Kissed by Chaos

Kissed by Chaos (23) - Dunya's Gift

Kissed by Chaos

 Chapter 23 – Dunya's Gift

Raafi could not stand that look. He had grown accustomed to the bursts of pain that accompanied receiving that look from his father. However, seeing that look in Claire’s emerald eyes was something he would never be able to handle.

When she had looked at him like that, the unmistakable dullness of disappointment lingered in her eyes. Only seconds ago they had been filled with fire. In that fire was a refusal to be used in anyone’s game. There was a hard determination and a passion that made him feel something strangely close to desire. Yet because of him and his cowardice, the fire had been doused far too abruptly.

Added to this tumultuous wave of twisted emotions was confusion. As Raafi lay in his chambers in the darkness with his arms crossed behind his head, Amira’s name danced into his thoughts with disarming grace and clarity. Damn it all! He had been so close to sure that Amira was the woman he was destined to spend his life with. He had truly believed that perhaps, with time, his heart would lay with Amira. And then he had found Claire rocking back and forth with wide eyes, whimpering and shivering uncontrollably. Raafi had felt an almost irrepressible urge to wrap his arms around her, to comfort her and tell her that he would be there regardless of any otherworldly forces. The burning courage and determination in her eyes as they had spoken in that hallway had only added to his desire for her, to simply be with her. Her whispered assurances that he was anything but a coward had tipped him over the edge into something close to insanity.

He rubbed a hand over his face and was surprised when a groan of frustration managed to escape him. Why now? Why did Amira and Claire both have to interrupt his otherwise monotonous and already frustrating life at the same time? Why was it him of all the princes in the world that was chosen by Dunya for her disastrous plan?

He pleaded for sleep to take him away. Why couldn’t it show him the slightest bit of sympathy? Didn’t sleep understand that lying alone in the darkness with only his thoughts to accompany him was far more than he could bear?

Somewhere in between trying to decide the exact green of Claire’s eyes and conjuring the image of the curve of Amira's lips, Raafi looked through the window to see that the black of the night had begun to fade. Eventually, the birds outside began singing their ritualistic morning choir piece and the Imaam’s deep, musical call to prayer resonated through the palace. Sleep still had not kissed Raafi’s eyes.

***

Raafi was relieved to find that by the time he had completed the morning prayer, he had formed a plan for the day. As he chewed through his breakfast of delicate breads and exotic fruits, he realised that perhaps things would not go to plan – maybe he would not get the answers he wanted. By the time his plate was empty and the servants had taken it away, Raafi had decided that he could not be completely useless to Claire.

He ambled through the twisting yet familiar corridor and hallways until he stood before Queen Zainab’s quarters. It was only then that he realised exactly how long it had been since he had seen his mother. He knocked on the door and as he waited for her to answer, he wondered why she had not been there yesterday when Raafi had been formally introduced to Amira's family.

The door creaked open and a maid peeked out. The young woman’s eyes widened when she realised who the visitor was. She looked behind her and announced in a breathy voice, “Your Majesty, Prince Raafi is here to see you.” Before even a second had passed, Queen Zainab’s voice exclaimed, “My son? He’s here to see me? Well quickly, Rahima, let him in!”

The maid held the door open for him and shyly averted her eyes as he stepped through. His eyes instantly fell upon the woman standing near the window. She was grinning at him, her eyes crinkling with her joy. It took him a moment to reassure himself that he had come to the right room, that this was the right woman. Because the worn and weary woman in front of him was far too… old to be his mother. The Queen Zainab he remembered had long black hair that fell to her hips. It had been so straight and smooth – Raafi remembered running his fingers through the long strands as a child, marveling at the perfection of his mother’s hair. Now, it was streaked with gray and far thinner than it had been.