The Queen's War

Chapter Two: The Seeds of...?

Prince Masud was alerted as soon as Adiah returned to the encampment. He rushed out of his tent and watched with hungry eyes as she alighted from the litter atop her camel and strode into her own quarters. He was no fan of the arid landscape, nor of the slobbering beasts that the Swarahel people love so much. Still, he couldn't help but be struck by the wild beauty of Adiah as she moved through the camp. Even the curve of her eyebrows was regal.

He thought to call out to her when he locked eyes with Jabari. The Captain the Princess's guard was a perpetual thorn in his side, but he couldn't get rid of him. He needed him to keep her safe in the coming days. Begrudgingly, he had to admit that there was no man who was more qualified for the job...not even himself. Jabari gave a terse nod of acknowledgment, his hand looming near his blade, before following the Princess.

The royal encampment was nowhere near as luxurious as the palaces in the Kamal Sultanate, but they would have to do. This was no hunting trip. In a day's time, the courtiers of the Kamal Sultanate would arrive to welcome him and crown him as the only surviving son of the Sultan. His engagement to Adiah would be held the same night, making it a double boon and securing his seat as the next in line.

He could hardly believe his luck. But then again, it hasn't been luck, had it. Years of careful planning and patience had brought him to this day. The youngest son of the Sultan, he never stood a chance against his brothers. Perhaps it was then a blessing that his mother had been cast out of the palace and exiled. Even in exile, the mother and son had been afforded some consideration as royal family members. They'd been provided a modest income, which his mother had turned into a thriving business. She'd paid to have him educated as well as any young man of means, and taught him the art of seduction. And she'd foolishly continued loving the man who cast her out of the palace in disgrace, right until the day she died. 

In the years that followed the sons of the Sultan's other wives had all but destroyed each other. The Sultan himself was reluctant to name an heir and so the infighting raged on until there was scarcely any offspring to choose from. Only Amr, the seventh of fourteen sons, had survived the dark machinations of the royal household.

He was the one who was supposed to inherit the throne and marry the princess. He was the hope of the Kamal Sultanate. But Masud, the forgotten son, had put an end to that. And now he stood alone, poised to claim his prize. Yet, he felt no joy. He'd made a crushing miscalculation. He'd allowed himself to fall in love with the woman who held the key to his future, and she hated him for it.

Masud wiped an errant tear from his eye. It was a shame his mother hadn't lived long enough to see this day and witness his triumphant return to his rightful place. He'd lost so much on the journey to this day, including the love of the only woman worthy to be his bride. But he was sure he could snatch it back. All he needed was patience and careful planning. 

A small man walked confidently over to Masud. His clothes and face had once been fine but years of harsh desert life had left their mark. Still, his straight back and keen sight made him remarkable. He'd been traveling with the royal encampment for days, yet nobody, save Masud, knew his name. He was an expert at remaining remarkably unnoticeable. 

"Where did she go, Jamal?" Masud questioned his spy.

"To a healer, sire."

"Is she sick?"

The veiled man shook his head nervously. He was a man of the desert, despite his slender frame he was fearless. It was rare for him to hesitate or mince words, even when he might offend his betters.

"Tell me."

"Not that kind if healer, sire. This kind of person uses magic to manipulate the mind. They demand strange bribes for the spirits they employ. I do not know what she asked of the healer or what she demanded in return."

Masud considered the situation carefully.

"She manipulates the mind only?"

"Yes, my liege."

Masud sighed deeply. Perhaps this was for the best. His instinct was to rush over and demand answers, but he knew too well that it would be fruitless. Adiah was still the Princess and one word from her could bring dozens of guards to her aid. Technically, he was still a guest of the Amir and had no real authority. And even though their marriage was unavoidable, she wasn't his wife yet. As long as she was unharmed, he would wait patiently until he discovered what she'd done.

"Keep me posted if there is any change," he said.

The spy turned on his heel and walked away.

Masud returned to his tent. He couldn't wait for this to be over so he could return to the relative comfort of the Swarahel capital. The smell of camel dung and the tiny grains of sand that seemed to invade every nook and cranny were too much for him to bear. He busied himself studying in preparation for his return to Kamal. He'd spent so much time away from the seat of power that there was still much for him to learn before he could assume his role. Though his brothers were all dead, there would still be many people who would want to see him fall or turn him into a puppet for their own advancement. He couldn't afford to be ignorant. 

Masud handed two books to his attendant. 

"Send these to the Princess. They are manuals on proper etiquette and tradition in the Kamal Sultanate. Tell her that I hope she finds them useful," he said. 

Whether she liked it or not, Adiah would also have to learn the rules. Neither of them could afford to offend the wrong people or make too many mistakes. He worried that she would find life difficult in the palace. Unlike Swaraheli women, the women of the Sultanate were not carefree beings. There was no Council of Women, no female inspectors or officers of the court; in order to survive in Kamal, she would have to learn to please others and depend on him. Two things he was sure she would struggle to do. 

But he'd given her little choice. They both were trapped in his web now. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't back out. And he couldn't afford to lose. Losing meant death for them both. He was sure she understood that much. Still, her cold indifference toward him both wounded and worried him. He still longed for her smiles, though he no longer had any right to them. And he worried that, as the days passed, she would become his greatest adversary. He had to find a way to placate her anger, or else he would soon find himself fighting a battle on all fronts.

"The delegation arrives!"

The cry went up in the camp, echoed from each corner. Drums were beaten and horns blew. Masud donned his large, ceremonial cloak and went out from the tent to meet the courtiers who came to crown him. He watched as the large caravan of officials, servants, and supplies darkened the horizon. a single rider broke away from the group and raced to the encampment. 

"I am Hilmi Bey, captain of the guard," he announced. Tariq, captain of the King's guard rode out to meet him. The two men exchanged words and then Hilmi rode back. Several minutes later and a single line of riders broke from the caravan and rode to the encampment. 

"These are the state ministers, my liege," said an attendant. "They have come to greet you."

Masud smiled inwardly. Tonight there would be feasting. Tomorrow he would be crowned, and by evening Adiah would be his once again. Nothing could go wrong. It was a hollow victory in many ways, but it was a victory nonetheless. And he planned to continue winning.