopped only when she got to his side, levelling with his stance. She scanned the portraits lined on the wall before looking back at him. She had to raise her head a bit because he was taller than her, and he looked even taller with the clothes he was wearing.

   All it took was his arm around her shoulder to draw her closer to him. She chuckled lightly.
   " Allah ya raya zaki," she praised, and he had to slide his arm from her shoulder to get a better look at her. She laughed at the gesture.

   " You are making me feel old," he grumbled. The transition from being called a jerk by her to the praises she was showering him with at the moment wasn't as smooth as he had expected, but it was all worth it. Every single bit of it.

   " Get used to feeling old then," she shot back at him. The space was engulfed in a spell of silence before Mariya spoke again. " I'm proud of, Ashraf. All your achievements, and your losses that led to you being this great. I'm sure you'll be a great ruler. I'm at your service, Your Highness."

   " I love you, Malika," he tried to interlace his fingers with hers, making the folded piece of paper she held fall to the ground. He had noticed it before.

    She squatted to pick it up and handed it to him. He took it from her, only after helping her back onto her feet.

    " Mama Aisha asked me to give this to you," she clarified.

    Zayn unfolded the piece of paper, already making out a few words. It was his father's handwriting. He would recognize that cursive handwriting even in his sleep. Even the stamp of his signet at the far bottom of the paper proved so.
  Mariya watched intently as he read through the note, taking in the stretch of his smile, to the tiniest crease of his brow. He would have invited her to read if it was meant for her eyes, so she stayed within her boundaries.