Fickle

Chapter 50

The soft hum of the fireplace filled the room in the Minnesota townhouse. Abdullah sat by the window, his hands clasped as his mind wandered to the children playing upstairs and Kulthum's deliberate distance. He had hoped his time here would mend their fractured family. But the unease gnawing at him was not just personal—it was political.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. It was his personal guard, General Mustapha, who had arrived discreetly from Daura.

“Your Royal Highness,” Mustapha said, bowing deeply.

Abdullah waved him in, his voice low but commanding. “Speak. What news do you bring?”

Mustapha's face was grave. “The situation in Daura is deteriorating, Your Highness. Hanifah’s exile hasn’t deterred her. Her allies are growing bolder, and rumors of discontent among some council members are spreading like wildfire. Our intelligence suggests that Hanifah is funneling her influence through secret channels, destabilizing the kingdom's peace.”

Abdullah exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. “She dares to act even in exile?”

“She is not acting alone,” Mustapha continued. “Several members of the royal council are sympathetic to her cause, and they are sowing seeds of division. Othman is holding the line, but his position grows precarious.”

Abdullah’s fists clenched. His brother’s loyalty was unwavering, but Othman could not bear the weight of a kingdom under siege alone.

“And the people?” Abdullah asked.

“There is unrest,” Mustapha admitted. “Hanifah’s whispers of a weakened monarchy are spreading. Your prolonged absence has not gone unnoticed.”

Abdullah rose to his feet, his silhouette illuminated by the dim light of the room. “My absence was to repair what I had broken here,” he said, his voice laced with frustration. “But it seems my duty to my family and my kingdom are on a collision course.”

Mustapha watched him carefully. “Your Highness, it is time to decide. Daura needs its leader now more than ever. If we delay, the consequences will be dire.”

Abdullah turned to the window, gazing out at the falling snow. His heart felt torn in two. He had come to Minnesota to win back his wife, to earn the trust of his children, but Daura was slipping through his fingers.

After a long moment, he spoke, his voice firm. “Prepare for my return. I will address the council myself and put an end to this chaos.”

Mustapha nodded, his face a mixture of relief and determination. “And what of your family here?”

Abdullah hesitated, the weight of the question pressing on him. “They are my strength,” he said quietly. “But if I do not act now, there will be no kingdom left to return to. I will speak to Kulthum before I leave. She must understand.”

As Mustapha left, Abdullah sat back down, his head in his hands. The path ahead was fraught with peril, but he had no choice. The Crown Prince of Daura could not afford to falter—not now, not ever.

The kitchen was quiet except for the faint sound of Jenna and Hudayfah’s laughter drifting from upstairs. Kulthum stood by the counter, absently stirring a cup of tea, her thoughts miles away. She had noticed Abdullah’s increased quietness over the past few days and had braced herself for a conversation she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

“Can we talk?” His deep voice broke the silence, soft but resolute.

She turned to find him standing in the doorway, his hands clasped in front of him. His expression was somber, a stark contrast to the warmth he usually wore when he spoke to the twins.