“You look beautiful, Nasrin,” Zain’s grandmother cooed when Zara, dressed in a gorgeous red gown, draped a golden colored lace over my head, my dainty gold earrings glinting in the sunlight.
“You look like a queen,” Zara smiled brightly, the staff asking to take pictures with me. Zara frowned at them when she asked what #SultanRoyalWedding meant.
I had forgotten that she had never used social media in her life.
“Thank you, jadati. Thank you, Zara. I am excited for the cake more than the wedding,” I grinned, my stomach tight with the anticipation of marrying the Sultan of Azmia.
The wedding gown, jewelry, my clothes, handbags, shoes and absolutely everything else had been bought and gifted to me by Zain and his family as a part of our marriage ceremony mahr, which we would sign during katb Al-kitaab. It was a small ceremony of the payment which the groom must provide to the bride, out of love and respect.
I tried to ignore all the luxuries that came with being Zain’s wife-to-be, because I could never get accustomed to seeing so many zeroes after a number in my bank account. He didn’t have to do any of that, but he had promised and argued with me that if I ever wanted to separate from him in the future, it would make him feel better if I had the means to take care of myself.
Yes, Zain was utterly stupid. Why would I ever divorce him after seeing how much he values me?
The staff helped pin the short veil as I counted to ten, staring at my reflection. The beige color of the gown looked stunning on me. Minor details of embroidery and lace covered the delicate gown. It fit me like a second skin, cinched around the waist and flowed down to my ankles. I wasn’t wearing my mother’s maang tikka, but I had it with me in the small stitched pocket of the gown. It would be with me when I got married, almost fulfilling my mother’s promise.
Zara was right. I looked like a queen with kohl eyes. But I was a nervous mess on the inside. I would share his bed. Again.
“Come now, Nasrin. Sultan is waiting for you.”
My feet were light when we walked towards the beautiful dais, covered in flowers and golden fabrics. My dad was looking anywhere but at me as he held my arm for the sake of walking me towards the dais. The small crowd stood up, cheering for me, when the music intensified in the background. Through the cheers, I could feel everyone’s eyes on me.
“That is going to be his wife. Ugh.”
“With hips like hers, I could see why he would choose her. Heck, I want her number—”
“Isn’t that the Princess of Maahnoor? He is marrying his enemy’s daughter?”
“Will she be a good sultana?”
“I bet they will last a year at most.”
“I think they will have a kid before the year ends.”
My face flamed hearing all the words, the hold of my father’s hand tightening for a moment. “Raise your chin, Nasrin. You are going to be a sultana in a few moments. Their words shouldn’t matter to you,” he whispered in his raspy voice.
For the first time in years, he had called me by my name with the same gentleness that I craved from a father. I reined in my shock at his words and raised my chin. Even though I could feel them sizing me up, I followed my father’s words for the last time.
Then I laid my eyes on him. Every doubt and nervousness vanished. Zain looked like a dark king wearing a traditional black long tunic that reached the knees with golden thread embroidered around the cuffs and collars. He looked like a regal ruler with a small golden sheath of sword wrapped around his shoulder to waist, the white hilt of sword’s handle peeking out. His brilliant hazel eyes swirled with various emotions when he gave me a small bow, offering me his hand.
When we were close enough, he whispered, “Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
* * *
After exchanging ‘I do’s’ in front of the Qazi and the guests, Zain and I shared a small kiss on the corner of our lips announcing we were married. My hand was clutching his tightly when the professional dancers performed belly dancing and dabke. The veil wasn’t covering my head or face anymore since Zain had removed it to kiss me. It was an odd feeling that despite watching the joyous celebration of my wedding, all I could think about was that tiny kiss.
“What are you thinking about? I am thinking about the delicious food. I am starving,” Zain murmured, patting his stomach when the guests joined in with the dancers. I could see a blur of Zara’s red dress twirling and swishing as she danced with them. I knew Zain would get a lot of proposals for her after the event.
I glanced at him, his perfectly tousled hair, his intense eyes, his half-smile. “I am thinking about the cake.”
“We can sneak one into our bedroom if you want.” he winked at me.
Our bedroom.
“Deal.”
After brief photographs with our family, we had to sit through dinner while all the royals mingled with each other. We hadn’t exchanged a single word after talking about sneaking a cake into our bedroom, and I was growing more and more nervous when the moon shone in the dark sky.
Does he want to have kinky food play sex with me? Or does he want to eat the cake with me?
“Nasrin?” Zara asked, her hazel eyes staring up at me. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course, Zara. We are sisters now.”
“I know Zain can be angry sometimes and act as a hotheaded jerk—”
I gasped at her, hiding my smile. “Zara!”
“What? You know I am telling the truth.”
She was.
“Yes, go on,” I said, curious at what she had to say.
“Well, I want you to know that he has a heart of gold. Both of them, Zain and Khalid. They get angry easily and you can feel free to scold them because I am tired of doing it.” She had a big grin on her face as she talked about her brothers, and I knew how special they were to her as she was to them.
I tucked her hair behind her ear. “Is that it? You are giving me free rein to chastise your brothers?”
“Yes!” She nodded.
“Lord save them,” Zayed muttered, offering me a glass of champagne, which I gladly took, thanking him.
I had met him during the wedding arrangements, instantly taking a liking towards his exuding charm and mischievousness in making fun of Zain and Khalid. He treated Zara like his own sister and was always polite with others, but knowing he was the friend of a prince with that handsome face, there would be no shortage of women or men for the Sheikh.
Just like the Sultan.
I swallowed the bubbly drink in one go, relishing in the slight burn. Why was I so nervous about meeting Zain tonight in our room? We had been alone in a room more than a dozen times—
Because it is my wedding night.
I looked over Zayed’s shoulder when he argued with Zara where my husband stood talking and nodding at two pretty women who must be royal members. They both were laughing at something he must have said. I quickly looked away when he averted his eyes to me.
My fists clenched tightly. Why was I jealous? I shouldn’t be jealous if the Sultan was talking to two royal women. He was my husband, after all. He had promised to stay monogamous throughout our marriage.
Not if he gets bored with me first.
With that silly, bitter thought, I excused myself and asked his grandma if I could retire early, to which she winked at me. I rushed to the room on my own, asking the maids to enjoy the feast.
I held my breath, pushing open the doors of the room that I would share with Zain. Exhaling sharply, I stared in awe at the beautiful golden gossamer fabric floating around the bed in an arched shape that made the bed look like a small golden world of soft pillows and sheets. It was breathtaking. The rose petals covering the dark sheets of the enormous bed with the candles burning on the nightstand emitting an exotic scent.
Taking a shaky breath, I wandered around, noticing it was similar to my guest room, but with more space for two people. Not big enough to hide somewhere unless it was a closet or the bathroom.
Walking up to the dresser, I stared at my flushed reflection and started removing the jewelry. The emerald diamond gleamed in the dim light, making my stomach churn.
There was a knock on the door, and I tensed up. “Enter.”
Zain Al Latif prowled into the room, his dark eyes pinned on me when he removed the heavily embroidered tunic, leaving him in a thin linen white shirt and pants. He eyed me warily and gently placed the small three tier cake on the table.
Aw, he kept his promise.
“Are you okay?”
I hummed and hissed when something on my hand got stuck in my hair. I tried to remove it, tugging it slowly, but it wouldn’t budge.
“I guess not,” I heard Zain mutter, walking towards me. His big hands wrapped around mine. “Don’t be so harsh, you’ll hurt yourself. Let me see.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat at his closeness, his musky male cologne wafting in my brain, making me heady. His fingers felt so nice, being gentle and slow. His handsome face was focused on the task, his eyes not peering anywhere else.
“Thank you,” I whispered when he was done. I looked at him through the mirror and asked, “Can you help me with the dress?”
He nodded, clenching his jaw. I held my breath when he towered behind me, his stance powerful when he raked his hand through the loose, dark waves. I loved how his warm fingers felt when they brushed over my skin. I bit my lip, our eyes meeting briefly in the mirror before looking away.
The tension hovered between the two of us when he tugged the bow string from my back. I closed my eyes, anticipating what he would do next—
“You should go take a bath,” Zain said in a clipped voice, stepping back and looking away with a light flush creeping up his neck.
Wait.
He didn’t even try to seduce me or even touch me. I know he agreed not to touch me without my consent. Then why was I feeling disappointed he kept his word?
Shutting myself in the bathroom, I stripped out of the clothes and wrinkled my nose. I didn’t smell bad, did I? I didn’t think so. Then why did he ask me to take a bath?
Maybe to relax myself after such a long day? I tried not to overthink soaking myself in the warm bath, ignoring the disappointment of Zain, my husband, not touching me.