What had he expected, for Zhebair to be razed while he was gone?

Kamar ibn Mustafa shook his head. The eldest son of the Prime Minister, he was the only one who was of marriageable age at twenty-one years, and therefore a useful pawn in his father’s play.

That’s why he’d been carted off to Djanna, the neighboring monarchy. Zhebair had been a monarchy once too. That was before the royal family had been exiled…or disposed of, and the first Prime Minister, Kamar’s great-great grandfather had taken over the government with his cronies.

“Master Kamar, this way,” the attendant waiting at the bottom of the staircase called. The gray-haired, older man had to raise his voice over the din of the private plane’s engine. “Your father was in a meeting, but he sent a car.”

“Of course he did.” Kamar rolled his eyes. Heaven forbid his father clear his schedule for even an hour to greet his son from a diplomatic excursion.

An excursion I didn’t even want to go on.

Kamar smoothed his frown. No need to take it out on the attendant or anyone else. Not when his real problem was his father. They’d be having words—just as soon as Kamar could root out his courage.

“Thank you,” Kamar said. He pushed a ten-dollar American bill into the attendant’s hand.

The older man’s eyes widened with fear, and then very half-heartedly he asked, “Are you sure, sir? This is too much kindness.”

“I’m sure,” Kamar urged, again with a friendly smile.

Without asking him twice, and clearly not willing to part with the money, the attendant backed away with a low bow.

Kamar ducked into the car. As it pulled away from the tarmac, he glanced wistfully at the plane again.

For a moment, he’d been free in Djanna.

Yes, there was the meeting with the desert nation’s king, and the embarrassing display of his council’s confusion over the prospective marriage talks. Not to mention the surprisingly handsome, and surprisingly friendly monarch had spurned him for an old lover.

Kamar smiled at the memory of the clearly love-besotted king.

He had appeared so clueless to his heart. That’s why Kamar hadn’t felt nearly as slighted as he imagined his father would be, once he received news that any wedding plans were cancelled.

In Djanna, he’d felt he could breathe. The spectre of his father hadn’t touched his mind once, not until the plane had lifted off for its home destination in Zhebair’s capital.

And freedom had tasted sweet, hadn’t it?

Kamar sighed. He sank deeper into the leather seat, shrugging off the usual posture and poise suited for public appearances.

Once his father learned that no marriage merger would be taking place between Zhebair and Djanna, Kamar worried there would be talk of hostilities against their neighbor. His father, after all, was a proud man. Not even Kamar could fault him.

For whatever reason, Kamar hadn’t grown up caring about the family legacy and about how his great-great grandfather fought to climb up from his farming roots to ruling all of Zhebair. Kamar’s father, on the other hand, lived for that legacy.

So the old man was a social climber? What was new? And why was it that Kamar had to suffer–he hadn’t volunteered to be born into the family.

Kamar’s gaze turned to the world outside.

Bleak and barren, Zhebair always looked worse in the light of day.

Then not even the world’s most optimistic person could ignore the shanty towns in disarray, the garbage and filth coating the streets and the walls of buildings, and the restless crowds of citizens bustling for the day’s meager wage.

The car slowed at the gates of the prime minister’s residence.

Securely fortified, the actual residence was located on a hilltop, past a few checkpoints, each guarded by armed young men.

Kamar shied away from this part. He hated it.

Some of these men eyed him like they’d enjoy nothing more than ripping bullet holes into his body.

He couldn’t blame them either.

They were the products of a false democracy, one that aligned with the interests–and lined the pockets–of Zhebair’s elite. That included Kamar’s father.

Cleared through, the car continued all the way up the circular, newly paved drive to the front entrance.

Home, sweet home.

Kamar didn’t feel any elation.

In fact, anxiety swamped him as he drew his bag out. He’d packed lightly on purpose, unsure of how to go about his first trip abroad.

Another thing his father did well was isolating his children from any outside influences. Evil, rotten propaganda, he called it.

“Master,” the butler, one face of many staff members, greeted him at the door. Seeing that he had little bags to carry up, he backed off with a quick bow. “Breakfast shall be readied when you are.”

Sucked dry of his niceties, Kamar moved away without a word.

In the comfort of his bedroom he tossed his bag aside and he paced off very little of the anxiousness gripping his bones.

Slowing his pacing, Kamar knew of one thing that might help: an excursion of another kind, and a secret one that would lead him to the heart of Zhebair.