A Guide to Charming Royals

Chapter Ten: ARIAH

Abba Shah sits next to the fireplace, a cup in one hand and a book in the other. He peeks glances at Malka Maa, who watches a car racing match, and is taking consistent notes, probably identifying strengths and weaknesses of the competitors to prepare her team of youths for their upcoming game. When she finds him looking at her, she smiles, the small lift of her chin, the tilt of her lips at one end that holds all the happiness of our life. Abba Shah must feel the same way, because he returns her small smile with a huge grin, eyes crinkling, and lips parting. They are a perfect portrait we can capture on a canvas.

"Will you just stand at the door and watch us, Ariah?" Malka Maa says, without glancing at us.

At this point, her ability to detect our presence doesn't startle us. We step into the room, bowing. "As-salamu alaykum."

They respond with their greetings and gesture for us to sit. We slip into the empty spot on the coach next to Abba Shah. "We saw the team race last season, Maa, they did amazing!"

"They've been training hard," she responds. "We're very proud of them."

"And we're so proud of you for taking out time and training them with so much dedication. You're an amazing coach. And you come free of any charges!"

Abba Shah places his book and mug on the coffee table, then wraps an arm around Malka Maa, and slings the other around us. "Not only is your mother an amazing coach, she's also an amazing racer herself. She's been racing since she was ten."

Maa chuckles, brushing it off as if it's no big deal. Modest, unlike us.

"Our mother is a champion. And you, Abba Shah? Thinking of partaking in any horseback riding competitions?"

He shrugs. "Horseback riding isn't a true passion of ours. Anyone can learn to ride a horse. We learned it, Uncle Rami did, your mother did, you did... point is, we only horseback ride when you're around to show off our skills."

"We can't argue with that," we say. "You're good at everything you do." We see our opening, a chance to slip in the questions we came here to ask. "And Uncle Rami? You both are very talented. Which reminds us, where is Uncle Rami, do you know?"

Abba Shah shifts in his seat, dropping his arm to his side. We feel the loss, the realization that we might have said something wrong, but it's too late to take back our words.

"He's taking one of his breaks," he answers. There is a fragment of despair in his tone and features, that washes away with a simple touch from Malka Maa. She squeezes his hand, and he holds her hand in his own, merely nodding.

"Did Uncle Rami know someone named Omi?"

Abba Shah and Malka Maa exchange a look.

"Why do you ask?" she responds.

"From the airport, a reporter mentioned someone named Omi." It's a lie, but better than throwing anyone from the palace under the bus. We'd hate to get someone fired.

"An old friend," Abba Shah replies, waving a hand dismissively. "Why this sudden interest in your Uncle Rami?"

We shake our head, smiling. "No reason. If we have both your permissions, we'll get going now. We were going to paint with Sofia."

Abba Shah follows us out of the room. Once we are far from the room, he says, "We know you went to see Rami."

"How do you know?"

He smiles, patting our head. "One of your guards reported back to Raani Ma, mentioning that Rami was no longer at the hotel. They weren't complaining about you. This was about Rami's safety. Raani Ma wanted to talk to you, but we told her we'd speak with you instead and ask what's going on. Is this about the reporters bombarding you with questions upon your arrival?"