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“The law says you have to marry. Whether you want to or not.”
Fatim pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache was coming. And it might take up permanent residence. He hated hearing the words.
“I would start finding someone who offers the path of least resistance,” Amad said. “And I’ll start planning my return trip home for the wedding.”
Fatim’s stomach clenched. The wedding. It would have to happen, if he wanted to remain the ruler of his tribal nation. He rubbed at his eyes.
“You’re right. It’s time to accept it.” Fatim sniffed, trying to permanently modify his attitude about the upcoming nuptials. “Time to find a wife. The law doesn’t say I have to like it.” Nor would he enjoy it. Much less love it. Or her.
“There’s the Fatim I know,” Amad goaded, giving him a big thumbs up. “Take it like a champ. It won’t be all bad, I promise.”
The brothers said their goodbyes, and Fatim ended the call. Alone once more with his thoughts, he paced his office while he thought. The path of least resistance. There were a hundred options at his fingertips, and even more willing participants should he send out the call for a new wife.
But he didn’t want just anyone. No, there were too many families out there who would be enamored by the political connection. And he hadn’t made it this far only to become indebted to someone else’s priorities and preferences.
More than anything, he wanted freedom for his tribe. For them to be able to flourish and grow in an unrestricted manner, as they had since his father’s passing. So what did that mean for his future wife?
Normal. He needed someone normal, who didn’t have any outstanding political aspirations, and furthermore who would be a good fit for his children. No use marrying someone who would turn out to be a horrible stepmother. He wouldn’t put his children through that.
So who then? Fatim tried to ignore the crushing wave of anxiety, made all the worse by the
timeline. He had less than two weeks not only to select someone, but to present the idea, hope they accepted, potentially find a second match, and propose the same idea, not to mention plan the damn wedding, and so on.
Time was running out. He needed to pick someone today.
A soft knock at his door broke through his thoughts. He sighed, not bothering to turn from his post at the window. “Come in.”
The door creaked open, but the ensuing silence made him look over his shoulder. Calla poked her pretty head in. The sight of her softened some of his unease. He straightened, clearing his throat. “Can I help you?”
“Hi, Your Highness, I just had a few questions for you.”
Fatim tried to hide the evidence of his high-anxiety morning: the rumpled shirt, his hair that he’d tugged out of place. “Come in. Take a seat.” He gestured toward a guest chair as he sat behind his desk. His gaze washed over her; she wore a flowing dress that seemed somehow both modern and traditional, like she’d combined all the best parts of Amatbahn beadwork with the lines and stitches of today.
“I really like your dress,” Fatim commented. “Where did you get that?”
“I made it,” Calla said, beaming. “This is one of the pieces I’d like to show at Fashion Week.”
Fatim looked over the dress more closely. “Wow. You’re truly talented.”
“Thank you. I’ve been sewing my whole life. It’s my one true passion.”
Fatim let her words settle into him. Here was someone who would have no political aspirations. Hell, she’d look more than fine on his arm at official functions. Plus, this would give him a perfect excuse to be around her more. Guilt free. Without feeling like he was creeping on a palace employee. He blinked rapidly as the thought took root and propagated. Calla was already nanny—why not make her his wife, as well?
“How have things been going the last two days?” Fatim rearranged the few items on his desk: the pen cup, a stack of folders, the mouse to his computer. “All good?”
“Oh yes, your children are lovely. They’ve warmed up to me even more. Probably helped that our first outing was to the swing set,” she joked, a big smile making her cheeks round. His gaze lingered on her a few seconds too long. She was so easy to look at. Too easy.
“Great. I’m happy to hear that.” A flashing memory of her ass from the other day in those pedal pushers scorched through his mind. “I thought we might talk about a new opportunity that has come up.” His heart raced as he steeled himself to make this rash decision. To just say it. Offer it up right now before he lost his nerve.
“Oh? Another one?” Calla laughed. “This palace is full of them.”
“Indeed it is.” Fatim paused, no words finding their way to his lips. This was going to be the most ridiculous thing he’d ever said out loud. “This opportunity is…a bit different. I hope you’ll hear me out.”
Calla lifted a perfectly shaped brow. Her hair was the color of hot cocoa. Every part of her looked delicious. These were things he shouldn’t be noticing right now. He cleared his throat, jerking his gaze back down to the surface of his desk.
“It turns out that my upcoming thirtieth birthday is presenting a bit of a challenge. According to a very ancient and outdated law, I must be married on my thirtieth birthday or I will lose my right to rule.” Calla’s eyes slowly grew wider the more than he spoke. “We only recently found out about this law, and my birthday is in ten days. So…”
He jerked his gaze up to look at her, finding something between shock and confusion creasing her pretty face. This was absurd. He just had to say it. Get it out in the open.
