A Guide to Charming Royals

Chapter Twenty-One: LEILA

Darkness cloaks my eyes.

It erases the sight of the tight ropes around my wrists and ankles, tethering me to a chair. I tug at the bonds, and the chair jerks forward. I lean my weight in its direction, expecting to fall with the chair. My head throbs anyway, so might as well have my entire body ache too if it will set me free. However, just as I think I'll hit the ground, something pulls me back.

"Careful." It's a familiar voice, one that would have made me swoon only moments ago–or maybe it's been hours since I've been stuck here–either way, now his voice lights something within me, and I'm tempted to spit on his pretty face.

A musty smell slithers toward me, as if I'm stuck in a place harbouring mold. 

"Is this a kink of yours?" I ask, the teapot he'd struck me with, flashing before my eyes. "Because I'm not really enjoying myself."

A chuckle resonates from behind me. It's not Salar, rather a deep rumble so unlike his soft laughter. Footsteps approach, and I fight against the bonds. If this really is Salar's kink, I am seriously concerned. What happened to asking for my consent?

Oh Allah, please help me.

"Lu, please take the blindfold off our guest's face. This is disrespectful."

"Lu?"

Salar–Lu–obliges, tugging a bit harshly at the cloth until it comes free. I blink under the harsh light, squinting as my eyes adjust. Packed boxes litter the tiled floors, pushed up against the poured concrete walls. Water stains the cracks along the floor and walls. 

"Is there an issue with the nickname?"

I don't get a chance to respond when the stranger appears in front of me, taking a seat on the couch across from where I'm tied. His hair is a solid grey, not the type that would be considered a sign of aging, rather more so done to make one appear stunning. And he is quite handsome, old with wrinkles on his forehead, but good-looking with his broad shoulders and curls. His brown eyes trail over me, as if he is assessing my worth. Finally, he stops, meeting my eyes, as he says, "Lu's mentioned a lot about you."

"Hope he's mentioned I bite."

Salar shifts behind me.

A crooked smile. "I love a biter."

What?

"Baba," Salar says, shifting the man's eyes toward him. "We attacked the princess's house like you said to. Two of our people are dead."

Princess? Are they talking about Ariah? No, how would Salar know she's a royal?

The man turns back to me, his smile widening. "So, rude of me to not introduce myself. My name is Sohail Miah, and I'm Salar's father."

The name sounds vaguely familiar, and the longer I turn it over in my head, I recall that I'd searched it up and linked it to a Rami Ul-Medina. Someone possibly related to Ariah.

"Is there a reason you have me tied up to meet you?"

Sohail's eyes cut toward his son. "You forgot to mention she talks too much."

"I will continue talking if you don't let me go."

He laughs, throwing his head back as if there is nothing more funny than my comment. "Please, do. I can listen to you all night. But would your family miss you if you're gone for so long?"

I sigh, overcome by the urge to massage my forehead and ease my headache. "Listen, Salar already hurt my head. So, I might have lost ten or more brain cells, and your words are just making me lose some more. Possibly inching toward a hundred brain cells."