Betrayal Rocks Foundation of Royal Family of Ramil!

What was supposed to be a normal gathering – or at least as normal as these glamorous royal events could get – in celebration of Sheikh Rayyan Al-Atassi’s 32^nd birthday came to a rather shocking and abrupt end with guests being asked to leave as law enforcement swept in to remove the corpse of Joanna Chatti, a colleague of Professor Anisah Kahveci, wife of Sheikh Tarif Al-Atassi. Chatti is believed to have been either one of or in contact with the masterminds behind the failed coup against the palace a few years back.

It is also believed that Chatti was responsible for the foiled abduction of Kahveci and that her murder was to prevent Chatti from turning state witness.

The discovery of Chatti’s corpse in an undisclosed part of the palace was made by FBPC co-hosts Hyacinth Kahveci and Marwan Bseiso. Although largely unconfirmed, it is believed that the pair had, in the course of their work, come across certain evidence that led the two to suspect the palace’s security was severely compromised.

Bseiso was most recently seen attending a press conference organized by the palace to answer questions from the media. Meanwhile, Hyacinth Kahveci has remained unavailable for comment.

Tarif glanced up as his wife entered their bedroom, and his lips twitched at the irritated expression on Anisah’s face. “Let me guess.” His voice was dry. “Rayyan managed to find a way to corner you again?”

“He gatecrashed my lecture, and he insisted on being the one to drive me back to the palace. He’s like a fly I can’t shake off,” Anisah said waspishly even as she let her husband pull her down, her slim body fitting between his thighs. A small sigh of contentment slipped past her lips as she snuggled against his chest.

“He loves her,” he said softly. “You know that, don’t you?”

Anisah refused to answer and focused instead on the wonderful way her sheikh started massaging her scalp.

“Do you truly not want them to end up together?”

“It’s not a matter of what I want,” she muttered. “I just can’t make myself forget how he made her cry…”

“I made you cry,” Tarif pointed out reluctantly.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

No, Anisah thought. It wasn’t. She was just being stubborn about the whole thing, and they both knew it.

“I’m never going to tell him where she is,” she said finally, “and I’m not going to change my mind about that.”

“But in the meantime, you’re going to let the man drive himself mad with worry while searching for your sister?”

“I already told him she’s safe and alive,” Anisah said defensively. “It’s not my fault he doesn’t believe me.”

Tarif sighed. “We both know he does, but we also both know it doesn’t make a difference.” It was just the way Rayyan was. It was always all or nothing with him, and until Rayyan didn’t see for himself that Hyacinth was indeed safe and sound, the other man wouldn’t literally allow himself any rest until he had found Anisah’s younger sister.

“Can you promise me something?”

Anisah pushed herself up so she could gaze searchingly at her husband’s face. “What is it?”

“If he does find her, and she takes him back, do you promise to also give him another chance?”

“Mm…”

“Before all this, you actually liked him better than you liked me.”

“Because he was hiding his true colors,” she protested.

“Tory…”

His wife’s lips pursed, and it was too cute to resist that he had to steal a kiss.

“Tarif, I’m thinking!”

“And I’m stealing another kiss.” And so he did.

When he lifted his head, both of them were panting, and her lips were rosy and swollen.

“What were we, umm, talking about again?” Anisah’s voice was breathless.

“Your sister,” Tarif supplied with an amused smile, “and my cousin.”

Oh.

Right.

“You’ve got a deal,” she told him. “If he manages to find her, I promise not to act like a sister-in-law from hell.” And the only reason she was willing to make such a promise was because she didn’t really believe Rayyan Al-Atassi could find Hyacinth, whose secret location was specially prepared by a team of the kingdom’s most skilled undercover agents.

Cunning or not, Rayyan’s skills were purely founded in the boardroom (and fine, maybe in the bedroom, too) but other than that?

Nope.

It wasn’t going to happen.

Or so Anisah thought.

One week later, and Hyacinth had the shock of her life, waking up to the sound of the entrance flap of her tent slowly being unzipped.

Before she could even look for something to bash the intruder’s face with, the flap had already peeled open, revealing a dust-covered man, dressed for combat and his face completely covered by a balaclava except for his eyes, which were a beautiful, painfully familiar shade of blue.

Déjà vu.

Her foolish heart started hammering against her chest as she watched the sheikh slowly take his helmet and mask off. “How did you find me?” she blurted out. “The king promised---”

“Don’t worry.” Rayyan’s voice was curt. “Khalil kept his fucking promise.” In fact, the damn man had even gone as far as issuing a royal command not to have any official of the government aid Rayyan in his search of Hyacinth.

“Then how---” She could only shake her head, unable to comprehend how the sheikh could have found her. She was in the middle of the desert, for heaven’s sake, and the Emir Sheikh had even assured her that no kind of tracking technology would be able to pinpoint her direction.

“Nothing could keep me from finding you, majamira.”

“Don’t call me that---” An automatic protest by this time. “And that doesn’t explain anything.”

Seeing that she was hell bent for an explanation for some reason, he said simply, “Altair wasn’t the only Al-Atassi sheikh who went to war.”

Oh.

“It’s not just something most people remember since the time I spent in battle was too short to talk about, but also too long for me to ever want to experience again. My head simply wasn’t in the game – I had only signed up to make my parents proud, but it had only taken me a few months to realize that wasn’t enough motivation to survive a war. If I insisted on staying, I’d have gotten myself killed, and it would have been in vain.”

All she had wanted was to keep the sheikh talking so she could have enough time to regain her composure, but after what he had revealed, things had completely backfired, and her heart was tearing itself into pieces at the thought of Rayyan in battle – and possibly dying.

“I hope you know better than to beat yourself up for it,” she said jerkily. “That kind of life isn’t something everyone’s just cut out for and you…you still did more than most other men would ever do for their country in their entire lifetimes.”

The sheikh only stared at her, and fearing that he might still have some crazy dream of rejoining the army in the future, she added hastily, “It’s more than enough that you fought for your country and risked your life. That’s enough to make any parent proud.”

“Go on.” The sheikh’s lips twitched. “Because if you think I’m going to stop you from convincing yourself I’m a saint, I won’t.”

Oh.

Shit.

She had ended up doing that, hadn’t she?

And to think this was the man…who could never be hers.

Looking at him, she whispered, “What are you doing here, really?”

“To say sorry for one.” The sheikh’s jaw hardened. “And I know, there are a thousand damn things I should be sorry about.”

“Go on.”

A crooked smile flashed over his lips at the way she mimicked his tone. It was nice to know, Rayyan thought, she had managed to keep her sense of humor despite all the heartbreak he caused her.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning maybe?”

“Well then, there was a girl named Cecile---”

She scowled. “Okay, we can skip that part.”

“And I loved her.”

“I really don’t want to hear this---”

“I loved her for so damn long that I didn’t even notice when love ceased to be something I felt and turned into something I just…did.”

“A habit,” Hyacinth said shakily.

“Nem.” Yes. “And it was a habit that harmed the one I truly loved---”

Ah. Was she really hearing this? Was she? She pointed to herself and managed to sound teasing as she asked, “Li’l ole me, you mean?”

“Li’l ole you, yes,” Rayyan agreed without missing a beat. “Otherwise known as Hyacinth Kahveci.”

Silence.

“I did say I wanted it to be you,” he said tautly, “more than anyone else in the world. Remember?”

But still, she only looked at him, lips trembling even as no words spilled past them.

“Hyacinth?”

And then she slowly started to shake her head, and his heart started to break.

He could see it in her eyes, could practically hear the words she was steeling herself to say.

I’m sorry. I can’t trust you. I’m sorry.

His heartbeat turned frantic at the thought of losing her.

Hyacinth was about to speak when she noticed the sheikh suddenly looking around her tent as if in search for something. “Rayyan? What’s---” The sheikh’s gaze landed on the bread knife she had left next to an empty plate on the stool, and to Hyacinth’s shock, Rayyan had suddenly taken hold of the knife. “Rayyan?”

And the sheikh used the knife on his palm.

“RAYYAN, oh my God---”

And because it was never meant to cut skin, it took too many times – oh God, just too damn many –before the dull edge of the knife finally managed to cut his palm open, and blood began to drip out.

“Oh my God.” Hyacinth was beside herself. “Rayyan, oh my God---” She hated herself for being so silly and redundant, but she had never been good with stuff like this, and she could feel herself growing faint.

And then the sheikh suddenly took hold of her hand and pressed his open wound to her.

Oh.

It was an ancient tradition, one of the ways in which their ancestors made a vow.

“I swear by the blood of Al-Atassi, the royal house of Ramil, my heart is yours, Hyacinth Kahveci, and it always will be.”

Blue eyes captured hers.

“So…please.” The sheikh’s tone turned raw. “Please believe me.”

Uncertainty locked her lungs, making it hard for her to breathe.

“I have never lied to you,” Rayyan said hoarsely. “You know that---”

“But you’ve lied to yourself,” she couldn’t help pointing out, “and you never even knew you were doing it. So how do we know you’re not lying now?”

“Because of this.” He pressed his bleeding hand harder to hers. “Do you understand what this means?”

“History’s actually more Anisah’s thing---”

“It means I’m yours to command. I am your slave, eternally. I no longer have a name because I’m yours. Even if you do not want me – I am and will always be yours.”

Her heart splintered. These words. They were…too much. Her head lowered, unable to bear the sight of the naked pain on his face.

“Hyacinth. Please.”

Tears rushed to her throat.

Don’t listen, H. Don’t. Don’t.

“I am begging you – take me back.”

Rayyan waited for her to speak, but instead of answering, Hyacinth, still avoiding his gaze, reached for the discarded niqab from her makeshift bed and slowly began wrapping –

NO!

“Rayyan---”

He tried to pull his hand away without hurting her. “No.”

“I just---”

“I can’t let you do that.” His voice was savage. “I just can’t---”

“But you could bleed to death!”

“Better that,” he snarled, “than let you reject me from your life.”

Confusion flickered in her eyes. “I just want to stop you from bleeding.”

Rayyan stilled.

“I’m starting to think we’re speaking at cross purposes here.”

“If you stop the wound from bleeding without accepting my vow, it means you are rejecting it.”

Oh.

“I did tell you history isn’t my strongest---” Her words ended in a gasp as she suddenly found herself lying on her back, the sheikh looming over her.

“Hyacinth.”

Her toes curled at the sound of her name on his lips. Too long, oh God, it’s been too long.

Oh, H.

You have it so, so, so bad.

As always.

“Please.”

Her eyes stung. “It doesn’t suit you to sound humble.”

“I apologize.” His voice was low. “But I can’t help it. I have much to lose---”

“You’ve never lost me,” she whispered. “You’ll never lose me.” Her voice caught. “So can we please get to treating your wound because it’s starting to occur to me I might be hemophobic?”

A hoarse laugh escaped him. “Of course.” But the sheikh’s own eyes were as bright as hers, and she bit her lip hard.

She let him gently pull her up, and she reached for the niqab once more.

Don’t cry, H.

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry.

She started to wrap the niqab around his hand, and the tears started to fall – but it was not hers.

“I love you, my Hyacinth.”

And because she really did love him back, and she would rather have him furious than humble, she whispered, “I love you, my bae.”