3 - Zain
2555 Words
3
Zain
My head was throbbing as I stepped inside the club. The guards kept their distance, but they followed me, doubling the protection around the club and the enormous expanse of the three floors. We owned several of the clubs and hotels in Azmia, especially the most popular in our capital, which celebrities used to party and forget about themselves without the fear of paparazzi.
My pace was steady, annoyance from the meeting with the twin princesses filling my steps as I made my way to the second floor. Red, blue, yellow and green neon lights danced through the dark walls covered in thin velvet fabric. People laughed, danced and made out against the obsidian pillars, the bartenders fulfilling the orders, our guards making sure everything went smoothly with no incident. I eyed the dance stage. People donned various dress shirts and short dresses dancing with their hands above their head, swaying to the upbeat music played by the DJ.
I felt envious, wishing I could go down and mingle with the crowd. Get drunk and dance and have a headache from the hangover, not from the stress of ruling the country, making sure I was the best every day.
Women giggled as they brushed past me, eyeing me. Color slashed my cheeks as I cleared my throat and climbed the stairs to reach the VIP floor. The bodyguard let me pass, my eyes taking in the circular tables, blood-colored couches, the exotic scent of the air.
“Well, well, well, look who showed up,” Zayed whistled, his grin widening and dimples appearing in his cheeks. The blonde who was on his lap, kissing his neck moments ago, stood up when he whispered something in her ear. Her cheeks flushed when she walked past me, closing the door of the only private room on the VIP floor.
Only royals were allowed here. Me, Khalid, Zara, and our closest friend, the Sheikh of Azmia, Zayed.
“Where’s Khalid?” I asked, sitting down and pouring myself a glass of whiskey.
Zayed kept grinning, and I rolled my eyes, swallowing the contents of the glass, the alcohol burning my throat. He was a year younger than me, similar to Khalid, so it was no wonder they were best mates. His dark curly hair fell over his forehead, charm exuding out of every pore of his tanned skin, his easygoing smile making both men and women envy him.
“He knew you’d come here,” he said, clinking the bottle of champagne with my empty glass and drinking straight from it.
“So you knew about the princesses?”
“Of course, it was my plan after all.” He gave me his s**t-eating grin again and raised his brow. “So? What happened? Did you get laid, Your Highness?”
I gave him a deadpanned look.
Zayed pouted. “And here I thought you would like those princesses. Would you prefer a prince instead? I know a few.” His eyes twinkled at his own suggestion.
I looked away. Leave Zayed to know which princesses and princes were better in bed. “I am not into any of them. You know I am heterosexual. Quit being an ass.”
“And asexual by the way you reacted towards those twins.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, frowning.
He shrugged, “They told me. They were here moments ago with Khalid—”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” I interrupted him. “And there’s nothing wrong with me being asexual. If I was asexual, that is.”
Before Zayed could reply, the door of the private room opened, and I saw my brother, red smeared over his neck and the collar of his shirt as he tried to fix his hair.
“You are a dickhead,” I said, greeting him.
Khalid straightened up hearing my voice and gave me a lazy shrug while he buttoned his shirt. Not realizing that the first two buttons were missing.
“I thought I was helping you out. Won’t happen again, big brother.”
“Sending two princesses to seduce me to have s*x with them and marry them is not helping me out.”
Zayed looked between us when I stood up, “Okay, calm down, you two.”
I glared at my brother. “Stop interfering in my life, Khalid. I told you I don’t want to marry.”
He flared his nose at me. “And what is so wrong with that?”
I scoffed. “If you are so excited about marriage, then why don’t you get married?”
“You guys are fighting for no reason, for f**k’s sake,” Zayed mumbled, drinking champagne.
“Shut up, Zayed.” We both snapped in unison, glaring at him.
“I don’t need heirs, Zain, you do,” Khalid pointed at me. “Just marry someone and adopt a kid if you want to stay celibate. Don’t force it on me.”
“No one’s forcing you to do anything, Khalid!” I yelled. “No one has told you to do anything for Azmia since I became a sultan. I never once asked for your help.”
“Maybe it would be better if you did,” Khalid said, his eyes dilated.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You know why I can’t.”
***
“She is my daughter,” our father said. “I will decide her future for the betterment of Azmia. She needs to accept the betrothal for our future.”
“No, she does not.” I glared at him, taking a step closer and trying to talk to him. Zara’s cheeks were wet with tears. My heart thundering in my chest. “Let her go, baba. She is a kid.”
He bellowed out, his face scrunched in anguish. “She is a monster! A witch! Ever since she was born, she has brought nothing but misery to our country. Our neighbors.” His eyes turned red when he glared at her. “She killed my wives.”
Zara shook her head, my heart breaking at the sight. She shouldn’t hear such things from our father. He was angry and sad, trying to blame her for everything that had happened.
“I didn’t k-kill them,” she hiccupped, trying to get away from our father.
“Yes, you did! Maybe I should kill you too,” he said, his lips curling in anger.
Khalid whispered beside me, “Please do something, Zain. He is… he is hurting her.”
My eyes widened. I didn’t want to believe it. All the rumors and concerned talk about my father going insane. But I was seeing it with my own eyes. Even though we bore the mark of his anger, I thought of him as the most powerful sultan, but seeing him trying to hurt my sister, his own daughter, for something we couldn’t prevent from happening made it all clear.
“Baba! Stop!” I shouted, stepping between his hand that was going to strike my sister. I held in my wince when his palm hit my cheek, the pain ringing through my skin to my body as I took a step back, my arms protecting my sister.
“Stupid boy, move away!” He snapped, ready to strike again, and for the first time, I raised my arm to block his hit. I knew I would get punished for it later, but I wouldn’t allow myself to watch him hurt another human being again. I couldn’t allow that anymore. Not with Zara.
I gave him a little push, his hand wrapping around the cane he needed to use because of his old age and weak legs. The same cane that had been… no, I didn’t have enough time to relive the past. I needed to make sure my brother and sister were safe. I broke the hold of his hand on her wrist and bristled at the red hand prints that marked the pale skin of my sister’s arm.
It must have hurt her.
Swallowing my anger and hate, I crouched and wiped her tears. “Go with your brother Khalid. He will take you to your room, okay?”
She nodded, rushing towards Khalid, hugging his legs when he frowned at me and our father. “What are you doing, Zain?” he asked.
“I am making sure our father doesn’t hurt anyone again,” I said, glaring at the man who shared my blood.
Salman Al Latif laughed. There was something cruel and wicked about it. “You will hurt your father? Your own blood, boy? You can’t even wield a sword properly and you dare talk back to me!”
I ignored my fear of backing away when he straightened his stance, his grey hair wild, his eyes even wilder when he looked at Zara, her little frame cowering behind Khalid’s legs. Even he held his ground in front of our father.
“Come to your father, Zara,” he yelled, rage filling his voice.
He didn’t seem human anymore. He was the monster, driving away our mothers and hurting us.
“Khalid, take her away from here,” I said, stopping him in his path.
He glared at me, raising his hand, which I held back with my strength. At least the lessons we had learned to fight wouldn’t go to waste. I heard Khalid calling out my name, but it was too late.
I hissed in pain, dropping to my knees when his cane struck the back of my knee, my legs giving out underneath me. I held his leg when he tried to walk past me. “Don’t be reckless, Father. She is your daughter.”
He huffed, pulling his leg from my grip. “That monster is not my daughter. You should watch how you talk to me, boy; you don’t want to end up like her, do you?”
I warned Khalid once again, not seeing the cane until it was too late. I squeezed my eyes shut when my head throbbed with the pain, my hand lifting to my head as I felt warm liquid rushing out. I blinked at the red coating my fingers, my vision blurring when I tried to stop him. Stop the monster my father had become.
But I couldn’t.
When I managed to stand up, it was too late. Blood turned the Egyptian rug red, the guilty and scared look of Khalid where he stood frozen in front of Zara’s little body. Across him was the slumped body of our father, blood staining his tunic as Khalid pulled out the sword with weak hands. His voice was shaky when he whispered ‘baba.’
No, no, no.
I blinked again, staggering towards them and watching our father fall back on the rug, Khalid’s eyes wide with shock as Zara tried her best to swallow her scream.
She hugged Khalid, my eyes averting to the sword dripping with crimson blood. I took it from his cold hand and whispered, “It’s okay, Khalid. Zara. It’s okay.”
Tears slid down my younger brother’s face as he shook his head. “It’s not. It’s my fault. I… I killed—”
“No. I did.” I forced out those words, holding the freezing sword in my hand.
I wouldn’t let Khalid live with the blood of our father hanging over his head all his life. I would take the blame. I would get executed, knowing my brother and sister were safe.
His eyes widened, knowing what I was doing. Zara held my palm, her big hazel eyes gleaming with tears as she stared between the two of us. At least she wasn’t hurt.
“It’s okay, Khalid. Take care of Zara,” I whispered, hearing the rush of footsteps coming towards the room.
Rahim opened the doors and before I could say anything, I heard a whisper and a shuffle, the sword being taken from me.
Khalid stood before me, my eyes wide with fear and shock when he said, “I did this. I killed my father. The Sultan of Azmia is dead.”
***
Khalid looked at me, his head shaking. “You know you don’t have to do all of it by yourself, Zain.”
“You have done enough, Khalid, I don’t want to—”
“Do you blame yourself for what happened?” he asked.
Zayed took a sharp breath, standing up and knowing what we were talking about. He knew what had happened. He had followed Rahim that night and had seen everything.
I bit out, “You don’t know what or how I feel when it comes to marrying and having children of my own.”
“You are deflecting the subject, dear brother.” Khalid took a step towards me, “You are not your—”
“You don’t know what it feels like to be the Sultan, Khalid,” I said, stopping whatever he wanted to say, pushing his shoulder as I walked past him and out of the room.
I didn’t want to end up like my father. I didn’t want to hurt my wife, my children and turn out to be like him. Or something worse.
The heady sound of the music made me feel present as I made my way downstairs. I needed something strong to drink. I needed to forget about that night. The scared expressions of Khalid and Zara. The guilt of not protecting them when they needed me the most. I needed to forget everything. Especially the pressing weight of getting married and siring children for the crown.
I weaved my way through the crowd to reach the bar. The club was more crowded than ever, everyone celebrating Zara’s nineteenth birthday. Speaking of my sister, where was she? She had told us she would be in the club. Maybe I should check up on her first—
“You look so sexy,” I heard a man slur, hiccupping when he tried to wrap his arm around a beautiful brunette dressed in a gorgeous black dress. Her golden skin glowed under the club lights.
“I am not interested,” she said clearly, her voice sultry. Honeyed.
My palms started sweating. I frowned, looking at them. I hadn’t even seen her face, and I was getting nervous. Shaking my head, I continued on my way, trying to ignore her when I heard the drunk man's words that made me stop dead in my tracks.
“Then why are you dressed like that?”
I spoke while walking towards them, “Because it’s her body and she can dress however she wants.” I glared at him, my voice loud and clear, “Leave before I call security and have you arrested.”
He took a step back. “Who are you to step between us? I was just asking to dance with her.”
My body hummed with satisfaction of fear that I was about to get when I parted my lips to answer his question. “I am the—”
But I never could finish my sentence.
“He is my husband, right, darling?”
- Writer
