"Sahib, we'll be landing soon, please fasten your seatbelt." Rafiq looked up from the screen of his laptop at the sound of the flight attendant's voice. He dismissed her with the simple wave of his hand before doing as he was told. A click-click-clack of the keys on his laptop filled his cabin before putting his laptop to sleep. The thirty-two-year-old crown Prince sat back in his plush seat and looked out the window of the royal private jet at the waves upon waves of the magnificent golden desert sands. Finally, after two-and-a-half years of working overseas, Rafiq was returning home. The jewel desert country known as Dhakhar. Though coming back home and seeing his country filled him with a sense of homesickness he hadn't felt before, he still couldn't shake the gnawing tension of what awaited him once he stepped off the plane. Overseeing of the expansion of Shahaad Oils to scattered parts of the world beyond his country's borders had kept him away for so long, but he'd never stayed much even before then.
At eighteen, straight after high school, he joined the army, a mandatory task for every male in the royal family to serve the nation a minimum of three years. But unlike what most of his counterparts chose, he'd attended university while on active duty. After which he promptly established an oil company at the tender age of twenty-two, headquartered in Dhakhar's capital, Tamar. Though he'd had the upper hand in starting his company, it'd hadn't made him soft with his work. Rafiq's industry was what he ate, breathed and dreamt, making him one the most successful businessmen in the world.
It wasn't long before the plane was taxing to the end of the runway. His entourage, comprising a convoy of at least a dozen palace guards and his younger brother, Prince Hassan. There were no crowds or paparazzi. Just the way he'd wanted it. However, that fact was that, that section of the airport being private, reserved for the royal family and other highly respected dignitaries not wanting to deal with the commotion of camera flashes and the noise. Which reminded him of why he was here. Yes, he was back to stay in Dhakhar because of the change of work, but it had scheduled him to arrive almost two weeks later. At his father's urging, if he could call it that, persuaded him to leave the minute details of the rest of the work in the capable hands of his subordinates. His more recent "extracurricular activities" had set the locals' tongues wagging even more than usual and his father blowing a gasket, as the Americans say. With a sigh, he marched down the stairs, head above the rest while the guards saluted.
"Brother, welcome back home." Hassan drew his elder brother into a long and warm embrace.
"It is good to see you after this long Hassan. It is also good to be back home," Rafiq said after they separated.
Hassan was, in fact, his half-brother. They were born from different mothers. Rafiq's mother, the first wife to the king, died shortly after childbirth, resulting in his father marrying again and Hassan being born from that second marriage. Many, especially, foreigners assumed they shared the same parents because of the striking similarity in their features, though where Hassan's physique was like a rugby player, Rafiq was taller with an athletic form. Nevertheless, even with those facts known by the public, Rafiq never saw it like that. Hassan was his kid brother. Period. He saw him as just his little brother, the one who he looked out for when they were younger. But at twenty-six, Hassan didn't need Rafiq's big brotherly protectiveness, seeing as the once small boy had grown into a fine young man.
"I see life in the military is working for you very well. Maybe too well-First Sergeant Al Shahaad." Rafiq chuckled whilst he scanned down his brother's tall figure. Unlike the guards dressed in the royal guard uniform, Hassan wore his full camouflage uniform and combat boots.
"It is isn't it? You should re-consider fully joining." Hassan joined the man in laughter.
"Trust me, brother, I already have a lot on my plate." He replied.
"Ah well, you know where to find me." he paused, "Father misses you." He turned, and they began walking towards the convoy of large, black SUVs bearing both their family crest and national flag.
"Well-didn't sound like it when I spoke with him on the phone recently," Rafiq grumbled.
"I don't know about that, but we should head home. He told me you two have a great deal to discuss, and then the festival is also up for discussion when you are done, you know how our mother is like." He laughed, sliding into the vehicle where another saluting guard held the door readily opened for them.
"I thought I was specific about not having a meaningless party just for my arrival." Rafiq bit out and gritted his teeth.
"Oh cheer up brother, we both knew mother would get her way, as she always does. Frankly, I'm surprised that you're surprised." Hassan clapped his brother's back in laughter.
"Right." Rafiq sighed with a shake of his head. The motorcade started its journey the heart of the vibrant city Tamar's. It had the most spectacular architecture, and the same went for its residents. It never ceased to amaze him. For a moment he lost himself in his thoughts as he looked out his window, looking at the people that filled the sidewalks cheering their crown prince back home. One day, it would pass down to him, so he could rule and allow his people and his country flourish more and more. There were days he absorbed himself in the awareness of such responsibilities, of one day becoming a ruler everyone will look up to. Then there were some, like recently, where he didn't want to care about anything but his own freedom and self indulgence. To feel what it was to be truly from any responsibilities or the hidden burdens that shackle him to the duty grounds of the desert. He didn't bother trying to speak with his brother since the younger man was already on the phone with no doubt it was an important call. Soon enough their cars were navigating through the large iron gates of the palace, past more saluting soldiers and cheering locals.
"Well, I suppose it's time to meet with the King," He mused.
___________
"Ziza wake up." Ferran shook his friend's shoulder.
"Five more minutes." She mumbled in her sleep.
"Come, you've got class in an hour then work later," Ferran replied as he attempted to pull at the blankets that wrapped around her like a burrito.
"Fine, I'm up, I'm up." Ziza sat up.
"You, look awful." Ferran teased and moved to open her curtains, letting the sun flood into the room causing Aziza to complain.
"I slept late last night working on Afridi's assignment. I can't write the final for this semester without it." She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. With music school taking up most of her time, add waitressing and side gigs at almost any venue she gets asked to play at, Ferran wondered where she even got time to blink, "how did you get in?" She cocked an eyebrow.
"You forget I can pick almost anything that has a lock? Plus, you promised me a ride to work." That was true. She and Ferran went way back. Like living at same orphanage back. They met in their early teens and from the first moment they met, they hit it off. People at the children's home, always thought they'd wind up together, because of the way they were almost always in sync, always together. They'd never tried to fool around and try to see could happen between them. That was because they were so close to each other, very much like siblings. It wouldn't have been only awkward but also down right gross thinking of him in that light. He was her big brother, and besides, he had a family of his own. A fiancée and a sweet kid daughter. Without him in her life, she didn't know who nor where she would be. But right now he had budged into her place because since his car had gone for routine service, Ziza offered to drive him to work till he got it back.
"You can take the boy out of the streets but you can't take the streets out of the boy. We are going to have a serious talk about that later. What time is it?" She yawned once more.
"10am" he shrugged
"Oh no, I'm going to be late! Couldn't you have come earlier?" She scrambled from her bed and bolted to her bathroom.
"Uh huh, you better hurry now, you've got 45 minutes before your first class starts I'd rather not run into that viper you call a stepmother." He called out as he gathered the freshly brewed coffee and made himself comfortable in her small living room.
A living room meant to be for guests, since it was technically a guest house. But Ziza didn't mind one bit. At least she stopped minding when she'd grown tired and weary of the constant fights with her adopted family. Her father at first flat out refused her having to move her stuff out of the house. She remembered the hurt and frustrated look on his face he seemed to wear daily during those few years. He was always the peace keeper. His plan of them being a big, happy family would never work, and he'd resigned to the fact. Only then did he allow her to move. Personally, Ziza preferred it. She got to stay away from Faizah most of the time and have her own privacy without feeling like she was stepping on anyone's toes.
"Please make breakfast for me!" She called from the bathroom.
"Fifteen dollars in cash, nothing's for free!" He called back to his friend as he flipped through a magazine he found lying around in her living room.
"Fifteen dollars for breakfast? Who do you think I am? Mother Teresa?" Aziza huffed.
"You're the one who makes money on the side from your music gigs. So why don't you buy me breakfast for once you cheapskate?! Now hurry!" He checked his watch again.
"I know, I know I'm almost done." Aziza stumbled hurriedly out of the bathroom and threw on simple sneakers and a loose band shirt, frantically drew back her curly hair into a large, loose plait that reached her lower back before grabbing her violin case and flying for her front door.
"Whoa slow down you still have like-30 minutes to spare," Ferran followed Aziza to her car. A Nissan Qashqai, gifted to her by her father for her sixteenth birthday he regretted he'd missed.
"I still have to grab breakfast because someone refused to make some for me." She replied with a start of the car's engine.
"I don't have pocket money, I'm the one with a family to feed here. Besides, I'm not the one who made you sleep in." He shrugged.
"Whatever Ferran, keep the excuses coming." She rolled her eyes, driving out of the gate.
_____-_-_-_-_-_-_-________
There were restless chefs and waiters all around her. Filling the enormous kitchen with their chatter and the occasional clang of plates and cooking utensils. Things always got so busy every night just before they were about to close. Evening was when they experienced their peak hours. Ziza thought it had something to do with the fact that most people were leaving work for home. She'd been working as a waitress at this popular French restaurant for almost three years now. Aziza considered herself lucky to have gotten the gig, since she'd had no prior experience of waitressing. Ferran's help eventually helped her get hired. Without him, she'd have been worrying about university debts. It was a job she was immensely grateful, since it helped pay for her tuition while her partial scholarship did the rest.
She did a brief stretch to iron out the little kinks that were forming again in her neck. Her feet were killing her, and she took a little breather before a new customer needed to order.
"What are doing?" Ferran spoke into her ear out of the blue, and Aziza nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Ferran you imbecile! You scared me!" She scolded him with a slap to his arm.
"What are you reading about?" He peered at there in her hand, "Crown Prince Rafiq returns home after three years?" He continued to wipe the plate in his hand as he peered over her to read the front-page headline out loud, as if Aziza had not read it to him already.
"Oh yeah, apparently he's been out of the country for a while now. There's going to be some kind of ball they are going to throw at the palace." Her brow crinkled, "I didn't know he'd been out of the country all along. Hell who am I kidding-I don't even know much about the guy."
"Every normal person knows who Prince Rafiq is." Ferran rolled his eyes as he looked at pictures of the prince at the airport. It was a few years old. Probably the time he was leaving.
"I don't!" She argued, following him to his work station where he served food meant for another table.
"I said normal Habibi." He put emphasis on the last two words.
"You're a prick." She lightly punched his arm.
"But I don't blame you. You barely have time for anything as it is. It's understandable if current affairs are way over your head."
Her eyebrows furrowed in wonder, "What does he look like? I've never really followed these royals. Kind of embarrassing if you ask me." She said.
"Trust me, you'll end up drooling. They always do," he said with a frown as he thought of something. Ziza thought it had something to do with his fiancé.
"Here the story continues to page two maybe you'll find a picture of-bingo!" He snapped his fingers.
"Whoa." Aziza slightly gaped at the image that greeted her on page two of her newspaper. Beautiful could not even describe the man's looks. It was as if his piercing hazel eyes, were staring right at her. There was a look in his eyes made his face seem as if He carved him from marble. Anyone could see he was handsome. Beautiful even. Aziza was never one to be fond of a full beard on a man's face, but she had to admit, Prince Rafiq was more than making it work. He was rocking it. In that picture, she could see the prince was wearing a beige keffiyeh and a leather jacket, looking good in it. But, then again Ziza sure he would look good in anything.... or nothing at all. The moment that thought crossed her mind, she chastised herself, reminding herself that she was already in a loving relationship.
"Told you, you would drool." Ferran's laughter brought her out of her thoughts, making her blush a little.
"However, don't judge a book by its cover. I heard the guy's a royal pain in the butt. Arrogant, short-tempered, a whole list." He moved around again with Ziza following closely behind him.
"At least his looks make up for what he lacks in terms of that." Aziza shrugged
"I guess. Now why don't you make yourself useful and go serve your last table before our shift ends." He pulled the newspapers from her grasp, replacing it with a plate. "Go on, or else i won't show you your birthday surprise." He winked.
"You know I hate surprises." She rolled her eyes.
"I know but I also know you'll love this one."
"Fine, but you better make it good. May you please, whip something up for me before we have to leave? I'm starving." She got up and spared a glimpse of the clock in. 6pm, only ten more minutes to go.
Aziza got up with a sighed, tying her black apron around her tiny waist. She checked her long-sleeved shirt of any stains, and her black tie and when she found none she pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. In this part of the restaurant, the atmosphere was different. Fewer people were moving around, the most noise was the light chatter of the customers' conversations. Aziza noticed new customers. A young couple, probably in their late twenties. She walked up to them, head held high and notepad already in hand.
"Bonsoir Monsieur, Madame. My name is Aziza and I will be your waitress tonight, do you know what you'll be having?" She pulled a polite smile to her lips.
"Ah yes let's see. For a starter I will have Herring fillets with tomato, the main I will take beef stroganoff then lemon cake and a coffee-black, no sugar." He read from the menu as Aziza wrote all of it on her notepad.
"Madame? Have you decided?" She turned to the woman.
"What is the chef's special?" She asked without looking from the menu which irritated Aziza just a little but thankfully her smile remained secure on her face.
"Beef à la mode." She replied.
"Hmm. I will have that for the main course, mushroom soup as a starter and the same for dessert but make it decaf latte with no sugar." She said as she fixed her Shayla.
"Anything else?" Aziza asked
"We'll have a bottle of your finest champagne thank you." The man said.
"Okay if that is all your order will be ready in about ten to fifteen minutes. I'll be right back with your champagne. Enjoy." Aziza said before swiftly turning around and heading to the kitchen.
"There." She passed the note to Ferran before disappearing to the restaurant's wine cellar then placed the bottle in a bucket of ice and taking it to her table as promised.
_______
"Your majesty, his Majesty will see you now." The maid announced to the crown prince. She bowed her head and her hands folded in front of her skirt.
Rafiq remained silent for a while, gazing out of the window to the flourishing palace garden before turning to look at the servant.
"I will be there shortly, now leave." He scolded. Knowing of the Prince's short temper, the middle-aged woman scurried out of his bedchambers before she irritated the man.
Rafiq spared one more glance to his sharp image clad in a business suit before making for the King's study. Upon his arrival, two guards drew the large oak doors open for him to enter, then closed them as soon as he had stepped into the grand room. It had been a long while since he had entered this room, so he took his time to survey the grand room. Taking in the furniture, carvings, drawings, and art on the walls and dome-shaped ceiling. Rafiq remained silent as he paced towards the floor-length windows adorned with rich and beautiful golden curtains. He had just come to a stop when he heard his father enter the room.
"Welcome home my son." He heard the man say from behind him.
"Father." He said in acknowledgment, "Well that was not the impression you gave me when I spoke to on the phone a few days back." He turned around to face his father. The older man stood behind his office chair.
"You look well." He added as his eyes took in the military uniform that fit snugly on the King's aging body.
"That was because I had and still have to discuss serious matters with you. Besides you are always welcome here, it is your home." The King spoke after deciding to ignore his son's remark.
"What are these serious matters if I may ask?" He asked even though he had an idea. No, he didn't have an idea, He knew.
"Your behaviour is unbecoming Prince Rafiq." He said as he moved to take a seat on his chair behind an enormous desk that many before him have used.
"You're making me feel as if I'm twelve again." He walked up to the desk and stood to look down at his father with us hands in his pockets. Blatantly ignoring protocol.
"I will make you feel whatever I see fit when it is necessary." The King snapped and Rafiq could see he was angry, piquing his curiosity even more. Something about it didn't feel like it was just another simple chastising session with his father. He sure seemed more riled up than normal.
"I see." He nodded his head, what is the problem, perhaps I can resolve it?" He proposed, finally deciding to take a seat.
"Tell me, if you can resolve this." His father flung a few pages of magazine and newspapers articles across the desk. Tabloid articles to be more specific. Rafiq instantly knew what this was, taking one into his hands with a puckered brow. There, on the front page, was none other than himself, a few weeks ago. But he was not alone. He almost never had his picture taken alone, not since he graduated from university. Everyone knew that, including the king himself. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips in remembrance of the night that photograph. An Entrepreneur's gala of some sorts and boy did his date, the blonde beauty wearing a provocative, champagne, cocktail dress that had left almost nothing to the imagination, know how to have a good time. The headline caught his attention next:
Model Jessica Rever and Middle East Hottie Prince a "thing"?
He had enjoyed the model's company for that night's few hours until they mutually went their separate ways. It was rare finding a consenting female for his company who wouldn't read something more in the way he showered his attention on his dates. That's why he liked her, Jessica was a straight shooter. She knew what she wanted, how and when. No strings attached. No mess. No cleaning up afterwards. It was a quality he admired in his preferred type of women, and few of them possessed that, which was why he was picky with his choices. Rafiq wouldn't mind in the least engaging her company again if he were to travel to her part of the globe again.
Notorious Prince Rafiq gets cosy With British Reality Star Sara Hansen on a Private Beach in Miami.
Apparently it wasn't so private, he thought.
Below, was another headline, with a different photo, taken more recently. A few days ago to be more precise. This time he was naked from the waist up, dressed in only his swimming shorts. Sure enough, staying true to his Casanova self, a woman in very revealing swim wear lay beside his tall figure in the sand. Anyone could point out she was a different woman from the previous picture, the most obvious being that this one had hair the colour of the setting sun, and she was more petite. They were practically sucking each other's faces off as they lay in the sand.
Lip locking and popping with Prince Charming at the new hot club Lucid
Alexa Michaelson...
Blair Emery...
The list went on, and those were only stories from the previous three weeks. The point was Rafiq was a hard work and play a hard man. When you finally achieved all you could have ever desired. The freedom, the wealth, the ability to visit all the beautiful places on the planet at the drop of a keffiyeh, life sort has a way of becoming dull. This was his way of escape, and no one could take that away from him, no matter how they disapproved. He figured if tradition was eventually going to constrict him once he was on the throne? What other better way could he spend his money and the rest of his time before then, than with the company of all the beauty the world had on offer? He liked to relax after a hard day's work. All work and no play... You know how the saying goes.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Prince Rafiq?" The King peered at his son from the top of his glasses.
"Is a man not allowed to enjoy the fruits of his work?" He shrugged.
"Fruits of your work? This is an abomination!" The King banged his fist against the desk with fury, a King who engages in such immoral actions that go against our traditions will not lead Dhakhar! You will not shame this country and its people." He bellowed.
"Father I think I am a grown man, not a child and. I can do as I please with my money and my time." He said coldly.
"Not when you're the crown prince of Dhakhar! The next in line to the throne. Over my dead body will I hand over the throne to such? Act like royalty damn it! What kind of image are you painting to the world? This is not Dhakhar," He gestured to the papers, "These are not our principle values!" He boomed.
"My apologies father I-"
"Sorry is not enough. You need to work on that temper and behaviour or I will fix it for you. Keep this up and you will never sit on that throne. Am I clear?" The King asked.
"Yes, your Majesty." Rafiq swallowed thickly.
"You are going to marry in the next year perhaps that will "tame" this rebellious attitude you're brewing within you." The King added, causing Rafiq's eyes to widen.
"Marry?" He blurted out. That meant commitment and Rafiq was neither ready nor was he intending to do so soon. "How am I to find a bride in such a short time? It's impossible." He said, his brain frantically searching for a way out.
"I do not know and neither am I concerned. Though knowing you, you will probably have found on within the week." The King scoffed. This wasn't good. No. He had to stop this madness. Rafiq knew he should have worried about his father's peculiar behaviour. Perhaps then, with a head start, he'd have been better equipped to fight his way out of this trap. Resisting the urge of combing his fingers through his hair, he raked his brain for solutions. That's when his mother's face flashed in his mind's eye. If there was anyone who had the skill or power to make his father rethink his decision, it was the queen. She couldn't have agreed to this. Even then, he was convinced he could get her to see things from his perspective. However, his planned halted right in its tracks, because his father was always one step ahead. As if he'd been reading his thoughts, his next words left him defeated once more.
"I know what that look means, what you're thinking. I've seen it many times before and unfortunately for you, you will not have your way this time," Before Rafiq could say anything, the king stopped him, "I will have you know, your mother is entirely on board with this decision. I might as well have been her idea."
"But father-"
"No buts! It is a warning, prince Rafiq. Cross the line again and you surely will get it. I dismiss you." He said before going back to the files and papers opened and sprawled out on his desk. Rafiq wanted to protest, but he saw no use of doing so, whatever the King says, it goes. So instead he just stood.
"Your Majesty." Stiffly, with clenched teeth, he rose to his feet, bowed and then left the room without as much as another word. After all, he had work to get to.
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Hi guys! My name is Kudzi🙋, welcome to my story. I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
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~K~