“What other crimes have you committed?” I asked, the dim light of the prison casting a yellow shadow on Hamid Elbaz’s bruised face. The stench of sweat, blood and something rancid coated the air, making it hard to breathe. These dungeons, under the palace of Azmia, were used by our ancestors during the wars to keep the prisoners, and we had kept them just in case we had to use them again.
Khalid didn’t want him to sit or sleep, but I had been merciful to allow him a chair and sleep and food.
“I already told you,” he rasped, his voice scratchy. He tried to move, but his hands were tied behind the chair and his ankles to the legs of the chair.
The interviewer shuffled forward, scared of me and my brother more than the person who sat in the chair. “Right.” The man cleared his throat and fixed his tie. “Can I start now?”
“He is all yours,” Khalid drawled, sliding his hands in his pockets and watching the interview take place.
It had been four days, six hours and forty minutes since I last saw Nasrin. I missed her terribly, hating that I couldn’t protect her when someone tried to poison her food. I should have known that something might have happened, and I should have acted on it. Instead, I was busy with the council meetings, agreeing to get Hamid Elbaz executed and making sure they found his children not guilty. Hamid had said so himself that they had nothing to do with his crimes, especially Nasrin. She was a kid when that had happened and she was the most innocent of all his four children.
I believed him. Nasrin knew nothing about her father’s past. She had cried listening to him confess about it that day. She didn’t think her father could ever do that. That was why I needed to push her away and to show the council that my decision to have Hamid Elbaz executed and protect her family had nothing to do with my marital relationship with her. If she had stayed here, they would have questioned her about terrible things, and I wouldn’t have been able to protect her from it.
After getting Hamid’s confession on tape, the interviewer from the famous news channel stepped out with his camera crew, leaving me, Khalid and the prisoner.
“Don’t hurt my Nasrin,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Please, I beg you.”
My brother clenched his jaw. I glared down at his face. “She is not yours anymore, Hamid. She is the Sultana of Azmia and my wife.”
He chuckled weakly. “I am glad she has you. She deserves the love you have for her. I couldn’t ever provide her with everything she wanted, but you can.” His head dropped and I forced myself to take a step back when his eyes teared up. “Tell my children I am sorry, even though it means nothing. I am ready to be punished for my sins.”
We left, the sight of him breaking down ingrained in my head. The guard asked us about the other prisoner. The cook who had poisoned my wife’s and her brothers’ food.
I didn’t give it a second thought before replying, “Get his confession and kill him.”
Khalid stopped me. “Keep him alive, Zain.”
“Why?” I flared my nose. “He dared to go against Azmia and poison the Sultana. My wife. He doesn’t deserve to live.”
“True, but keep him alive down here. He will be useful to us,” my brother said, looking at me.
I trusted Khalid. If he wanted to keep him alive, then I would do it. I nodded to the guard. “You heard the Prince. But don’t tell anyone about his whereabouts or that he is alive. Keep him fed and breathing.”
* * *
“You look pathetic,” my grandmother greeted us when we joined her for dinner. Even Zara was silent when the food was served.
“That is the face of the stubborn man who misses his wife terribly,” Zayed said, pouring a glass of wine for me which I swallowed in one gulp. Khalid eyed me warily.
“I miss her, but I can’t go against the council and bring her back here until they execute her father,” I said, frowning at the food. I didn’t feel like eating but forced it down because I would need the strength.
“Do you truly want her back?” Grandmother asked after a while.
I didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
“Then go and get her. You are the Sultan of Azmia who misses his wife. Even your own people want their sultana back in their country. I am sure the council can overlook it.”
No one said anything, but my grandmother’s message was clear. Go and get Nasrin, or I will be disappointed in you.
Should I try to get her back? It wasn’t like I could knock on the palace gates and they would happily let me in. She might hate me for what I had done, curse at me, and even throw her sandals at me. But I could handle all of that if it meant seeing her and knowing she was well. I would try to woo her, apologize to her, and do my best to get her back.
Because everybody was right. I missed her. Her absence spoke volumes whenever she wasn’t teasing me in the study, taking care of our horses in the stables, laughing with Zara and my family, mocking me in our bathroom suite just because I liked to wet my toothbrush after applying toothpaste. I missed her every day I woke up alone in our bed and went to sleep on the cold sheets.
I would apologize to her and win her back. No matter what it took because I loved her.