A Guide to Charming Royals

Chapter Twelve: ARIAH

The shouts push against the balcony doors, breaking through the open windows, and slam into the occupants around the table. We rise from our seat, having expected it, having caused it by one anonymous phone call last night.

Now we pace toward the window, lingering a few steps back as we gaze toward the horde of reporters shouting into their microphones, demanding answers from the Al-Emir family about leeching off of the Ul-Medina dynasty for the past forty years and now wanting to steal their throne. We release a shaky breath, recalling the reporters that had bombarded us outside of the airport, swayed by the memory only for a mere moment, before we turn to Dadi Jaan, who stands beside us, and the rest of them behind her.

"We didn't speak to them at the airport," we tell her in Urdu, certain that Madyan and his family will not understand. So, in English, we add, "But this is enough. It's time we say something back to them. If we have your permission, Dadi Jaan, we'd like to speak with them."

Dadi Jaan closes her eyes, nods, and says, "Don't forget your mask." She turns to the office door, and calls, "And–guards!"

Our eyes widen, just a fraction as Deen slips into the room with another guard. Before we look away from him, we notice the expression on his face, the confusion and hurt that passes over him, at our secrecy, at our risible decisions.

We slip on our black and white anonymous mask, created in a way that only one of our eyes isn't covered. We take a step forward, then reconsider, turning to the Al-Emir family. "Would you be okay if we spoke with them?"

Uncle Haaris tilts his head, glancing out at the reporters then at us, before he nods. Auntie Omaiza and Madyan, on the other hand, say nothing, both of them watching us like assessing a predator, wondering whether to run or fight for their lives. We take their silence as approval, and look back at our target.

Warm wind like bristles, flicks our face and body, as we step out into the balcony, gripping the railing tightly as Deen and the other guard position themselves behind us.

Thank you for coming here, would give away what we'd done last night.

Stop bothering us, would have been detrimental to our status.

So, we settle for, "We know you all have questions, and concerns about the Drasqat throne, about our allies and enemies, about whether our family will abdicate the throne. We cannot tell you something that lies in the future, that is not so tangible and beyond our reach. But we assure you, everything you may hear is not always the truth. The Al-Emir family has been friends with the Ul-Medina family for years. Like any healthy relationship, our families have faced some difficult times. However, together, we will overcome the hurdles in our way. We will walk out stronger than we'd been going in. And now, as we move toward healing past wounds and building new ties, we ask that you give us and our family some privacy."

We pause, letting our words sink in, not only two stories down, but in the ears of the people behind us. They all must hear what we've said, what we've implied and the relationship we're proposing. Our families, strong as one.

"Thank you," we say and step back. Deen closes the door behind him, shutting out the voices of the reporters asking questions upon questions, the crowd stirring as if the meaning of our words has them energized, eager to learn more. And that's exactly what we wanted. Because as long as they focus on bridging the gaps between royals, no one will ask about Uncle Rami or his misadventures.

Now all we have to do is pray to Allah that no one learns we were the one who had anonymously called the reporters here today. They're not entire truths, but they're not entirely lies either. So, we'll settle on labeling them as rumors, lingering between two worlds so familiar for royals. We've all been taught a technique or two about spreading rumors, when trying to answer to the public without really giving them the complete truth.