Zarif's Convenient Queen

There was a lengthy period of quiet at the other end of the phone and then Hamid said that he would call her back. Frowning while she wondered if her every move had to be run past Zarif first, Ella ate another piece of croissant.

Zarif was having coffee with his personal staff at the new palace when Hamid phoned him to tell him what his wife wanted to do.

‘No woman has crossed the threshold of the council chamber before,’ his chief aide pointed out.

‘I hope you didn’t tell her that,’ Zarif retorted, thinking of how he had proudly declared that Vashir was not backward. ‘There is no actual rule against female attendance.’

‘But it still hasn’t happened.’

Lean, darkly handsome features furiously tense, Zarif took his phone into a private room. ‘I don’t care if you grab women in off the street to attend,’ he admitted tautly. ‘My wife will attend but I don’t want her to be the only female present. And I very definitely do not want her to realise that, until now, only men have come to observe how the ruling council works. She will think we are very old-fashioned and that our women are not politically aware.’

Hamid thought of his wife, who was a radical with equally radical friends, and knew exactly who to call. He came off the phone, stunned by his royal employer’s assent to breaking a tradition that had held firm for at least two hundred years.

‘This queen is going to make a difference!’ his wife carolled jubilantly. ‘Just like the King’s British grandmother—she’s going to be an innovator and drag this wretched country out of the ark.’

Gloriously unaware of the hopes she was raising with her simple request, Ella selected a dark-coloured outfit with a jacket from her new wardrobe, reasoning that such a visit was formal. Hanya came hurrying down into the palace foyer to join her as she awaited the limo drawing up outside.

‘I had no idea you had such plans. My cousin, Azel, would never have dreamt of entering the council chambers,’ she exclaimed, giving Hamid a look of reproof as if Ella’s wilfulness and unwomanly interest were to be laid at his door. ‘Azel said it was the men’s place.’

Ella gave the excitable brunette a tranquil smile. ‘The machinery of government is not wholly the province of men where I come from. I’m simply interested to see how the council works.’

The new palace was a massive domed building surrounded by a park composed of trees, fountains and walkways and it was extremely busy. Ella only became aware of the half-dozen palace guards accompanying her when they climbed out of the cars that had travelled in front and behind the limo. Feeling uncomfortably conspicuous and colouring from the intensity of the attention she was attracting, she was even more embarrassed when two of the soldiers stationed at the front entrance insisted on leading the way and clearing every other unfortunate out of her path. The buzz of comment around her grew louder and many phones were used to take photos.

‘Why’s there such a fuss about me coming here?’ she asked Hamid.

‘I have no idea, Your Majesty,’ Hamid lied dutifully for his royal boss. ‘But you must remember that apart from the official photo taken at the airport and published in the evening paper very few people have actually seen you and naturally they are curious.’

It was a relief for Ella to leave the busy halls and corridors to ascend the stairs into the main council chamber. A gaggle of chattering women sat to the far left and she naturally moved in that direction as the men present craned their necks and then suddenly shot up and began to bow. An absolute hush fell and seconds later Ella was silenced as the dozen or so old men seated round the large table in the centre of the room also rose to their feet and ceremoniously bowed in her direction. Her colour high, she was trying to spot Zarif but couldn’t see him.

Thirty seconds later, he arrived through another door and the whole bowing and scraping thing happened again for his benefit. Ella would have followed suit had not Hamid rested an apologetic hand on her arm as he stood and told her, ‘You are the only person in the room who need not rise. It was a courtesy extended by the King’s grandfather to his British wife and will also be extended to you. Before the King’s grandfather married, Vashiri subjects used to kneel and touch their forehead to the floor in the royal presence, so bowing was also a big step forward...’

Taken aback by the information of how servile the response to royalty had once been, Ella nodded while abstractedly watching Zarif and smiling. He was the only man at the table wearing a business suit and he wore it to perfection. A man so old and wizened he bore a definite resemblance to an Egyptian mummy began to speak about a boundary dispute with a neighbouring country and recommended a heavily armed squad of Vashiri troops be sent to the area. Hamid translated fluently. Zarif spoke well and suggested that diplomacy be employed before the army became involved.

‘The sheikhs will not argue with the King when it comes to military matters because he was once a soldier and the army would follow him into hell, so there’s no point in them interfering,’ Hamid assured her. ‘But only in that field does your husband get a free pass.’

And so it transpired as Ella watched and listened to the discussion of various questions on the agenda, ranging from how best to deal with drunken tourists in Qurzah to the troublesome matter of the royal museum in the new palace, which was still not officially open after months of preparation. Zarif’s patience was astounding. There were several petty objections from the council, several of whom appeared to be of the opinion that allowing any private info

rmation about the royal family into the public domain even in the educational guise of a museum was unwise. Ella guiltily swallowed back a yawn because she was finding it very tiring to concentrate on the flow of constant translation in her ear.

‘Your husband takes a break in a private room for lunch,’ Hamid informed her. ‘He has asked that you join him there.’

Ella nodded and quietly stood up. Hamid asked if he might introduce his wife, Soraya, to her and signalled with his hand towards the group of women on the other side of the room. An elegant brunette with upswept hair and a bright smile moved forward and introductions were performed. Soraya was on the PR committee for the royal museum and, while frustrated by the fact that the project was moving so slowly, she was very much a working woman, plainspoken and direct in her manner, unlike Hanya. They chatted for a couple of minutes before Hamid intervened and swept Ella off.

‘This is a surprise, habibti,’ Zarif murmured with a slow-burning smile when Ella entered the room.

It had been so long since Zarif looked at her like that that Ella was momentarily thrown back in time. The forbidding aspect of his lean, strong features was washed away by the warmth and welcome of that smile and it flipped her heart inside her chest and shortened her breathing.

‘You suit dark blue,’ he remarked while the meal was being brought to the table, his attention ranging over the contrast of the honey-coloured skeins of her hair against the backdrop of the comparatively dismal colour. He had once thought blue eyes were dull and ordinary but the brilliant blueness of Ella’s gaze against her smooth pale skin never failed to attract his attention.

‘You can thank your mother’s wonderful taste,’ Ella said, and paused before she decided to just come right out and ask what politeness had urged her to suppress since the wedding. ‘Why didn’t your mother return to Vashir for our wedding or even come over for the UK one?’

Zarif’s mouth took on a sardonic twist. ‘Mariyah has lived abroad since my birth and has never played a role in my life.’

Ella was taken aback by that admission. ‘Why not?’

‘What are the two most important facts you need to know about the al-Rastani dynasty? One, we have always been a family with very few male heirs and, two, it has always been the ruler’s right to choose his successor,’ Zarif explained wryly. ‘My grandfather, Karim, had one son, Halim, and my mother was his only other child. When my uncle Halim was still quite young, his father decided that he was not suited to being a ruler—Halim does not perform well in a crisis.’

‘That must have been a devastating blow for Halim,’ Ella remarked with sympathy.