A Guide to Charming Royals

Chapter Twenty-Six: ARIAH

We climb down the stairs, eyes halfway closed as we enter the dining room, mustering enough energy as we greet our guards, Uncle Jaleel and Auntie Bahija, who for once doesn't insist on sitting on the floor since she is our cleaner, rather stands at a chair, waiting for us to sit. We take our position at the head of the table, near the window, looking to our right, at the empty chair Deen would've taken if he was joining us on the first day of Ramadan. But he isn't here, nor are any of our other family members.

"As-salamu alaykum, Princess."

"Wa-Alaikum Salaam." We glance at the chair at the other end of the table, before settling into our seat. Usually, no one takes that seat, but today one of the guards must have–

We pause, glancing back at the person still standing. Silver light flickers through his curls, like twinkling scars on an inky sky. "Are we dreaming or are you really in front of us?"

"Depends," he says, sitting. "Were you missing us?"

We stare at him, recalling our last conversation, our abrupt parting, the days we spent thinking if we'd receive news that he'd canceled our wedding before we'd even made a public announcement. And now here he is in front of us, pushing into our life when he'd turned away himself.

The truth is, we haven't missed him because he hasn't done anything worthy to be missed by us. Instead we're angry at his behaviour, tired of spending nights thinking how he's still the same boy we once knew, and yet different, somehow. But we're trying to adjust, to welcome him into our life, and he keeps turning us away. Admitting that we're irritated would mean we care, we cannot appear to care when he doesn't.

Yet, here he is for some odd reason, sitting at our dining table, looking so pleasant, that we find ourself questioning if we're dreaming.

So we smile, place a hand over our heart. "We can't miss someone who resides here." We turn away from him and to the few guards and our chef and cleaner who can fit around the table. The food is already placed on the table, steaming pots eager to be dug into. There is a variety of dishes, ranging from chicken kabab to mutton pulao and halwa. "Please, have a seat so we can eat Suhoor. Uncle Jaleel, the food as always looks amazing."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

We grab one of the skewers, chewing a bite of the grilled chicken."So what brings you here, Madyan?"

His gaze lifts toward us from his plate of rice, which he hadn't been eating. "We came to invite you to Emir for Eid."

"We assume our family knows this?"

"Of course," he answers, casting a glance at our guards. "They're invited."

"We have four aunts and one uncle, along with our parents and grandma and many cousins. So, who exactly is invited?"

"Dadi Jaan, your parents, you and Uncle Rami."

"Uncle Rami?"

Madyan offers a one-sided shrug. "They agree it'll be good publicity for Uncle Rami to be seen in Emir."

"So, first day of Eid is spent in Emir, and then?"

"No, we'll spend two days in Emir. First day with a parade around the Maro Hall, and on the second day, Ma says we'll spend it together. Away from the public." Our heart patters against our chest, beating so fast, we feel it ache. Auntie Omaiza wants us all to spend a day together after so many years, and we're unsure if it's because she also aches to interact with us. "And on the third day of Eid, the plan is to announce our wedding in Medina."

Our wedding. He throws the word across the table casually, returning to his plate, as though the thought no longer bothers him. And though we don't understand why he's here, or what he's doing, we don't give him the satisfaction of appearing disheveled.