“Everything needs your comment.”
“You do not need to lecture me on the responsibilities of kingship, Naseer.”
“Unfortunately, it appears I do. You’ve brought that chit of a girl into our country, against my wishes I may add, and carry on with her as if you’re a teenager. Allah only knows why you brought her back into your life again.”
He turned to his trusted vizier and not for the first time wished he was a little less wise and bit more supportive. “Do you want to know why I brought her here? Hey?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Because I needed to rid myself of her. Absence didn’t work, so I thought familiarity might.”
“And did it?”
Zavian turned away again, back to the view of minarets and spires and towers mysterious in the soft, hazy light of early morning. “No.” His vizier gave a heavy sigh and turned away. It seemed this conundrum had even flummoxed his wily old advisor. “No words of wisdom, eh Naseer? No advice? No wise words about troubles of the heart?”
Naseer paused and looked away. In that one single movement, Zavian knew for sure. He turned to him.
“You put her up to it, didn’t you?”
If there had been any doubt in Zavian’s mind, it was wiped away when Naseer looked him in the eye. There was guilt, recognition of truth, but also something else, defiance. “Yes, I suggested it to your father as the only way out. Your father was a dying man, and with your brother gone, I knew you were the future. But not with her. You needed a suitable wife.” He waved his hand. “Not an English academic.”
“She’s more than that,” Zavian said quietly.
For the first time ever, Naseer bit his lip, and his eyes shifted, betraying his lack of certainty. Eventually, he nodded. “Yes, maybe she is. But at the time, your father and I saw her departure as the best thing for your country, and you.”
“And now?”
“Now”—Naseer forgot about royal etiquette and sat wearily on the chair next to Zavian—“I’m beginning to think I might have misjudged the situation, and Dr. Taylor.”
“You think you did the wrong thing.”
Naseer nodded but couldn’t meet Zavian’s eye. “Dr. Taylor is most… unusual. Sometimes I listen to what she’s saying, and I can hardly believe she’s not of our lineage. When I listen to my granddaughters speak of frivolous things, I could only wish that they had a quarter of Dr. Taylor’s commitment to Gharb Havilah. My advice? Marry her.”
“That’s some turnaround.” He rose and strode to the window. “But what about love?”
Naseer scoffed, just as Zavian had known he would, reflecting his own thoughts. “You talk of love?” he asked, incredulous. “This isn’t about such a fancy.” He dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “And I cannot advise you on such matters. I have no knowledge of the affairs of the heart. I only know they can derail people from their purpose. And your purpose, may I remind you, Zavian, is to head a country of ten million people, numerous conflicting tribes, and resist international inroads on our port. We are at a strategic part of the world that the superpowers wish to control. The country is at the center of global power, and you are at the country’s center. It all depends on you. Love is not a factor in any of these things.”
“I am aware.”
“And you must also be aware that marriage is crucial, and your Dr. Taylor appears to be the only woman of whom Sheikh Mohammed approves. And if Mohammed approves, then you’ll have the support of others. ”
Naseer put a hand on Zavian’s shoulder, and Zavian turned to him, surprised. His vizier rarely touched him. He was a supremely intelligent man, a master chess player, and a man he’d never seen cry or express any form of emotion. A man who’d only made physical contact with Zavian a few times over their long relationship. Once when he’d been a child and had got into a fight with street kids. Zavian had lost his temper, and it had only been his vizier’s touch which had dissipated the mist and allowed him to see clearly again. And then when his mother had died, and grief had threatened to overwhelm him. Both times, Zavian realized, were when Zavian’s emotions had threatened to gain a hold over him. And now this.
“She doesn’t wish to marry me.”
It appeared he’d found a way to floor Naseer. He poked his old head forward, his brows knitted in bewilderment. “What?”
“Gabrielle does not wish to marry me.”
“Then she is a fool.”
“We both know she isn’t that.”
The vizier’s frown hadn’t lessened, but he nodded. “She has a weakness. A sentimentality that has no part in ruling a country. But…” His vizier paused as the frown lifted and his eyes brightened. “But,” he repeated with a shrug, “such sentimentality is a small thing. This weakness, Zavian”—he waved his hand in dismissal—“can be addressed. Do whatever you have to do to make her marry you. Promise whatever you have to.”
“I can become someone I am not.”
“You have no choice. Time is running out. An announcement of some sort has been made at the bi-millenial celebrations and an announcement there will be.”
Naseer left the room without waiting for a response from Zavian, which was just as well because Zavian was confounded. He’d assumed his vizier would come up with a way out of their predicament. But it seemed there was no going back. He wanted Gabrielle, and his country and advisors wished him to marry Gabrielle. The only stumbling block was Gabrielle. She wanted love, and he couldn’t deliver love.
He slammed the laptop closed with a snap and walked out the room. His vizier had been wrong once before, and he was wrong again. Naseer underestimated Gabrielle, something Zavian did not. She wouldn’t change her mind. She was as stubborn as her grandfather. Once her heart and mind were made up, they were as one and couldn’t be changed.