Thirteen years ago

“Mother.” Malik swiftly crossed the vast hall and made his way to Vanna Al-Atassi. She was known as the youngest and fiercest of the old king’s sisters, but now she looked like she was about to crumple. He knelt down in front of her and took her cold hands in his. “I came as soon as I heard---” Self-contempt surged inside of him out of nowhere, and he broke off.

He should have been beside her the moment she found out about the plane crash and the sudden loss of the Markides. With his father and older brother away at war, he should have been by Vanna’s side every moment. But instead he was out at another party, whose host he couldn’t even remember, and fucking a girl whose face his memory shunned as well.

“Maehdina, Mama.” He uttered his apology in a raw voice, wishing he could say more – promise more – but knowing he could not.

Vanna shook her head. “Oh, Malik.” Grief did not stop one from being a mother, and right now her maternal instincts were telling her that this son of hers was blaming himself for things that no one could control. “There is nothing for you to apologize for, my son.” She gently pulled her hands away and patted the space next to her on the sofa. “Sit by me, Malik.”

He did her bidding without question, and she ran her fingers through his hair. Just seventeen, she thought, and already he was thinking of things that no young boy should be thinking of yet. She wished she could spare him of it, but she could not. It was the price one had to pay for being born to a royal family – the price that she herself had to pay, and so it was for him and the children he may sire in the future.

“As you know, the Markides are now…gone.” It was the only word Vanna could bear to use, as even now her mind still shied away from the fact that she would never see her dear friends smile again, never hear them talk to her again. Loyal friends to the royal family were a precious few, and the Markides had been one of those few.

And now they were gone, leaving behind a precious seven-year-old girl orphaned.

She saw Malik’s face pale and knew that the same thought had just occurred to him.

“Kyria,” he whispered.

She swallowed hard. “She’s safe, but she’s alone, and I’ve decided…to be her legal guardian.” She gazed at him searchingly. “Do you understand what this will mean?”

Malik didn’t answer.

“She will be part of our family. My daughter – and your little sister.” And now, it was her turn to take her son’s hands into hers. “May I trust you to help me look after her?”

His dark eyes became unreadable, and the sight made Vanna want to laugh and cry a little. Silly her, to think that she could pull the wool over his eyes. One look at his now expressionless face, and Vanna knew that Malik very much understood the double meaning of her words. She did wish him to be a good big brother to Kyria. That was true. But Vanna was also hoping that this would serve as his temporary purpose in life---

A temporary purpose that perhaps could finally make Malik turn away from his reckless lifestyle of drinking and partying, consorting with people from the most dubious of backgrounds and the worst intentions towards the royal family---

I know you’re searching for your purpose in life, but can’t you do so without tarnishing the kingdom’s name?

Malik withdrew his hands from her, and Vanna knew right away she had made a mistake---

She had let her weakness overcome her, and now she had hurt her son.

“Malik---”

The knock sounded on the door, cutting her off, and when she allowed them entry, the sight of the Markides’ orphaned daughter had both Vanna and Malik immediately putting aside their family concerns. That could always wait. Right now, someone needed them more – and an Al-Atassi never turned his back on those in need.

* * *

It was the day of the Markides’ funeral, and the atmosphere inside the chapel was somber, with just a slight tinge of shock. Many of those who had come to pay their respects were still struggling with their disbelief, and understandably so. Theon and Laura Markides had been two lovely people, young and vibrantly alive – and just like that, they were gone. Life was fragile, but it was a truth most people preferred to close their eyes to. Life was fragile, and deaths like this made the fact painfully and terrifyingly inescapable.

Malik’s gaze went to the little girl seated between his parents. The few times he had been asked to babysit her, she had been shy but sweet, delightfully affectionate once a person gained her trust. He remembered how her face used to light up every time she saw him because she knew he would have something sweet for her. A piece of cake, candy, a chocolate bar – he had accidentally discovered her sweet tooth when he found Kyria with her hand in the cookie jar, literally, when she was supposed to be eating her greens. That had been their little secret, and from then on Malik had become her most favorite person. In fact, it had become a running joke between the two families, Malik possibly usurping Theon’s position in the little girl’s heart---

Careful with my girl’s heart, boy, Theon had even jokingly threatened him once. I’ll kill you if you break it.

Or at least Malik had hoped it was a joke. And while he would never hurt Kyria, how could he be sure that he wouldn’t do so unknowingly? He had never had a little sister, and neither had his cousins. He had no past experience to draw from---

But that was what made life fragile as well.

Things you held on to, people you thought you could have forever in your life---

All of it – all of them – could disappear in a flash, and life didn’t give a damn what would happen to those left behind. Even if it was just a little girl left alone – life didn’t give a damn about that either.

As the pallbearers came to carry the coffins out of the chapel, Malik found himself walking towards Kyria. Her big dark eyes turned to him, and he crouched down.

“Marhava, Malik.” Hello, Malik. Her voice was small but steady, too serious for someone her age.

Vanna had told him that she had yet to see Kyria shed a single tear, and for one moment he could only stare at her, thinking that she was too damn young – too damn small and frail – to have to hold such grief in her heart.

“Marhava, Kyria.” And without thinking of what he was doing, he picked her up, and his chest squeezed as he felt the little girl lean her head trustingly against him.

She remained in his arms throughout the procession, and as her parents’ coffins were slowly lowered to the ground, he said quietly, “You can cry, you know.”

“I know.” Her voice was still toneless, her dark gaze not moving from the caskets that gradually disappeared from their sight.

Vanna approached them, flowers in hand, and he took it from her with a nod.

Kyria stared at the flowers. “For Mama and Papa?”

Silence, and just when he thought he should offer to throw them on her behalf, he heard her whisper, “I’m scared.”

His chest squeezed again. Of course you are. He looked straight into Kyria’s eyes. “Don’t be. I’ll always be here for you.”

Her lips started to tremble. “Promise?”

“Promise.” His voice was fierce.

He let her down, but her small hand remained in his as they walked together to her parents’ graves. Malik handed her the flowers, and she clutched them hard.

“I love you, Papa, Mama.”

The flowers fell.

And so did the tears.

He knelt down, and Kyria threw her arms around him. Her tears wetted the side of his neck, trailing down to soak his blazer, and Malik’s own eyes became wet as he realized what this meant, realized why this little girl hadn’t let herself cry---

He stroked her back, and she cried harder.

She was afraid that if she cried…she had no one to wipe her tears away and tell her---

“Things will be alright,” Malik whispered. “I promise.”

Eleven years ago

Dinner in Hadwin’s household was always a noisy affair, uncommonly so, considering they were members of the royal family of Ramil. This, however, mattered little to him. He liked seeing his older son Altair loosen up and talk about video games, even liked the way his wife was now nagging him about taking a vacation with her.

Before marrying the king’s sister and becoming a prince overnight, Hadwin had lived the life of a humble soldier. His joys had been simple, his happiness drawn from the little things such as seeing the sun set, having a delicious meal once in a while, and knowing that he had done at least one good thing for the day. Serendipity could only be to blame for a humble soldier to be assigned as bodyguard to a foreign princess visiting his small island town in Greece, and the rest was history.

Or more specifically, history went the way his willful wife wanted to write it. For her, he had left Greece and moved to the desert. He loved her, and so what she needed, he would give it to her. It was that simple, but most people seemed to find this complex. Even though they had now been married for over two decades, people still asked Hadwin if he cared that neither his sons bore his name, like they truly believed the foundation of a marriage relied on the letters that appeared on his children’s birth certificates.

He was and would always be a simple man. That his boys had to bear the name of Al-Atassi did not make him any less of a father, or them any less of a son. What mattered was his ability to care for them and put their interests above his---

And he would always give them that.

No matter what people would say, his sons’ happiness would always be his priority.

Hadwin’s gaze rested on the little girl seated at the other end of the table, right next to his younger son.

Her eyes were shining as she chatted with Malik, and her words flowed out in a soft, excited rush. She was usually shy, but it always seemed to disappear when she was talking to his younger boy. Hadwin glanced at Vanna, and when his beautiful wife gave him a tremulous smile, he knew that they were thinking – and worrying – of the same thing.

“Do you think it’s possible?” she asked under her breath.

“If it does come true, will you be against it?”

His wife didn’t answer right away, but he was not worried. It was her upbringing that only made her seem occasionally heartless, but in the end, he knew she would do the right thing. The woman he knew and loved wouldn’t be able to help it.

“I hate it when you’re looking at me like that,” she muttered.

Hadwin smiled. “Like what?”

“Like you think you’re the good cop and I’m the bad cop.”

“It usually plays out that way,” he pointed out.

“Because you don’t know how hard it is, living your entire life in a fishbowl, and everyone acting like they have the right to say something about you. I’m just worried---”

A cough from Altair had the two parents looking up, and that was when they noticed Malik glaring at them.

“She may not be fluent in Rami yet,” their younger son spoke between clenched teeth, “but I am, and I’ve heard every word you’ve spoken.”

Vanna smiled weakly. “Oops.” She heard her husband laugh, and she kicked him under the table. Wicked man. She was his wife. He was supposed to be on her side and protect her from her son’s wrath.

When bedtime came, everyone went up together, with Kyria wailing for Malik to put her down.

“I’m not a baby!”

But Malik only laughed. “Yes, you are. You’ll always be a baby.” And ignoring Kyria’s protests, he kept the nine-year-old girl in his arms until they reached her bedroom. By the time the rest of the family caught up, Malik was already tucking her in bed.

When Malik straightened, Altair moved forward and kissed her on the forehead. “Huhm jamil.” It translated to ‘dream beautifully,’ which was the Ramilian way of wishing one a good night’s sleep.

Kyria smiled up at him. “You too, Altair.”

Hadwin ruffled the little girl’s hair. “No more reading under the covers, you promise?”

Kyria looked reluctant.

“How about a bedtime story?” Vanna suggested. “I’ll read you a bedtime story, then you promise to sleep right after?”

A torn expression flitted over the little girl’s face. “Okay, but…can Malik read to me instead?”

Altair and Hadwin coughed to cover their laughter as Vanna’s head turned sharply towards her younger son with an accusing look. “Alghashi!” You cheater!

Malik sputtered in a mixture of disbelief and indignation while the other men in the family could no longer control themselves, their shoulders rocking in silent laughter.

“Husband, tell him,” Vanna said mournfully in Rami. “It’s unfair of him to monopolize Kyria---”

“I am not monopolizing her,” her younger son snapped.

“Can’t we at least have her while she’s still young? He’s going to have all of her in the future anyway.”

Malik threw his hands up in a fit of frustration. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Ha!” Vanna threw him a look of scorn. “Don’t you think I don’t know where this will end? We all know it. When she’s the rightful age, you’ll make her your eros---”

“What’s an eros?” Kyria’s puzzled voice interrupted her tirade.

Altair choked, thinking it was the one word the little girl shouldn’t think of right now.

Hadwin’s face turned expressionless as he considered how the world would take it, if one day Kyria did become one for Malik.

Bride, Vanna thought, cringing as she realized what she had let slip.

And when she saw how Malik looked like he was seriously considering strangling her now, Vanna faked a yawn. “I think it’s time to go to bed. Oh, age is really catching up with me.” She sailed out of the room without even waiting for her husband.

“What’s an eros?” Kyria insisted, sitting up.

“I, err, need to go as well.” Altair swiftly turned away and left the room.

Hadwin clasped his younger son’s shoulder. “You’re on your own, son.”

And then Malik was alone.

Kyria was still looking at him questioningly.

Damn them. Damn all of them. Damn them.

He drew a chair next to the bed and took his phone out from his pocket. “How about I read you some Stephen King?”

She let out a squeal of excitement, her quest for new vocabulary instantly forgotten. There would be hell to pay later. Stephen King was forbidden for good reason. The last time he read her one of King’s stories, Kyria hadn’t been able to sleep alone for an entire month, and Hadwin’s punishment for Malik was to be home by eight every evening and keep his little sister company until she fell asleep.

King would mean a month’s curfew yet again, but it was better than answering what ‘eros’ meant - to Kyria and him.

Outside Kyria’s bedroom, Vanna and Hadwin looked at each other, listening in silence as their younger son began to tell the story of a clown and a little boy.

She smiled wryly at her husband. This is going to be trouble in a couple of years.

He smiled back at her. Wouldn’t have it any other way. He touched her cheek. I love this family. I love our life. I love you.

She closed her eyes, thinking that she would never forget that look for as long as she lived. And though she knew it was impossible, she found herself hoping that this life of theirs could last. Forever and ever---

But it was not to be.

Nine years ago

The world had lost a real-life hero. It was a dramatic headline, but it was also painfully apt and inadequate at the same time, and Malik had to blink his eyes several times before his gaze cleared and he was able to read the rest of the speech the palace’s staff had prepared for him.

Tomorrow marked the fortieth day following Hadwin’s death, and he and the rest of his family would make their first appearance in public. He had taken it upon himself to deliver the speech on his family’s behalf, but more and more he was finding it an impossible task. Two paragraphs of it concisely recounted the events that led to his death, and this Malik could only bear to skim.

A successful kidnapping attempt---

Hadwin Mitropoulos, proving his mettle as a soldier---

Heroic efforts that saved his son’s life at the cost of his own---

Injuries too severe, lasting only several hours---

Final words to the family have been kept private---

The paper crumpled in his fist. His rage knew no bounds, but it was as impotent as it was violent. There was no one he could rage against. All of his brother’s kidnappers were dead, all of them. But even so, the rage continued to fester inside of him, and he simply didn’t know what to do.

Darkness fell outside the windows, and Malik forced himself to leave his father’s study and join the rest of his family for dinner. It had been one of Hadwin’s rules, and his chest clenched, remembering how he used to think that his father’s rules had been too old-fashioned.

And yet now---

When he reached the dining hall, he saw that it was the same for Vanna and Altair, both of them forcing themselves to have dinner because it was how Hadwin would have wanted it. Kyria came last, and Malik forced a smile. “Marhava.”

She smiled back at him, but it was unusually timid and uncertain. “Marhava.” But instead of claiming the chair next to Malik like she usually did, she went and sat next to Altair. It was enough to have the entire family pause---

Vanna’s gaze was suspicious. What did you do?

Malik scowled. Was this woman truly his mother? Why was it that she always seemed to think the worst of him?

“Not that I’m complaining,” Altair said gently, “but aren’t you usually seated next to Malik?”

“I need to sit beside you,” Kyria said firmly.

The three of them exchanged looks, and seeing that everyone was as bemused as he was, Malik asked, “Why do you think that?”

The little girl suddenly looked uneasy. “Just because.”

He frowned. She was hiding something, but what could it possibly be? He started to speak again, but this time Altair forestalled him with a shake of his head.

“Let it be for now,” his older brother murmured.

Malik’s first instinct was to tell his brother he knew Kyria better than anyone did, and letting her maintain a lie was not the way to handle it. But then he saw the frightened way the little girl was looking at him---

He gave Altair a curt nod, thinking that maybe this was Kyria’s way of cheering Altair up. He told himself to let it go and smiled at Kyria. “If that’s what you want, then that’s how it should be.”

Kyria nodded unsmilingly, and then she turned to Altair. “How are you feeling now, Altair?”

“I’m doing fine, poppet.” Altair ruffled her hair. “And you?”

“I’m doing fine, too.”

Malik asked Kyria about school. She answered without looking at him and then asked Altair about his work.

And so it went, and by the time dinner ended, Malik was seething. The straw that broke the camel’s back, however, was when coffee was being served, and he heard Kyria ask, “Altair, may I sleep in your room tonight?”

In the act of taking a sip of her wine, Vanna ended up spewing it out instead.

Malik’s incredulous gaze shot to Kyria. “What did you say?”

“I w-want to sleep in Altair’s room,” the eleven-year-old girl stammered.

His gaze, now furious, swung to his older brother’s. “What the hell did you do? Did you say anything---”

Altair’s face hardened. “Careful, brother, or I might think you’re accusing me of something---”

“I’m damn well accusing you,” Malik growled.

Vanna stood up, crying out, “Enough, both of you!”

But neither of her sons appeared to even hear her. Chairs overturned in a loud crash as the two young sheikhs shot to their feet, fury stamped on their identical features.

“She’s a child,” Malik bit out in Rami. “I’ve never once treated her otherwise, and for you to try poisoning her against me---”

“I never said a single word, you fool,” Altair snapped. “But if she’s doing this on her own---”

“I said, STOP IT!” Vanna burst into tears, and the sound made both brothers whiten in silence.

Kyria tore out of her seat and ran to the older woman. She threw her arms around Vanna and started crying. “I’m s-sorry, Mama, but Papa said I should do it.”

The silence grew worse.

Vanna slowly pulled away. “W-what do you mean Papa said you should do it?” she whispered. “Is he here?”

Kyria stopped crying long enough to give Vanna a reproachful look. “Mama, I’m not joking.”

Vanna laughed and cried at the chiding tone. She knew it was silly of her to hope that even the ghost of Hadwin would still be with them, but oh.

She missed him so badly.

Sitting down, she wiped her eyes and asked Kyria, “What do you mean then?”

“When Papa was at the hospital,” the girl whispered, “he told me that when he was gone, I should count for 39 days.”

The adults in the room frowned. Thirty-nine? Malik tried to find meaning in this number as either a Ramilian or Greek but couldn’t think of any. Why the hell had Hadwin chosen that particular number?

“On the 39^th day, he said there was a Ramilian superstition about evil spirits coming to the house of the grieving.”

Vanna blinked. “Is that so?” She had grown up hearing all sorts of Ramilian stories, but had never once heard of such a thing. And besides, Hadwin was Greek. Had her husband made all this up? And if he had, why?

Kyria nodded gravely. “He said that the spirit would try taking Altair first. I didn’t really believe it when he told me, but then he also said that the spirit would make Malik unreasonably angry so when it happened, I knew I had to do everything Papa said.”

The two sheikhs slowly sat down.

Vanna took a deep breath. “And what else was it that he asked you to do?”

“He said that I should keep talking to Altair and not to anyone else so that the spirit understands I’m not going to let go of Altair if it tries to take him away. That I should even sleep in Altair’s room and protect him from nightmares---”

Malik and Altair looked at each other. Hadwin had pranked them from the grave---

“I’ll know if I succeed when you start to cry, because it means the spirit’s gone.” Kyria gave Vanna a teary smile. “And you did.”

Malik was the first one to laugh. And soon, Altair was, too, and even as Vanna started crying again, she was laughing, too. Oh, my love. You knew, didn’t you? Hadwin was the one that kept them together, and when he was gone, they had started to fall apart.

Her eyes closed, and oh, she could have sworn that she felt her husband touching her cheek.

I knew, my love.

She wept harder.

And that’s why I got a little angel to look after all of you while I’m away.

Vanna took Kyria into her arms. I miss you, Hadwin. I miss you so much. And as Hadwin’s little angel hugged her back, it was almost as if she could feel her husband’s love through it.

“Let’s all sleep in your big brother’s room,” Vanna said when she pulled away.

Altair groaned.

Kyria’s eyes widened. “We can do that?”

“Of course we can.” Malik glanced at Altair, drawling, “Let’s all protect big brother from the evil spirit.” His voice was mocking, but his eyes were suspiciously wet.

And when Altair smiled at his younger brother---

“Airafi.” Fuck you. But his voice was just a little gruff.

Vanna took Kyria’s hand. “Let’s go up.”

They all slept in Altair’s room, with Vanna and Kyria sharing the bed while extra mattresses were laid out on the floor for her sons to sleep in. She watched her children sleep one by one, and when all was silent, her eyes closed, and in the haven of darkness she heard the faintest whisper---

Huhm jamil.

She knew she could very well just be imagining her husband telling her good night, but she didn’t care.

I love this family. I love our life. I love you.

Tears fell down her face, but they tasted as salty as they were sweet.

Until we meet again, my love.

But for now, she still had these three to look after.

Seven years ago

Two years had passed since Hadwin’s death. Pain still lingered, but it was more a dull, bittersweet ache than a festering wound. The memories didn’t hurt as much, and sometimes, there were moments – secret, private moments – when Vanna could still feel his arms around her. Strong and gentle, intangible but powerful…it was these moments that gave her the strength to wake up each day, smile for her children, and do what she must.

Documents clutched in her hand, she left her family’s private wing in the palace and asked one of the guards of Kyria’s whereabouts. Where that girl was, he should always be, and when she made it to the palace’s library, she indeed found the two.

As this part of the palace was restricted to members of the Al-Atassi family and their most special guests, few people were aware that the royal library had been one of the inspirations for the Beast’s library in the animated classic. Towering shelves that reached all the way to the hundred-foot ceiling covered every wall, and above was a domed glass ceiling to reveal the azure skies of Ramil.

There was also the famous wheeled ladder from the film, only the one in Ramil’s palace was made entirely of gold rather than plain wood, and there were three of them, with the shelves divided into levels of more manageable heights. And also like the film, this particular ladder bore the weight of a lovely – albeit younger – bookish brunette. She was holding on to the ladder with one hand as she perused a stack of books, and thirty feet below her was a man as grouchy and princely as the film’s beast.

“Lueta.” Damn it. “If you don’t come down this instant, you’ll end up giving me a heart attack.”

“Stop shouting,” Kyria pleaded. “You know how you make me nervous when you shout so---”

“Aira.” Fuck. “Don’t say you’re nervous when you’re up there because now I’m nervous as hell, too.”

It took almost a minute, but the thirteen-year-old finally made it back to the ground, and as soon as she stepped off the ladder, her slim body disappeared into a crushing embrace.

“From now on,” Malik muttered, “you’re forbidden from climbing that thing.”

“But Malik---”

The young sheikh pulled away, cursing under his breath, but the sound still echoed in the library. “You could’ve fallen to your death,” he gritted out.

“Please?”

She watched Kyria peer up at her younger son with dark eyes full of pleading, and Vanna mentally shook her head.

Malik’s jaw clenched.

That look was---

“Fine then,” Malik said finally. “Let’s compromise.”

That look was powerful, her younger son was a softie, and she almost let slip an inelegant snort.

“No climbing ladders when I’m not around. Do you understand?”

“What about if I have a guard---”

A look of utter affront crossed the young sheikh’s face. “And have some man look up your robe while you’re at it?”

“Malik!” Kyria appeared dismayed. “I’m sure they wouldn’t---”

“Of course they would,” Malik countered in a steely tone. “You may think you are still a child, but other people will see you as a young woman. The most traditional members of Ramilian culture still believe that twelve is a proper age for marriage, and you know that.”

The girl bowed her head in apology, properly chastened. “Maehdina.” And when she heard Malik sigh, she looked up and touched his arm. “Please don’t be mad anymore, Malik.”

“I’m not.” His tone was gruff. “I can never be with you.”

The two started walking, the sheikh taking the books from her hands as the young girl enthusiastically launched into a story about her day in school. When they made it back to their desk, the two sat next to each other, their dark heads bent close as they went through Kyria’s choice of reading materials. The two then started to squabble, just like the way a younger sister would when defending her taste to an older brother, and Vanna found herself smiling. Oh, if only they were full-blooded siblings---

It’s not like you to take the easy way out, my love.

The voice in her head was familiar.

Imaginary.

But even so, Vanna’s teeth sank into her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

In front of her, Malik’s head suddenly jerked up, and if she were in a fanciful mood, she could’ve sworn he had his own moment, too, with Hadwin commanding him to comfort Vanna. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, so that by the time her younger son turned to her, her smile was real.

I know, husband. I shall not fail you.

By now Kyria had also discovered her presence, and her two children came to her. Kyria kissed her on the cheek with a shy but warm smile. Malik did the same, but the look he directed at her was faintly curious.

“This is the library, Mother.”

She frowned. “And?”

“I thought you should know,” her younger son drawled solemnly, “in case you’ve forgotten what books look like.”

“You aggravating wretch!” She grabbed the first thing she could reach – a cardboard box from the library’s check-in counter – and threw it straight at his face. Unfortunately, Malik was an Al-Atassi, and all men in the family were gifted with the quickest of reflexes.

He caught the box handily with a grin, and incensed, Vanna reached up to pull his ear.

Malik winced. “I was only concerned. The last time I saw you pick out a book was when Kyria liked having bedtime stories read---”

Kyria, gaze darting worriedly between mother and son, said earnestly, “I still enjoy having bedtime stories read to me.”

“That’s unfortunately not the point, my dear---” She heard her son start to laugh, and her teeth gnashed. She twisted his ear as hard as she could, and Malik’s laughter abruptly died. Shooting him with a warning look to behave, she released his ear and turned to Kyria. “Apologies for that, darling. You know how your dear brother---” This time, it was Malik’s face that turned rigid. “---can be.”

“Umm…” The poor girl looked torn. She clearly thought that all Malik could be was perfect.

Malik’s gaze slid to the documents his mother held, and his gaze narrowed when he caught a glimpse of certain photos. He looked back at his mother, and her uneasy expression confirmed his suspicions. He turned to Kyria. “I need to speak with Mother for a bit. Stay here, and I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

Malik led Vanna to one of the private reading rooms in the library, and as soon as the door closed behind them, she said quickly, “It’s not what you think it is.”

Her younger son didn’t answer right away. “Please have a seat, Mother.”

She reluctantly did as asked, muttering, “I hate it when you act like this.” So utterly calm when they believed she was overstepping her bounds. He and Altair took after their father this way, and it always made her feel dreadfully defensive.

Malik took the chair across her. “May I?”

She handed him the files. “It’s not really what you think---”

“Is it not?” He flipped through the documents. “Then if I say these are personal files of bridal candidates, you will tell me I’m wrong?”

Vanna didn’t answer.

Her younger son glanced up. “Mother?”

“Oh, fine. It is that.”

“And it’s for me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked bluntly. “Shouldn’t it be Altair you’d consult as the first son---”

“Altair will marry whomever he is duty-bound to marry,” she said shortly. “Your brother is just that type of person. You, however…” She took a deep breath. “I know we’ve never talked about this, but Kyria---”

“For the love of Allah!” Malik shot his mother a look of seething frustration. “She’s thirteen,” he exploded. “And you, my own mother, are making me sound like a pedophile---”

“Of course not,” Vanna rejected vehemently. “But can you also say that you have not once thought about it? Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you have not once considered waiting to see how things play out when she’s of the rightful age?”

Malik didn’t say a word, but they both knew that in itself was an answer.

“I know you don’t love or want her that way yet, but human minds have a talent for seeing the ugly and depraved while ignoring everything else that’s sweet and beautiful. These bridal candidates are just that: candidates. I don’t need you to be engaged to them. I just want you to show the world that you’re considering any one of them. You need the world to look at you and all these women so they don’t see Kyria until it’s the right time.”

The silence stretched between them, and Vanna stared at her younger son in helpless despair, knowing that she could only imagine the torment he was feeling. “This is for you and Kyria---”

Malik’s fist slammed against the desk. “Lueta. Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” he grated out. “She’s a child!”

Vanna met her son’s gaze unflinchingly. “It’s precisely because she’s still a child that we must do what we can to protect her.”

Malik’s fists clenched. “So what will you have me do then?”

“Find something – someone – to take up your time. Both of you owe it to yourselves to see what the world has to offer.”

“Are you asking me to leave the palace?”

“If you believe that is what’s necessary to ensure you stay within your limits, then yes.”

Malik flinched.

Hating that she had hurt him, she gazed at him with eyes that implored for his understanding. “I’m doing this for you, son – to protect your future, the tomorrows that could be yours. You’ve changed too much, Malik, and sooner or later it will get people to talk. It used to be that your father and I had to practically chain you and bolt the door to prevent you from leaving the house every night. And now – when was the last time you’ve hit a club?”

He let out a choking sound of disbelief. “So you are now ordering me to go clubbing? Is that it?”

“I’m ordering you to act like a normal twenty-something man,” she cried out. “For both your sakes, I’m ordering you to act like you haven’t yet found your soulmate!”

Malik jerked in his seat, and a cry of horror escaped her.

That word…was forbidden. That word…shouldn’t have been uttered this early. But now that it was, there was nowhere to go, nothing that could undo the devastating truth screaming at them in the silence---

“I’m sorry,” Vanna whispered.

But it was too late, and neither of them could close their eyes to what they knew.

Most people waited a lifetime to find the one meant for them – and they were the lucky ones. But then there were the others, people who never had to wait, people who had just known, soulmates who had found their way to each other before destiny could make up its mind about them---

Just because you knew someone was meant for you didn’t make that person yours.

Malik lowered his head. “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow.” He had no choice. He wanted a lifetime of tomorrows that he would always look forward to, and for it to happen, he had to risk forever and let go of today.

Six years ago

The staff cheered wildly as the television cameras swung to the finish line to show the race’s moment of victory. The camera zoomed in, and Malik’s handsome face filled the screen. More screams and applause filled the palace’s viewing room, and as news traveled of the young sheikh’s victory, so did the cheers. The chef and his helpers at the kitchen, the head gardener and his apprentices at the back of the palace, and even the officials in a closed-door meeting at the war room had taken a break to celebrate the young sheikh’s triumph.

Hail Sheikh Malik for bringing honor to the Kingdom of Ramil!

People began embracing each other, men clapping each other’s backs, women jumping for joy, and yet in the midst of this euphoria, a fourteen-year-old girl looked like she was about to cry. Altair was the first to notice this, and he briskly made his way to her. He touched her head, and she looked up at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Malik won,” she said brightly. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

He paid no attention to the words, knowing they were but a way to disguise her true feelings. “What’s wrong?” he asked grimly.

Kyria bit her lip. “Nothing.”

“There can’t be nothing when you look like that.” A torn expression appeared on her face, and he said gently, “If you don’t tell me, I’d have to call Malik---” Kyria could be surprisingly obstinate when she wanted to, but they all knew how much she adored his younger brother. Whatever Malik wanted, Kyria would strive to do.

Horror filled the young girl’s face at the threat. “You mustn’t!”

Altair’s turned into puzzlement at Kyria’s reaction. “What’s wrong, Kyria? Do you not trust me to help you?”

“Of course I do, but…” She bit her lip again. “You must promise me first you won’t tell Malik about it. Or anyone who could tell Malik.”

He nodded, knowing Kyria would be satisfied with it. Only a fool would doubt the word of Altair Al-Atassi, and his baby sister certainly wasn’t one.

“It’s just that…” The girl started wringing her hands. “I know this may sound crazy, but I think...” She took a deep breath and then blurted out, “I don’t think Malik’s happy being away from Ramil.”

“I see.” The sheikh’s face turned expressionless. Poor baby brother, Altair thought. It only showed how much Kyria cared for Malik that she would realize such a thing, but it also showed how different Kyria’s feelings were from whatever Malik felt that she didn’t fully understand what she was seeing.

Malik had only been racing professionally for a year, and he had already won most of the world’s major races. Although the prize money he won was a mere drop in the bucket compared to his personal fortune, the accolades and fame that came with every victorious race was nothing to scoff at. With analysts already predicting he’d be the youngest jockey to gallop his way to a Hall of Fame induction, companies had been sending out proposal after proposal to the palace, all of them clamoring to have the sheikh as the ambassador of their brand. And if Khalil, their half-American cousin, was to be believed, the women who were after Malik literally numbered in the hundreds.

And yet…it was as Kyria said.

Malik Al-Atassi was the most miserable bastard on the planet, but it wasn’t because he was away from home. It was because he was away from her.

“Do you miss him?”

“Of course.” There was no hesitation in the manner she answered, and the look that she directed at him was odd, as if Kyria couldn’t understand why he would even need to ask such a question.

“And do you want him back here?”

This time, even Kyria’s good manners weren’t enough to keep her from frowning. “Why are you asking these questions, Altair? Of course I want him back. He’s our brother.”

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.

“Rayyan, now!” The command came from Khalil, and his blue-eyed cousin whirled around, taking the opponents behind him by surprise. His sword came into contact with the soldiers’ vest, and the pair immediately bowed out of the fight.

Ten more minutes passed, and their enemies – which had started at a mere number of thirty – were now down to ten. Khalil’s gaze scanned his surroundings like surveying a battlefield and wasted no time making his decision. “Cover for Malik.” In war, every second was vital. “Now!”

He and the others cleared the path for their youngest brother in blood---

One by one, their opponents fell to the ground and tapped out of the fight.

That was to be expected.

But the manner in which Malik executed their strategy was not, and it had everyone in the fighting hall silent and stunned, the other sheikhs included. The speed with which Malik delivered his attack, the daredevil risks he was taking, the barely leashed violence in every strike of his sword---

When Malik suddenly swung to face them, the four sheikhs involuntarily tensed, their hands poised above the swords they had already sheathed. Malik stared at them, breathing hard, and the four sheikhs looked back at him. All of them shared the same unspoken and utterly discomfiting thought.

Had jealousy turned Malik batshit crazy?

Sanity gradually returned to Malik, and he said tightly, “I’m okay.”

The four continued to look at him. Malik might think he was okay, only he looked anything but. Right now, their youngest brother looked no different from a beast about to go on a rampage.

“I’ve been thinking,” Malik muttered. “What do you think of attending Kyrillos Gazis’ weekend cruise?”

It was midnight by the time the royal helicopters carrying the five sheikhs landed on the yacht’s helipad, and as soon as they descended, several long-legged beauties in uniform moved forward to welcome them with sexy smiles and non-alcoholic cocktails. That the staff knew better than to offer the sheikhs liquor was testament to their employer’s exacting standards on hospitality, and even Rayyan was grudgingly impressed. “Smart move.” As the kingdom’s future head of finance, he had to acknowledge the subtle excellence of their host’s marketing strategy. With just a simple act of service, the Greek billionaire had let his young guests know that he was the man to consider when it came to business ventures in the recreational industry.

“Careful, brother,” Tarif said with a smirk as they went to join the other guests in the yacht’s upper deck. “The euros in your eyes are starting to shine.”

His cousin only shrugged. “Fucking bimbos can only keep me entertained for so long.” Making money was his favorite pastime, and he saw no shame in it. “Besides---” His knowing gaze slid to their youngest cousin. “I’m determined to make the most out of this emergency trip.”

Malik frowned when he saw that the other sheikhs were looking at him. “What?”

“Feeling better now?” Altair asked politely.

He started to ask what the hell Altair meant when he saw their cousins turn to him again, their expressions guarded, and in a flash, he realized that they had all seen through him. No wonder they had been so quick to accept his invitation to attend Kyrillos Gazis’ party.

As they had willingly flown out of Ramil to keep him company, Malik knew he owed them the truth at the very least. Shaking his head, he heard himself say flatly, “No.” His lips twisted. “I don’t feel better. I still feel fucked, and it’s been so long that I can no longer remember what normal feels like.”

A pained expression crossed Tarif’s face. “That bad, eh?” He tried imagining himself in Malik’s shoes. How would it feel if the young girl he had forbidden feelings for were about to go to prom with another boy? He supposed he would want to smash his fist into the boy’s face---

Tarif glanced at his cousin, and the harsh lines of ill-suppressed violence outlining Malik’s face told him that was exactly what the other sheikh was feeling. And probably more than that, too, Tarif thought, discomfited. The truth was, the word ‘love’ had no meaning for him beyond the filial sense. He could try to imagine how Malik was feeling, but he knew no matter what his imagination was able to conjure---

It would be nothing like whatever Malik was feeling and had been struggling with for years.

“Why don’t you just marry her?” he asked finally. “In the eyes of our law, sixteen is of marriageable age as long as you have the parents’ consent---”

“Even if my own mother were to agree,” Malik said flatly, “I wouldn’t want to do that to her.”

“Eighteen then?” Khalil suggested pragmatically.

Malik shook his head. “She’d still be too young---”

“She’ll always be too young, Malik,” Rayyan pointed out. “You’re ten years older. No matter how much time passes, that will never change.”

“I just can’t do that to her,” Malik gritted out under his breath. “Okay?” His dark gaze swung to his brother. “You at least understand that, don’t you?”

“I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.” Altair loathed seeing his younger brother suffer, but since Kyria was also his sister, he couldn’t help agreeing with what Malik was saying. Eighteen was still too young, but…how much waiting should Malik condemn himself to?

Looking at Malik, he said with a shake of his head, “You’ve always had a knack for making trouble, but this…” Sardonic humor flashed in Altair’s eyes. “I have to hand it to you, Malik. You could have any girl in the world throw herself at your feet, and yet you just had to pick the one girl you can’t have.”

Malik raised his glass in a mock toast, saying, “And since the five of us are supposedly bound by the same fate, may all of us want the girl we can never have.”

Everyone sputtered and cursed as they realized what they were toasting to, none of them taking it lightly since there was a Ramilian myth about a king and his four vassals that revolved around the five men sharing the same fate.

Three years ago

It was no longer an uncommon sight for the palace to see Malik dressed for riding at dawn and spending almost the entire day in the stables. Since his return to the kingdom, he had successfully made a name for himself as a horse breeder. Fans all over the world still clamored for his comeback in racing, but as far as the sheikh was concerned that part of his life was over and done with. He would have stuck with it only if it had been capable of making him forget, but it had not. Nothing could. He had long accepted this – and had since found a different way to fuck things up.

“A visitor for you, Sheikh.”

He glanced over his shoulder as he pulled his gloves off, and the guards bowed before retreating. Left behind was a petite brunette, and as soon as the door to his office closed her lips curved in a provocative smile. “You had a need for me, Your Highness?”

Malik threw his gloves away, and when he turned to face her again, Iris had already settled herself on top of a steel cabinet, back against the post, and legs wide open. As he strode towards her, she reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it all the way up to her waist. The action bared her legs and lack of her underwear, her quivering pussy already glistening with need.

He unzipped himself, and Iris let out a moan of satisfaction as he thrust inside of her without a word, his already engorged cock sinking hard into her moist depths. Her arms looped over around his neck as the sheikh began to fuck her, harder than any man had, and her head fell back. “Yes.” Her eyes closed, her nails raking his back. “Ye---”

His mouth covered hers, and she kissed him with such undisguised hunger that he almost felt guilty.

Almost.

She probably thought he was kissing her out of desire, but the truth was, Malik only wanted her to shut up. He didn’t want her to make a single fucking sound because then it would be ruined. He would no longer be able to pretend it was another girl he was fucking---

Squeezing his eyes shut, he grabbed the cheeks of her ass and squeezed hard as he drove his cock back into her. He felt her start to moan, and he kissed her harder. The urge to make noise disappeared, and Iris was now busy sucking on his tongue.

“Come inside me,” she whispered into his ear.

He pulled away, his lips twisting into a smile as he gazed down at her. “Don’t push it.”

A throaty laugh escaped her. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

He only grunted, and because he wasn’t really in the mood to chat, he plumped her breast and drew one nipple into his mouth. He bit hard, and Iris let out a gasp. He might not give a damn about her, but he wasn’t that much an asshole not to pay any attention to her needs. Her breasts were her most sensitive area, and in moments, Iris’ hips were pushing against his wildly.

She started to scream his name, but again he captured her mouth with his, not wanting to hear it.

They came together in harsh, raw silence, the slapping of their bodies the only sound that tinged the air.

When the sheikh finally pulled away, Iris took one look at his drawn face and knew better than to say a word. He was one mysteriously moody son of a bitch, and she had been in this business long enough to know it wasn’t her face he saw when fucking her.

A pity, but she didn’t really care. As long as he continued to compensate her the way he did for their every meeting, he could even have her dress up as his mother and she would do it with a smile.

It was only minutes before dinner when Malik returned to his family’s private wing. Altair was nowhere to be seen, but his mother and Kyria were both in the living room.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Marhava.” She started to get up, but he forestalled her hug with an immediate shake of his head.

“I’m all dirty and sweaty,” he told her by way of excuse. The truth was, the mere thought of having her close while his skin still bore another woman’s touch was sickening. It didn’t matter that she probably wouldn’t even care that he had been fooling around with another woman. All he knew was that it didn’t feel right.

“You’ve been spending more and more hours riding,” she commented curiously.

“Yes, he has.” Vanna’s gaze bored through him. “Hasn’t he?”

His lips tightened, knowing the reason for his mother’s frosty tone of disapproval. As Vanna was strictly of the old guard, she fully believed in employing a retinue of spies in the palace, and he had no doubt she had received more than one report about him riding more than horses in the stables.

“A word with you in private, please.”

Kyria blinked at Vanna’s tone. “Is everything alright?”

“Don’t mind her.” Malik’s tone was light even as he gave his mother a look of warning. “She’s just upset I haven’t spending enough time with the family.”

“Oh.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I kinda feel the same way, too.” Her tone turned wistful. “You really are away so much, Malik. It’s like you’re living here but you’re not really here, you know?”

Vanna patted the girl’s hand, saying reassuringly, “I’m sure he’ll go back to normal eventually. This obsession with riding is just a phase.” She glanced back at her younger son, saying with a smile, “Isn’t it, Malik?”

He smiled back. “Quite.”

But as soon as the two of them were in the privacy of Vanna’s study, the masks both mother and son wore disappeared in a flash, and she said sharply, “People are beginning to talk.”

“Let them.” Malik truly didn’t give a damn.

“Tarif is more than one too many playboy the palace can handle,” she snapped. “If you continue down this road, you might as well turn our kingdom’s palace into a brothel. What kind of message do you think that will deliver to the rest of the world? Do you expect other nations to take us seriously with the way you and Tarif are acting?”

Her words hit home, and he gave her a curt nod. “You’ve made your point.”

“Good.”

“If that’s all---”

Vanna released a painful sigh at her son’s cold tone. “Oh, Malik. Surely you know I’m not your enemy here.” He didn’t answer, but he had also stopped moving, and she told herself to take heart from this. “I know it’s been hard for you---”

“Understatement of the century, wouldn’t you think?” His eyes gleamed, and for one moment it felt like she had her younger son back, the one who was all too wickedly charming and gave Hadwin and her nightly headaches because of his excessive partying. The boy he once was might have been a little too self-centered and immature, but that boy had at least been happy.

This man before her was not.

He had not been happy for such a long time now, and sometimes she found herself wondering if she was to blame for all of this. That if she could turn back time, she wondered if it would have been better if she had simply turned her back on---

Don’t say it, my love. Hadwin’s imaginary voice was amused and chiding at the same time. Don’t even think it. I know your heart’s in the right place, but those words you are thinking aren’t what you truly feel.

Her head lowered.

Oh, Hadwin. How you always save me.

Malik frowned, sensing a sudden change in his Vanna. “Mother?”

Hearing the note of grim concern in her son’s voice, she quickly looked up, saying simply, “I was talking to your father.”

“I see.” He paused. “You’re having hallucinations. You know that, don’t you?” He frowned at her. “Have you started starving yourself again with one of those fad diets?”

She let out an offended gasp. “I have never---”

“Mother, you know we love you as we are, don’t you? So, yes, you may be a little overweight---”

“You hateful boy!” She grabbed the first thing she could reach – a book from her desk – and threw it at him, but her son only caught it with a laugh.

Malik turned the book over and choked. “I knew it!” He showed her the book, and Vanna’s face turned red as she realized exactly which book she had thrown at him.

“Really, Mother? Really? Pokemon Go and Diet?”

He started laughing, and Vanna started seeing red. “Wretch!”

Two years ago

The day of Kyria’s high school graduation dawned bright and clear. Allah is good, Malik thought as he followed the rest of his brothers out of the palace and stepped inside the limousine. Their presence at the ceremony was to be a surprise to Kyria, who in her usual modest way had only requested for Vanna to attend her special day.

“What are you smiling about?” Tarif demanded testily of Malik.

“I was thinking of Kyria,” Malik answered calmly, ignoring his cousin’s tone. It was a well-known fact in the palace that Tarif was the only one among the Al-Atassi sheikhs who turned into a growling, snapping beast in the mornings. That the other sheikh had made the effort to attend Kyria’s eight o’ clock ceremony was proof of how much the young woman meant to him as well.

Rayyan rolled his eyes. “When do you ever not think of her?”

“Airafi.” Fuck you. “I was merely thinking how well she’s turned out, considering all the circumstances.”

Altair shook his head in amusement, drawling, “While I commend you for your sentiments, don’t you think it’s time you stop talking about her like you’re her father?”

The others laughed as Malik muttered an ill-used and extremely crude profanity in their native language.

“She’s already eighteen, Malik,” Khalil pointed out.

“I know that.” Malik’s tone was irritated. Contrary to the others’ belief, Malik had far from forgotten the fact that Kyria was indeed eighteen, an age considered legal and a mark of adulthood in most parts of the world.

He knew that nothing should legally stop him now from making a move, but even so he found himself unable to do so. Eighteen still felt too young and too soon to chain a woman to his side for eternity. While his stand on this hadn’t changed, something else had.

Kyria at eighteen had a woman’s body, and it was this knowledge that unleashed something primitive inside of him. These days, her body was all he could think about, and the thought would always mutate into a gnawing physical ache every time he saw her. Even as he despised himself for wanting her, he simply couldn’t stop himself of thinking of the things he wanted to do with her.

He would see her breasts heave under her shirt, and it would lead to thoughts of how beautifully shaped they were – the perfect size for his hands to palm and squeeze. Other times, it would have him jacking off in the shower while he thought of the color of her nipples. If – when – he ever saw them, he could probably feast on her lovely nipples for---

“We’re here,” Altair said.

His brother’s voice cut through his thoughts, and Malik shifted on his seat in an uncomfortable attempt to repress his erection. Lueta. If he didn’t find a way to control his sexual fantasies about Kyria anytime soon, he might end up sporting a boner in public.

Dressed in ordinary robes and their gazes covered with dark glasses, the sheikhs were able to slip inside the auditorium and walk among the other guests unnoticed. Their anonymity would not last of course, and they knew it. Already, the young women around them were giggling and elbowing each other, their eyes glued to the rather remarkable portrait the five tall, broad-shouldered men presented. But even so, the Al-Atassi sheikhs were determined to make the most out of their reprieve, however brief.

“Found her,” Malik said under his breath.

The other sheikhs smirked. Of course their youngest would be the one to find her first.

“Do you remember when we used to play hide and seek at the palace,” Khalil said musingly. Kyria had just moved into the palace then, and they had all been making an effort to cheer the seven-year-old girl up.

Tarif, having now acclimated to the god-awful hours of morning, grinned at the memories Khalil’s words evoked. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.” Malik had always been the one to find Kyria first back then, too, and every time he did the young Malik’s chest would puff and he would strut around the palace as if he was the king of the world simply because he always knew where to find Kyria.

Malik grimaced when he saw the other sheikhs smirking. “For Allah’s sake, stop that,” he muttered.

But of course his older brothers only ignored him, united as always in their desire to needle him.

“He’d be so proud,” Altair recalled with a chuckle, “and then Kyria would burst into tears, and Malik would be remorseful.”

“He’d promise not to find her again first,” Tarif continued in an amused tone, “But the next time we’d play, he wouldn’t be able to help it.”

“It was as if he couldn’t bear the thought of any of us finding her first,” Rayyan said with a grin.

Khalil arched a brow at Malik. “When you think of those times now – could it perhaps mean you already knew then, albeit subconsciously, even when she was just seven?”

Malik scowled. “Fuck all of you.”

The other sheikhs laughed as Malik stalked off, leaving them to trail behind at a relaxed pace. When they reached their youngest brother, it was to find Malik already preoccupied with broodingly staring at Kyria, who was currently talking with other girls.

“That girl on Kyria’s right,” Tarif murmured thoughtfully. “Isn’t she the one who won prom queen?”

Malik reluctantly moved his gaze from Kyria, and an expression of distaste fell over the sheikh’s face when he saw the girl Tarif had singled out. “Indeed.”

“She’s beautiful,” Rayyan observed.

Malik’s lip curled. “Passably attractive, but nothing compared to Kyria.”

The other sheikhs coughed.

Malik frowned. “You honestly don’t think that girl is prettier than Ky?”

They honestly did, just as they knew Malik believed otherwise with equal honesty. Kyria was beautiful to them because she was their sister, but it was also precisely because of this reason that they knew she could never be drop-dead gorgeous by any standards. Her innate elegance made her attractive, her lack of artifice charming, but Kyria would never be the type to turn heads.

But of course Malik didn’t see this.

“You should all have your eyes checked.” Malik’s tone was of complete disgust.

“Err, yes.” Khalil coughed. “We probably should.”

“Let’s continue this conversation later,” Altair said diplomatically. “The ceremony’s about to start, and we’ve yet to say hello.”

As they moved forward, Hannah and the other girls’ chatter began to drift towards them.

Please, come on, can’t that be your graduation gift to us? This was from a slightly chubby girl, her tone pleading.

But they’re really not the type to take photos. This was from Kyria, who sounded uneasy.

Even old photos would do! We just want something of your brothers’.

The other girls chimed in similarly, and when the sheikhs saw Kyria start biting her lip, the men shook their heads in unintended synchrony. All of them knew that when she did that, it meant she was about to give in.

Kyria let out a sigh. “Fine.”

Malik frowned in disapproval. She was always so soft. No wonder people kept trying to take advantage of her.

“I’ll mail you their photos, but only if I get their permission to do so. I can never go behind their backs.”

The other girls cheered.

You promise?

Yes.

All sheikhs? Rayyan, Khalil, Malik, Altair, Tarif?

To which Kyria said slowly, Everyone except maybe…Malik.

Malik was stunned, and so were the other sheikhs. Why didn’t she want the other girls to have a photo of him? Could it mean she was…jealous?

Rayyan almost rolled his eyes when he saw Malik straightened. That was exactly how Malik used to act whenever he was the first to find Kyria’s hiding place.

Why not Malik, some of the girls complained.

Because…because…he’s a playboy!

Malik’s face became expressionless.

The other girls shrugged off Kyria’s words. So what? I just want a photo.

But…but…it’s not just that. He’s also…not…photogenic!

This time, the other sheikhs could no longer help it. Their laughter rang out, drawing everyone’s attention to them, and still they laughed even as the entire auditorium discovered their identities and pandemonium ensued.

Kyria let out a little cry of distress when she realized that Malik could have heard her. Rushing to him, she whispered, “Did you hear?”

“That you thought he was a playboy?” Khalil asked.

“And that he wasn’t, err---” Tarif smirked at Malik. “Photogenic?”

Rayyan grinned. “We all heard.”

Kyria let out another cry, and Altair patted her head. “It’s okay, shaqifa. It is never a bad thing to tell the truth.”

* * *

“Best day ever!” Kyria’s eyes were glowing, her face flushed, and she looked like she could at any time explode in sheer joy.

Malik and Altair scowled, for once on the same side against the evil spirit that had taken possession of Kyria. Riding the camel was only fun for a few minutes, but not when the trail was hours long. Camping was fun when it was really glamping in disguise, with an air-conditioned off-road vehicle ready to dune bash for them on their way to a luxurious desert camp. That was the kind of camping the sheikhs preferred. What Kyria asked for her graduation gift, however, was pure torture.

Walking under the scorching sun, riding the camel for hours, and carrying everyone’s gear---

Kyria made a face when she noticed the way the two sheikhs were looking at her. “Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun?”

“No,” the two brothers answered at the same time, and in the same clipped tone. “We did not.” But this only made Kyria giggle, and the sheikhs exchanged glances. Their initial assumption was indeed correct. Kyria was possessed.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she protested, still giggling. “I just wanted it to be like the way we used to camp.” She turned to Vanna with a look of appeal. “You get it, don’t you, Mama? Doesn’t this bring back memories, like when we had Papa with us?”

Vanna’s eyes teared. Oh, this cute, cute girl! Unable to help it, she hugged Kyria as hard as she could, and she didn’t let up even as the daughter of her heart let out a laughing protest.

“Mama, I can’t breathe!”

Vanna gave the girl one last hug before reluctantly releasing her. “Sorry, darling.”

Malik shook his head in disapproval. “You should report Mother to Social Services, Kyria.”

Kyria laughed, and even Altair grinned while Vanna let out another offended gasp and started rummaging through her bag for something to hurl at her younger son.

Dinner started as a lively affair, with all of them happily lying when Vanna asked how they liked her cooking. The truth was, Vanna was hopeless in the kitchen. It should have been next to impossible to make something as simple as canned beans and hotdogs with marshmallow to taste bad, but the sheikhs’ mother had somehow succeeded.

They started a bonfire near midnight and toasted to Kyria’s graduation. They swapped stories afterwards, of the sheikhs’ escapades when they were young, of the way Kyria used to follow Malik around – even all the way to the men’s toilet at one point – and later, much, much later, they talked about their favorite memories of Hadwin.

By the time they bid each other good night and headed to their separate tents, their hearts were filled with bittersweet pain. None of them had stopped hurting, but at least they could let themselves remember the good times now.

It was around one in the morning when Malik heard a rustling outside his tent, and he immediately sat up, his hand already reaching for the gun he had under his pillow. The flaps of his tent lifted, and his finger moved over the trigger.

Kyria poked her head inside, an uncertain look on her face. “Malik?”

Fuck.

His breath whooshed out of him. “Lueta.” He glared at her, heart still thundering against his chest at the thought of what he could have done to her. “Don’t just show up like that, Ky. I could’ve shot you.”

She winced at his words. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

He grimaced. “I’m not angry, just…” He shook his head. “What is it? Do you need anything?”

She stepped inside his tent, and Malik stiffened. What the fuck?

“I have a confession.”

His heart slammed harder against his chest, but it was for an entirely different reason this time. “What is it?” His voice was hoarse, and his gaze swept over her before he could even think of what he was doing. Her long hair was unbound, her cotton pajamas covering her from head to toe. Even so, she was the sexiest thing in his eyes, and Malik shifted uncomfortably on his bed as a now-familiar ache clawed at his groin.

“Malik…”

His body stiffened, and blood rushed to his head at the husky sound of her voice. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Could this confession be what he had been waiting for an eternity to hear? Could he finally fuck---

“I watched The Conjuring last night and now I’m too scared to sleep on my own tent, so if you don’t mind, can I sleep here, please?”

The words had been delivered in such a rush that for several moments Malik was only left staring at her blankly.

“Malik?” Kyria bit her lip. “Can I?”

Her worried voice hurtled him back to reality, and his mind started working again.

He was wrong, after all.

He could not fuck her. Rather, he was just fucked. Still fucked.

“You idiot.” But even to his ears, the words sounded like they were more for himself than her. He was the real idiot here, to think that things could suddenly change just because she had reached a certain age.

Kyria smiled at him sheepishly. “I couldn’t help it. I just really wanted to watch it.” Her look turned hopeful. “So can I?”

Hell no. That was what he should have said since his tent had only one bed. But instead he heard himself say gruffly, “Come on.”

A smile broke over her face. “Yay!”

It was his only warning before she threw herself at him, and he grunted as he bore the weight of her body. She wriggled off him, and although it was just one fucking moment---

Just one fucking moment---

The fullness of her breasts, the slide of her legs, the softness of her body---

Just one fucking moment, and it was more than everything he had ever imagined.

Just one moment, and then it was gone, and she was lying on her side next to him. “It’s just like old times,” she whispered.

Malik only nodded, not wanting to lie outright. It was not like old times. Not one fucking bit.

“Good night, Malik.”

“Good night, Kyria.”

He watched her eyes close, inhaled the fragrance of her skin, listened to the way her breathing evened as she succumbed to sleep. Malik turned on his back and stared up at the sloped ceiling of his tent. This was going to be a hellishly long night.

Or so he thought.

Hours had passed when Malik slowly woke up, and the first thing he became gradually aware of was the feel of a woman lying next to him. Her back was pressed against his chest, and his arms were around her, possessive as a lover. Iris, however, was stiff in his arms, but this only amused him. Was this some kind of role-playing game where she would play hard to get and he’d need to coax a response from her?

He would indulge her for now, Malik decided in sleepy arousal. He began rubbing his half-erect cock against the cheeks of her ass, which seemed fuller than he remembered. He reached around her body, his fingers finding her pussy with ease---

A whimper---

His eyes flew open.

Kyria.

He shot to a sitting position. Fuck. Kyria’s trembling figure rose as well, and when she turned to look at him, her face was white and she was looking at him with fear in her eyes.

FUCK.

“I’m sorry,” he bit out.

She nodded jerkily.

“I thought you were someone else.”

“O-of course.”

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.

“Did I frighten you?”

Her lips parted and closed.

That was answer enough, wasn’t it? He had frightened her. If she wanted him like the way he wanted her, she wouldn’t have been frightened. She would have been aroused. But she was not.

“I think I should go,” Kyria whispered.

“I think you should.” His voice was harsh, and it was all he could do not to lash out as Kyria stumbled in her haste to leave his tent.

It was over.

He had taken a risk, gambled on waiting for her, and now it was over.

There was nothing to wait for.