1 - Zayed
Preview
Zayed
“You are going to pick up the phone and bend over that sink for me like a good little witch.” I said and unbuttoned her pants when she tried to pull away.
“I-I can’t—”
“Then I will.” I accepted the call and turned it on the speaker. My other hand found her lacy underwear and pushed my finger against the wetness between her lips.
She whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut when we both heard the soft voice. “Hello? Elena?”
I closed her mouth and hissed in her ear, “Stay quiet or he will hear how good my fingers feel inside you.”
Elena glared at me, her eyes full of lust, anger and hatred. Good. I wanted her to hate me. Hate me when I rubbed her needy swollen button through her wet panties. Hate me as I peeled her jeans from her toned, long legs. Hate me as I looked at her and held the lace in my hands, ripping it off of her skin with a tear. Hate me with a burning passion of lust when I cupped her where she was burning hot and told her to answer her call.
Prologue
I wanted my only love to be happy. Even if she couldn’t marry me in the end, I wanted her to get married, love someone else, have kids and die of old age.
Not by a rope cinched around her slender neck.
Her smile used to make my heart feel warm with her soft lips pressing against mine, whispering sweet words.
Now she’s dead. Her bluish, pale lips will never smile, they will never kiss me or the kids she wanted. She will never whisper, ‘You are my sun. I love you.’
Because of him.
The Sultan of Azmia.
I will avenge her death, make him beg when I take everything and everyone he has ever loved away from him.
I will burn Azmia and kill Zain Al Latif.
PART ONE
“How many times are you going to keep falling for me, Sheikh Zayed?”
“Forever, my darling. Forever.”
1
Zayed
I was ten years old when I killed a man. His blood splashing on my cheek, painting my tunic and hands dark red. I felt nothing except relief as his lifeless body fell on that dusty floor with a thud, his eyes full of shock, anger, and grief.
Grief. That was what made me pause, drop the broken bottle of wine, dripping with his blood, on the floor.
How could such a man—no, an animal, like him grieve? He was an animal in my eyes, daring to lay his hands on a girl—no, a child, a year younger than me. I hadn’t thought twice before picking up that wine bottle and staining it with his blood.
I remembered the anger and violence that coursed through my veins, seeing the faint pink fingerprints on the column of soon-to-be-Princess.
“You look lovely, Iesha.” I offered her a small smile and flickered my gaze to the man sitting across from me.
His piercing brown eyes fixated on me, trying to pick me apart when his future wife kept a tray of honey tea between us. The air in his room was thick, just like the silence that hung between us by a small thread. Both of us unmasked in front of each other, free to play whichever role we wanted.
But someone once had told me I had no shame, so I looked at her neck again when she muttered a sweet thank you, her waist length hair pleated perfectly with small white flowers pinned across its length.
“Who did that to you?” I asked in a softer tone, leaning across the table and pouring myself a steaming cup of tea. The porcelain clattered when I took the saucer and the cup in my hands, taking a small sip.
I eyed the darkening look of man in an expensive suit, his jaw clenching when sweet tea burned down my throat. No taste of poison. Yet.
“W-what?” Iesha stuttered, her eyes widening. Tsk, poor girl. He had outdone himself, a wolf claiming a lamb as his wife. “What are you talking about, Sheikh?”
I waved my hand. “No need to call me that, Princess. Feel free to address me as Zayed.” I kept the saucer on the table and clasped my hands together, eyeing her neck. Her necklace and makeup did nothing to hide those marks. “Who did that to you?”
The silence burgeoned with tension, her pulse racing. Her fingers, one of them donned with a diamond that gleamed in the morning sunlight, cupped those marks that made me want to smash the ceramic saucer and slit his neck with the blunt end. Let his blood pool on the armchair and fix my shirt.
But I didn’t do any of those things. I am shameless, but not shameless enough to murder Iesha’s soon-to-be-husband in front of her. I would ask her to fetch me some kunafah and then murder him.
“N-no one—”
“I did, Zayed.” The man spoke in his smooth voice, a small smile on his lips. He eyed her like he owned her, and fuck-me-till-Sunday, she blushed like she worshipped the air he breathed.
I tilted my head and stared at him. “I have played more filthy games than you in the bed… and some of them outside, Princeling—” he furrowed his brow when Iesha cleared her throat and excused herself when I continued, “But I have never hurt someone I was going to share my life with.”
He scoffed and leaned back in the chair. “Get over yourself, Sheikh Zayed, I am not that cruel to hurt her.” He took a deep breath, his eyes flickering to the doors she walked past and by the look in his eyes, I knew what the sick fuck was thinking about. “It happened last night. I didn’t mean to mark her like that.”
I chuckled, my laugh devoid of emotion. It echoed through the lifeless chamber I was sitting in. In a swift moment, I smashed the saucer on the table, its broken debris moving in the air, his face slowly forming into a shock. I clutched its sharp end in my palm and pressed it on the side of his neck.
Blood streamed down my fingers. My glare pinned him to the chair, not a hair out of place as I forced him to stay still, scrunching the lapel of his suit in my fist.
“If I see any more bruises on her, I won’t waste a second to slit your throat, Princeling.” I said in a soft, calm voice, pressing the jagged end on his pulse. His face paled and fear lingered in his eyes. “I don’t care if you tried to hurt her somewhere out of the public eye, I will strip her down—stay fucking still—you heard me, I will strip her down and make sure you keep your bloody claws to yourself.”
His nose flared and anger took over his features when I mentioned removing his future wife’s clothes. He didn’t need to know I would ask her to do it with the help of her lady’s maid. I wanted to get a reaction out of him.
“Remember the deal we had made? No. Innocents. You agreed on that, so try to fucking follow through your words,” I said and pressed the sharp end on his neck. His jaw clenched. Shoving him to the chair, I pulled away. His breathing was hard when Iesha and guards entered the room.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, looking between us.
Blood laden ceramic fell through my hand as I pulled out a handkerchief from my pocket and smiled at her. “Just a small bicker, nothing else, princess.” Maids picked up the shattered ceramic, staying quiet when they saw blood on it.
“Be careful.” He fixed his collar and cleared his throat. “Sheikh of Azmia has a talent for breaking things.”
I grinned at him, letting my white handkerchief soak my blood, and patted him on his shoulder. I had a couple of inches on him when I pulled him into a hug. “I am not the only one who likes to break things, it seems, Prince.”
He patted my back and tightened his hold, whispering in my ear, “I would keep my eyes on The Golden Palace and my precious friends if I were you, Sheikh.”
I continued, smiling as we pulled away. “No innocents, remember?”
He chuckled, the sound sweet and boyish. “Don’t worry, Zayed, I always keep my eyes on the prize.”
I could see why I had made a deal with him, forced him to speak on the edge of a sharp knife end two weeks ago. Because he was like me, charming and malicious in a way that he wanted Zain on his knees and Azmia in his hands.
I couldn’t care less. I wanted to make things right. Fix everything that was wrong.
Who was I to deny him when he asked me why I hadn’t killed him or worse… outed his identity to the other royals? To Zain, Khalid, or Zara like I should have.
It was strange. The entire ordeal was.
But I couldn’t care less. I was born without honor and would die without it.
So I had agreed to help him and his stupid, cruel plan that might just get me killed.
I didn’t care. I was going to die without shame.
I glanced at Iesha who helped the maids with the shattered ceramic, frowning at the blood coating the white saucer. “You shouldn’t have asked her to join our world,” I said to him. “That’s cruel.”
He looked from her to me, his eyes emotionless. God, what must have happened to him at such a young age to lose all hope and humanity? Who was I to judge? I was four when it happened to me. He was just another human flesh to me. Even with his cold demeanor, his eyes turned warm whenever they landed on Iesha. I knew it, I could see it, but if I mentioned it, he would definitely deny it and try to harm out his emotions onto her.
“I don’t care. She was at the right place at the right time. She will be the perfect pawn.”
“As I said, cruel.”
“Don’t tell me you have never used some innocent to get what you want.”
When I stayed silent, he clucked his tongue. “Thought so.”
“I hope your journey to Maahnoor is safe, prince.” I handed him a small gift box, a gold ring with obsidian stone. “For you. To wear at the wedding.”
He nodded and took the present as if we were long-lost friends, as if I hadn’t threatened to slit his throat with a jagged ceramic moments ago. His skin was still flushed from the adrenaline rush.
I trusted him with my back and passed through his unmade bed, its lace curtains open for everyone to see the rumbled sheets. I scoffed under my breath. He wasn’t even married and showing everyone that Iesha was his.
I should’ve told him that love will be his letdown.
When I turned the corner, I paused, forcing myself to relax. “Sultana,” I said, bowing my head when Aya raised her small, round fingers towards me.
I was her favorite uncle, after all.
“Did you meet my brother?” Nasrin asked when I cooed the little princess in my arms, holding my breath in fear of dropping her. She was two, but the fear was always there… what if something happened to her? Something caused her harm because of me?
“Yes, I did.” My eyes flickered to Nasrin’s stomach, the careful palm placed over there. This was why love couldn’t be trusted. Such a fickle emotion. Just one look from her had made my friend fall on his knees, forgetting his vow of staying celibate. “I met the couple and congratulated them.”
“Tell me about it. He has never been the type to fall in love.” Her brows furrowed with worry, “I am going to talk to him about it.”
“About love?”
“About marriage, Zayed. Aya—honey, don’t slobber over your uncle’s suit.”
Aya was indeed slobbering over my suit. I smiled at her dark curls, careful not to press my bloody palm on her lilac purple gown. “It’s alright, she can slobber as much as she wants on her favorite uncle’s suit.”
“Khalid and Hayden would murder you if they heard that.”
When I didn’t see the familiar blonde over her shoulder, I asked, “Where’s the witch?”
“Don’t call Elena a witch just because you can’t stand her,” Nasrin gasped and gave me a mom look. “Especially not in front of my daughter.”
“Have you seen her face?” I remembered her cold look the last time she was here to help fight the attack during Khalid and Valeria’s wedding. I had teased her, and she had threatened to cut my balls with her high heels. I shuddered thinking about it. “She is a witch, Nasrin.”
“You are saying that because she is Zain’s right hand.” She tilted her head, “Or because you haven’t spent the time to know her.”
I knew her most of my life. I bit my tongue from saying that. Flashes of images rolled through my head. The first time I met her at seven, slowly becoming her friend, from playfully tugging at her blonde hair when we were thirteen to sneaking kisses with her, bathing with her and sharing her bed on the night she turned sixteen.
Useless. Those memories were nothing but useless now. Both of us had moved on. It won’t happen again. Ever.
Clearing my throat, I kept the drooling bundle of joy on the floor, her little fingers tightening on her mother’s gown.
“I am not jealous, just cautious.”
Nasrin fixed her daughter’s gown, and a wave of emotion curled in my chest. Tightening and snapping and burning as I looked away.
A mother’s love. I wondered what a strange thing it was for me to see it with my own eyes when my mother had sold me to have bread on the table and roof over her head, giving me false promises at four and never coming to save me.
Nasrin’s soft voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “… invited her to join the wedding, but she might not be able to come because of her job.”
I sighed, placing a hand on my chest. “Thank god.”
“I don’t know why you dislike her so much. She is an FBI agent and helps Zain whenever she can. She is a good friend of Khalid and—”
“And nothing, Sultana,” I cut her off and poked Aya’s cheek. I smiled when she blinked up at me with her big black eyes. She was going to break so many hearts when she will be all grown up. “The word you are looking for is hate. Not dislike.”
Nasrin opened her mouth to argue, but the doors behind us opened and he appeared, looking between us. His stern face softened when he saw his sister and niece.
“Nasrin, I was waiting for you. I have brought lots of toys for Aya from Maahnoor. Come on in.”
She looked at me. “We will talk during the dinner.” Sultana stepped towards her younger brother, and as much as my body protested the sight of Nasrin and Aya with him, I let her go. No innocents, he had promised.
This was his own blood. His elder sister and niece.
“Aya has been excited to meet her new uncle,” I heard Nasrin say when she stepped inside the room. “Greet him, sweetheart, Prince Imran and his fiancée, Iesha are here too. No, don’t bite—”
Her sweet words droned on when the doors closed behind them. I swallowed the lump in my throat and checked my palm, walking at the edge of the balcony, seeing the dried blood in the warm sunlight.
A scar had formed from the bottom of my right palm to my index finger. The cut was deep and bloody, stinging as I washed it in the confine of my room. A physical reminder of my self-discipline. For not murdering the traitor who wanted to ruin Zain, Sultan of Azmia.
Keep your eyes on the prize.
That’s what he had said. I will keep my eyes on both him and Zain’s head, making sure he plays by my hand.
It was the least I could do as a Sheikh of Azmia.
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