A Guide to Charming Royals

Chapter Twenty-Seven: LEILA

I wake to consistent tapping at my window.

Or I should correct myself. I ignore the consistent tapping at my window, pressing my hands to my ears as I sleep. But it grows louder, demanding to be let in. I am so close to hurting someone.

My body slips out of the bed, hugging the blanket to me as I trudge toward the window. It's too cold for this, and even colder when I pull the window open and a breeze hits me. But it is only the wind that greets me, no human in sight. If this is Ariah's way of greeting me, I will kill her.

"This is not the time to play, ghost," I grumble. "I was just starting to fall asleep."

"Haven't you heard?" A head pops up from below the window sill. I gasp and stumble back, pressing a hand to my chest. His hair is tied back in a bun, eyes wide like a child being greeted with a present as a grin slips onto his lips. "There's no sleep for the wicked."

Stupid Salar. There's a nice ring to it.

"What are you doing here?"

He places his elbows on the sill, tilting his head in the slightest as though posing for his school picture. "I thought you might've missed me."

"Well, love to break it to you, but I didn't."

"You sure about that?" he says with a wink.

My answer comes in the form of a push, and I take great pleasure in seeing the panic register on his face as he grips the ladder, trying to steady himself.

"Goodness, woman! You're violent." He shakes his head like someone who has faced extreme trauma. "I've got coupons for this new ice cream shop that opened. Want to come?"

"No."

"Come on."

"No."

"I'll shout loud enough to wake up the entire house."

"Good, then they'll come and beat you up."

"Come on," he says again. "I want to hang out with you. Like old times. As friends."

I haven't considered him a friend in a long time now, but there are many things I still want to ask him, and answers I still seek. So, reluctantly, I agree, knowing that I'm letting him believe we're friends.

Good, it'll be easier to throw him off track.

#

True to his words, Salar takes us to an ice cream truck in some shady area and pulls out two coupons. Only it turns out, the coupons were for a dollar discount, not free cones. Still, he doesn't hesitate to pay, and buys us both a chocolate cone each.

He leads me toward a playground across the truck, sitting down on a bench as his eyes turn to the birds chirping over our heads. When I was younger, someone once told me that when birds chirp early in the morning, they are reciting the Quran. From the way Salar is watching them, I wonder if he knows this, or if he thinks the birds are sharing some secret message with him.

He takes a bite of his ice cream, not even bothering to lick the chocolate coating. "I've got news that the princess and her family have been invited to Emir. And considering you're the princess's best friend, you're going to receive an invitation soon enough."

"Who told you?"

"I have my sources."

Salar smiles. "Do you know what I've been thinking about? Once you let me into the palace, you'll have betrayed the crown. So, two criminals got to stick together, right?"

"Shut up."

He leans forward, chuckling. There is something quite wrong with him, like so seriously wrong and I can't seem to quite pinpoint what it is. But as I watch him, my eyes drift to his back, where his shirt ruffles because of the wind. I squint, wondering if my vision is betraying me. A tattoo buds from below his shirt. I inch closer, trying to peek down his back to make out what it is. A snake coils around a broken stem, running down his spine. Salar turns, his eyes meeting mine.

"What?" he says, as if having felt eyes on his back–or his tattoo.

I can't decide if I hate it or love it.

"How'd you find me?" I ask. "If you wanted to find Ariah, why come to me?"

"I paid your co-worker to quit," he admits. "So, I could take her job. When I found out you were friends with the princess, my plan was to watch you from a distance to learn about the type of people the princess hung around. But you invited me into your life by smelling that stupid sweatshirt. I was happy to wait until I could find a way into the palace myself."

"Were you really sick that day when we hung out with Ariah?"

He scoffs. "No. Baba said I wasn't allowed to show my face in case her guards were keeping track of us."

"And everything you've said? Has it been a lie?"

He crosses his ankles. "Like?"

"Like your mom."

Brows furrow for a brief moment, before he leans back, hands resting on the edge of the bench. "No, she's really dead. Because of Rami."

I remain in my seat, though the better, bigger part of me warns me to run. "How?"

He sighs, turning toward the sun. Any sane human would shy from the brightness. He faces it, like the monster he is. "Rami and my father used to be friends in their teenage years. Baba doesn't talk about this in detail, but I know that they both had these dreams to start a revolution. Just two kids who dream of changing the world. They both hated the royal system and wanted to change it. Baba and Rami had an idea to burn down a building Rami's brother planned to buy for business purposes. It wasn't only the two of them working together. There were three other people. Their plan was executed wrong though, because Rami was scared at the last minute, backed out, but it was too late. The fire had been set, and my mom was there. She was inside, but Baba says she survived. Or she would've. But Rami's family came to help him, they took him and left Baba and my mom and the rest to die. One of the others survived, and lived, but Baba, he was arrested. Only him, because Rami's family saw him as the threat. And they let him rot in prison."

"So, you're going to kill Rami to avenge your father and mother?"

"There's no right side in war. There are different sides, all of them battling for what they want."

"What about the people who don't want to fight? Those who are caught in the middle?"

Silence wraps around the two of us. Not the type of silence mute of sound. Rather, the birds caw in the distance, the wind bristles against our bodies, and vehicles zoom past us.

At last, he smiles, shadowed by secrets that don't make it to his lips, lies he continues to tell. "You either pick a side and fight, Leila, or you die."

"No," I answer. "There must be another option."

His grin widens, blooming like a flower at the first call of spring. "Well, when you find it, please do share."