The Sheikh's Stolen Bride-To-Be

“Hello, Mother. Hello, Father,” he said, bowing to the picture of his parents.

He had often been told that he was the spitting image of his father, and he hoped that was true. The former sheikh had been a kind-hearted man who, with his wife, had spent his life fighting for the betterment of mankind. Mehdi had been only thirteen when his mother died unexpectedly—a cancer that took her quickly and painfully. His father had been devastated by the loss, and while he had continued his work, he only lived a few years more before Mehdi found him cold in his bed.

Mehdi had been only seventeen when he’d taken the throne. While the position didn’t hold the kind of responsibilities that the actual ruling of a country did, he’d been thrust into adulthood far sooner than many others his age, and he had dealt with the consequences of that by taking his parents’ stance on bettering the world for as many people as possible. He often found himself falling short of his father’s example, and with no one to assure him otherwise, Mehdi was harder on himself than perhaps he ought to have been.

He spent some time reflecting on the previous day’s adventures as well as preparing for a day at parliament. It wasn’t always an easy trip to make, and he would certainly be faced with challenging confrontations. Taking a breath, he realized it was time to face his duties. He bade a fond farewell to his parents’ image before heading back to the main entrance.

A limo was waiting for him there, and he slid into the backseat, the car pulling away from the palace as soon as he closed the door. His briefcase had been left on the seat for him, and Mehdi went over some of the bills that were making their way through as he was driven toward the gleaming capital building.

Men and women in suits stood on the vast stairway that led to the parliament chambers. As Mehdi’s limo approached, many faces turned in his direction, waiting for him to exit.

“Your Highness, it’s good to see you! I wasn’t aware you planned on attending our session today!”

One of the senators who was particularly keen to get into Mehdi’s good graces was reaching his hand out for Mehdi to shake, which he did, albeit reluctantly. The man’s brow was glistening with sweat, though he made no move to wipe the offending drops away.

“There are a few pieces of legislation I would like to see passed today, Senator,” Mehdi said, and the man’s head bobbed up and down.

“I imagine so, sir. Please, let’s remove ourselves from this heat so we can be fresh when deliberation begins, shall we?”

“Of course,” Mehdi agreed, allowing himself to be ushered into the building.

The parliament hall was a vast room filled with sleek wooden desks set up in a crescent pattern, to allow all members to see one another. The walls had been hand painted by one of El Farah’s most celebrated artists, and they depicted images of justice, fairness, and truth. While government was not always that way, the paintings provided a solid reminder of politicians’ purpose in that building—to serve the people of El Farah in the best way possible.

The senator reluctantly left Mehdi’s side, as he was due at his desk for roll call in a few minutes. Glad to see him go, Mehdi he was preparing to take his own seat when a voice addressed him from behind.

“You really felt it necessary to come here today?”

Mehdi’s muscles tensed at that voice, and he turned slowly, his eyes meeting the dark black gaze of his ex-wife.

“Jia. You’re looking well today,” he said.

It was true, after all. Jia was a beautiful woman. It was a small part of what had drawn his parents’ attention when they began seeking a bride for him. Of course, they had died before the ceremony could take place, so Jia had been selected by default when their files were located by the royal attorney. It was the attorney who had taken the role of acting parent in the marriage negotiations, and he had remained unaware that Jia had become quite manipulative by the time she was ready to marry the sheikh.

“Why are you here, Mehdi? You have no place in this building.”

Mehdi shrugged. “I actually have a reserved seat, right over there, that I have access to at any time. You, on the other hand, are merely borrowing yours until the people deem you unworthy to serve. When is the next election again?”