On the rare occasion when his temper strained and attempted to get the better of him, like today, people took notice. And fled his presence at the earliest possible moment.
Zufar gathered himself until his spine was a steel column, and fixed his eyes on Marwan. ‘You will take me to this maidservant now. I wish to hear what she has to say for myself.’
The senior aide immediately bowed low. ‘Of course, Your Highness.’
The palace guards stationed on either side of the door sprang forwards to open the double doors for him.
The moment Zufar stepped into the hallway, he knew something was very, very wrong. The excited buzz that had charged the air during the final preparations for the royal wedding had altered.
Several staff members of the royal palace wore anxious expressions as they rushed back and forth. And while it was respectful to drop one’s gaze before the King, he noticed that every single one of the staff was actively avoiding his.
The palpable tension raised the hairs on his nape. Beside him, Marwan also avoided his gaze. In fact, the man was doing everything in his power to extend his short strides in the rush to put self-preserving space between himself and Zufar.
It would’ve been amusing had Zufar not felt in his very marrow that his impending nuptials were in jeopardy.
Whispers around him grew as he entered the main part of the palace. As with most royal palaces, the women’s quarters were separated from the men’s by several wings. His own private rooms were to the west of the sprawling palace that sat on top of Mount Jerra.
Quick strides took him across to the east wing. He ignored the bows and scrapes of his palace staff and extended family members as he walked, grim-faced, towards the guest suite that Amira, his fiancée, had occupied since her arrival at the palace three weeks ago.
She was a daughter of his father’s oldest friend, and Zufar had been aware of Amira’s existence since he was a boy. But she was several years his junior and had clearly found him intimidating to the point of speechlessness at the best of times. He hadn’t taken much interest in her until his father had informed him of the agreement he’d made with Feroz Ghalib, Amira’s father, for them to marry.
Even then, the wedding had been a distant future event, arranged by others and needing only a handful of meetings for the sake of appearances. Still, he’d taken his duty seriously and ensured during their meetings that she was at ease and not being forced into a union she didn’t want. Her assurances had satisfied him enough to accept that she would be his wife when the time was right.
The medical report that had confirmed that she was healthy enough to bear his children had sealed the deal.
Beyond that, he hadn’t given her much thought, although she’d been peculiarly distracted during their twice weekly dinners recently.
But Amira was close with his sister and Zufar was confident that Galila would have informed him if there’d been a problem with the upcoming nuptials.
Nevertheless, had he dropped the ball somewhere?
He frowned.
The burden of governing his kingdom was his first and only priority. It had needed to be, considering the chaos it had been left in by his father’s sudden abdication.
Tight anger knotted inside him as he strode faster towards the suite of luxury rooms that were reserved for the Queen and other female members of the royal family.
He wouldn’t think of his father today, or the fact that the ex-King had banished himself to the summer palace since his wife’s death and hadn’t spoken to his children in months. Zufar wouldn’t think of the sleepless nights and backbreaking work it had taken for him to keep the kingdom that had already been woefully neglected by his father from falling apart.
Today, this hour, demanded his complete attention. His people yearned for a royal wedding. That was exactly what he was going to give them.
The footmen stationed outside the Sapphire Suite spotted him and immediately threw open the doors.
Zufar entered, then drew to a stop at the sight of the visibly distressed women in the living room. Two were babbling hysterically, and an older female servant was busy comforting another.
‘Which one is she?’ he demanded tersely. Eyes swivelled to him, followed predictably by shocked gasps and hurried comportment before the bows and scrapes and averted gazes commenced.
Marwan hushed them, and then uttered a sharp query to the junior aide behind him. The younger man shook his head, throwing a furtive glance at Zufar. Marwan approached the older attendant and questioned her. Clearly nervous, she pointed to the inner chamber.
Zufar strode towards smaller double doors, his temper frothing furiously in his chest. This time he pulled the doors open himself, bitter memories tossing themselves onto the pyre he was trying to contain as he walked into the huge, lavish chamber that had once been his mother’s domain.
His gaze didn’t linger on the priceless keepsakes, furniture or decoration. He didn’t know which items in this room his mother had treasured and which gifts from his father and her secret admirers had been less favoured. He didn’t know her favourite book or the preferred flower arrangement for her private sitting room because he had never been allowed in here.
On the rare occasions his mother had tolerated him, they had been in public where her pretended adoration could be captured for the world to see and praise and to provide moments of smugness as she perused the gossip rags. Beyond that, she’d never had a kind word for him or his siblings.
But he wasn’t here to dwell on the subject of his mother.
He trained his focus on the figure hunched over near the headboard of the vast bed. She was so slight he almost missed her.