Authors: Ginger Solomon
“Your hair is beautiful⦠different, but beautiful.”
Cahri laughed.
Anaya frowned at her. “Did I say something funny?”
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh, but I have never liked my hair. I have always wished to have dark hair, like my mother.”
“Your mother had dark hair?”
“Yes.” She missed her mom every day. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine her face. The view blurred. Anaya must have sensed her distress because she changed the subject.
“I know all of this is strange for you. We'll get to know each other over the next few months, and I will help you adjust and teach you what you need to know about palace life and about the prince. You have been chosen. It is an honor.”
“You said that before, but I don't feel as if it's an honor. I feel as though it's forced. I don't want to give up the life I've created here.”
“Forced? No. You do have a choice. But to choose to reject the summons is to reject the prince and is punishable by death.”
“Death?” Cahri's voice squeaked. “But⦠but⦔ Her voice failed her. “Death?” She questioned again to be sure she'd heard her correctly.
Anaya nodded and returned to the sofa. “You have nothing to fear from the prince. He will be a good husband to whomever he chooses.”
Shaking her head in disbelief, Cahri retreated to her bed after saying goodnight. Anaya referred to the prince as kind. Would his kindness extend to her, a foreigner? What about the nobles â should she choose one of them or leave Belikara?
Could the prince learn to love her? Not that it mattered, she wouldn't be chosen anyway. Why would she be? No one in this country would call her beautiful. A curiosity, maybe. Beautiful, no.
What would happen if he didn't choose her? She might be chosen by someone else. She'd heard stories about some of the nobles believing in the old ways â a wife should not be seen or heard unless summoned, and if she did otherwise, she was beaten. Cahri shivered. She'd leave the country rather than live a life with someone she couldn't love.
If the prince proved to be kind and honorable, he would be her best chance to stay in Belikara. She laughed. Here she was, in bed, trying to talk herself into accepting the prince, when he had forty-nine other women to choose from. More attractive women, at least from a native's standpoint.
No way would he choose her.
Would he?
Josiah drove his black convertible BMW Roadster along the desert back roads on his way to the palace after a night of tossing and turning at his apartment. The cold weather didn't allow him to put the top down, but he opened the window to let in as much fresh air as he could stand.
His eyes focused on the straight road before him, but his mind couldn't shake the image of the lady who had bumped into him at the market. She stalked his thoughts and heated his blood. Green eyes. Porcelain skin, tinted pink in embarrassment at their misunderstanding. Some flowery scent he couldn't name, but something American, since he'd never encountered it before.
He huffed at having to ignore his desire to pursue her and instead wait another week to begin this charade his father required of him, insisting it was time to marry. It didn't rank high on his list of how to find a wife. He'd have to choose from among fifty women coming to the Bridal March. A trickle of sweat to raced down his back despite the cold air blowing in the window.
When was it ever a good time to marry a stranger you don't love and maybe never would?
After arriving at his office, he scrutinized Matthias's security report. All was in order, as usual. The update did mention some peculiar threatening letters, but Josiah dismissed them. There were always fanatics who didn't like that the royal family had accepted Jesus as their Savior instead of following traditional religious practices. Most of the country accepted their decision. Many had even converted.
Matthias had been in the palace for as long as Josiah could remember. They'd grown up together. Josiah's father had frowned on the friendship as they'd grown older, but hadn't forbidden it. They each knew their place. Matthias respected Josiah and his position of authority. Josiah trusted Matthias to protect his family and employees from danger, which was why he traveled with Anaya.
Anaya's stay with one of the chosen left him without both his sister and his best friend.
Why had she picked this particular woman? What could be so special about her? He'd asked, but Anaya had been evasive and refused to answer his persistent questions.
Josiah gritted his teeth and went for a walk in the garden, one of his favorite places. Come next week he wouldn't be allowed to venture down here. It would be reserved for the chosen ones.
One more week. Then six months of watching, waiting, deciding. He could hope for love, but didn't expect it. Could love happen in so short an amount of time?
He thought of the woman in the market again. He could have loved her in less than six months. The spark she'd ignited still glowed within him. He grunted. No use desiring something he couldn't have.
On a bench among the early blooming flowers â gladiola, daffodil, and a few of the cliffroses transplanted from the mountains â he inhaled and forced his muscles to relax as he exhaled.
Each flower had its own special scent, which he'd chosen for this particular garden. His love of flowers and their aromatic offerings bordered on strange â according to his father â but the smell always took him to a comfortable place in his mind, to the time when his
anneciðim
â
his mom â rocked him to sleep at night.
Josiah closed his eyes and let his mind wander. It went back to the fifty women who would soon invade his home. He thought more about the one Anaya had chosen to serve. His curiosity flared to life. Anaya, wise well beyond her nineteen years, knew him well. He trusted her judgment, more than his own, at least where women were concerned.
He stood, too anxious to sit still for long. His mind raced from his responsibilities in the palace to the Bridal March and then slid to the woman in the market. He needed focus.
Maybe a ride would help. Galloping across the desert with the wind in his face. His Arabian stallion would appreciate it, too. They hadn't spent time together in far too long. His schedule hadn't permitted it. He'd been required to assist with the preparations for the Bridal March in addition to his regular responsibilities of caring for the finances of this palace, as well as several other properties. Then he'd been required to join the diplomatic conference calls, trying to ease relations between neighboring towns.
His father pushed him harder than he'd ever pushed Jonathan. Josiah rolled his eyes and ambled toward the stables. An acrid odor overwhelmed his nose the closer he came.
What he found made him grit his teeth in frustration. The comforting smell of horse and leather, which he'd expected, was overpowered by a stench so powerful, he almost left. His horse's stall, filled with soiled shavings, soured his stomach. He glanced through all the others and found them just as filthy. He yelled for the stable hand and then forced himself to take a deep breath, despite the smell.
A boy, no older than fourteen, ran into the stables. “Yes, sir?”
“When was the last time you mucked out these stalls?” Josiah's voice rose, and he fisted his hands as he struggled to control his temper.
“I⦠I haven't⦔
“No, you're right. You haven't. This is unacceptable.”
The boy paled and took a step back. Josiah swiveled toward the stalls. He inhaled, coughing at the odor, and then unclenched his hands. The boy did not deserve to be the recipient of his pent-up frustration.
“What's going on in here?” A familiar voice called out. Josiah winced. His father. Perfect. Another reason for him to be disappointed.
“Father, none of the stalls has received proper attention. I was just trying to rectify the situation.” Josiah clamped his jaw, waiting for the reprimand that was sure to come.
“It sounded to me like you were trying to get someone on the other side of the grounds to come do it, not the boy right in front of you.” His father faced the boy, “What's your name?”
“B-Bekir, sir.”
“Bekir, is it your responsibility to see to the stalls?”
The boy glanced from the king to Josiah and back. “N-no, sir.”
“Then whose job is it?” Josiah ground out.
“M-Mikal's, sir, but he's sick, sir. Th-that's why the stalls aren't mucked.”
Josiah forced open his clenched fists and relaxed his muscles. “Fine. I'll take care of Copper's myself. Please tell the barn manager to see that someone gets in here and takes care of the others.”
“Y-yes, sir.” The boy ran for the barn door without looking back.
“Josiah.” His father's voice held a touch of condemnation, as it often did when he spoke with Josiah, at least since Jonathan's death. Their relationship had been better before. Everything had been better then. Now, he couldn't seem to do anything right, no matter how hard he tried.
“Yes, sir?”
“Your shouting was uncalled for. Ask questions first. Don't jump to conclusions. It will go better for you when you become king.”
“Yes, sir.” Josiah had long ago given up disagreeing with his father. It never served a purpose, other than to start an argument. And, this time, his father was right â he'd been out of line.
After cleaning the stall, Josiah saddled Copper, mounted, and walked around to get warmed up. Their pace increased until he allowed the stallion his head, and they flew across the desert sand, enjoying the wind, the speed, and the freedom. He guided his mount toward his favorite vista within their properties â a peninsula jutting into the Aegean Sea. He kept his ride short because of the cool temperatures and the lateness of the day. The idea to ride should have come to him sooner. He could have stayed out longer.
As the sun set, Josiah returned to the stables, invigorated. He brushed his horse and allowed him to cool down then led him into his stall, gave him a scoop of feed, and topped off his water bucket.
He had forgotten the Bridal March for a little while, but thoughts of the upcoming months rushed back at him like a flashflood. He rested his head against Copper's withers as the horse gobbled his food.
“Well, Copper, next week I'll have a boatload of fillies on my hands. I'll have to choose one. I like girls, don't get me wrong, but to pick one for a wife in such a short time â well, it vexes me.
“Father is pushing hard on the royal lessons, too. Do this, do that, go here, talk to so-and-so. I never wanted to be king. Why did Jonathan have to drive like an idiot, forget to buckle his seatbelt, and flip his Porsche into a stand of trees? I wanted to⦠oh, I don't know what I wanted to do, but I didn't want to be king.”
He loved expressing his troubles to his horse. Copper never talked back or disagreed with anything. He even offered reassurance with an affectionate nuzzle. Josiah nodded, rubbed Copper on the neck, and went in search of the boy, Bekir. The stalls had been cleaned while he'd ridden. Even if they hadn't, he owed the boy an apology.
He rounded the barn to the groundskeeper's office and saw Bekir weeding outside the greenhouse. “Bekir.”
The boy rose and faced him, pale and frightened.
Josiah shook his head. He never wanted to have such an effect on people.
“Y-yes, sir?”
Josiah knelt down so he could be eye-level with the boy. “I came to apologize, Bekir. I was wrong to take my frustrations out on you. I should have asked questions first instead of assuming it was your fault. Will you forgive me?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Thank you. Now back to work before you get in trouble.” Josiah ruffled his hair and headed back to the palace. He felt lighter than he had in days.
He returned to his room and went to the One who could calm his anxieties and give him a peace far beyond his understanding.
One week.
Seven days, which would feel like an eternity.
What on earth?
Cahri shot out of the bed and was halfway across the room when she remembered Anaya. She groaned and plopped back into bed, pulling the covers over her face.
The first day of the end of her life.
She curled into a ball on her side, pulling the comforter down enough to get a breath of cooler air.
Dear God, how am I going to get through this?
A shudder rippled through her at the realization she had just prayed. Prayer hadn't been a part of her life in such a long time.
If only she could stay in bed and forget about the summons. Forcing herself to rise, she dressed in ratty jeans and a sky blue, long-sleeved t-shirt which had once belonged to her father â the clothes she always wore while cleaning.
Because of the late night and not sleeping well, fatigue weighed her down as she trudged into her living room. A stack of folded boxes leaned against the wall, and the sofa and TV had been moved to accommodate a cot-sized bed. Through the doorway to the kitchen, she noticed the counter and table were loaded with paper bags and more boxes.
“Anaya?”
“Yes, Chosen One?”
Cahri gritted her teeth and watched as Anaya entered the room through the open hallway door. Dressed in navy blue pants and a light blue tunic, Cahri didn't think Anaya appeared ready to clean.
“What's going on? Where did all this stuff come from and why all the boxes?” Cahri gestured to the mess crowding her apartment. “And please call me Cahri.”
“As you wish. I told you last night about the supplies being brought today, did I not? A bed for me to sleep in, boxes to pack your things, and food to feed two extra people. Waseem will return to the palace today.
“There's also a present from Prince Josiah with a letter telling you about himself and the Bridal March and how this will affect your life.”
Affect her life? This was going to change everything in her life. And not for the better.