Prince.”
He raised one dark, russet-colored eyebrow in a questioning slant. “Your brother? What mischief has Muhammad done now?”
“He has not done anything wrong.”
She had kept her word with Nur and Shams ed-Duna. She would not reveal the incident between Muhammad and Nasr. How her heart lurched and tore at the lie, but Muhammad’s petty actions the day before paled in enormity to the risk he posed to the Sultanate.
She nibbled at her lower lip and glanced at her father, who waited in silence. Did she dare reveal secrets of the past?
What would he say if she told him how Muhammad had tried to kill her years ago? Would he believe her? The enormity of her quandary threatened to tear her heart in two. He could dismiss her words as fanciful or cruel imaginings, without any evidence. She could not bear his mistrust any more than she might have withstood his furious anger if he believed her. Muhammad’s treachery would be a bitter blow for her father. If he condemned her brother, she would be responsible for her father’s guilt over Muhammad.
The truth damned her as did further secrecy. Muhammad’s impulsive and cruel nature signaled a dire future for more than just her family. A man like him, who could consider the murder of a once beloved sister, was capable of anything. If he ascended the throne, he would become a tyrant.
There had to be some other way to warn her father about his heir, something that would not result in the Sultan ordering his own son’s execution. She would spare her father that burden at any cost, even if it meant she must conceal painful truths from him forever.
“Father, you know I would not speak ill against my own brother without just cause. I am concerned for Muhammad and the throne he shall inherit.”
She stood and paced for a time. Her father’s watchful gaze followed her. “Fatima, speak plainly.”
She gathered strength from his plain interest. If he did not care about her opinions, he would have dismissed her without entertaining further discussion.
“Muhammad should be dearer to me than the sons of Shams ed-Duna and Nur al-Sabah, because he is the only son of my mother.” She paused and gauged his reaction.
When he gave her a look of uneasy puzzlement, she rushed on. “Still, I have long suspected that his reckless nature as a child would make him a dangerous man. He cannot follow you on the throne of Gharnatah.”
Her father stood. “You want me to deny my eldest son the succession? Do you forget the traditions my late father established, that it is the eldest son who should rule?”
Although his tone was even, the words belied his expression. His brow knitted, the veins in his neck stood out in livid ridges, while his gaze raked over her face.
She said, “My grandfather chose you as his heir because you are a wise and good man. He could have chosen from among my uncles or his own brothers. Grandfather saw the strength in you. He did not act simply because you were his eldest son. You have always held the conviction to do what is right. The humility to admit when you are wrong. My brother does not have these qualities. He is not fit to rule.”
He slumped on his seat again and shook his head. “You have requested an audience only to tell me who should sit on my throne? You dare much, my daughter.”
“Father, I meant no disrespect.”
His gaze narrowed. “Yet you show me much the same, as your own husband has done! His ill-mannered ways have tainted you.”
Mistrust darkened his expression. She had seen that look before, directed at other people, never toward her.
“Do you deny that my brother is unpredictable?”
“He is my son, as you are my daughter! Have you no loyalty even to him? Is your only duty to your husband?”
“Father, this matter we speak of has naught to do with the conflict between you and Faraj. The future of your country is at stake. Would you see your son destroy your legacy of learning and just laws because of some misplaced
He raised one dark, russet-colored eyebrow in a questioning slant. “Your brother? What mischief has Muhammad done now?”
“He has not done anything wrong.”
She had kept her word with Nur and Shams ed-Duna. She would not reveal the incident between Muhammad and Nasr. How her heart lurched and tore at the lie, but Muhammad’s petty actions the day before paled in enormity to the risk he posed to the Sultanate.
She nibbled at her lower lip and glanced at her father, who waited in silence. Did she dare reveal secrets of the past?
What would he say if she told him how Muhammad had tried to kill her years ago? Would he believe her? The enormity of her quandary threatened to tear her heart in two. He could dismiss her words as fanciful or cruel imaginings, without any evidence. She could not bear his mistrust any more than she might have withstood his furious anger if he believed her. Muhammad’s treachery would be a bitter blow for her father. If he condemned her brother, she would be responsible for her father’s guilt over Muhammad.
The truth damned her as did further secrecy. Muhammad’s impulsive and cruel nature signaled a dire future for more than just her family. A man like him, who could consider the murder of a once beloved sister, was capable of anything. If he ascended the throne, he would become a tyrant.
There had to be some other way to warn her father about his heir, something that would not result in the Sultan ordering his own son’s execution. She would spare her father that burden at any cost, even if it meant she must conceal painful truths from him forever.
“Father, you know I would not speak ill against my own brother without just cause. I am concerned for Muhammad and the throne he shall inherit.”
She stood and paced for a time. Her father’s watchful gaze followed her. “Fatima, speak plainly.”
She gathered strength from his plain interest. If he did not care about her opinions, he would have dismissed her without entertaining further discussion.
“Muhammad should be dearer to me than the sons of Shams ed-Duna and Nur al-Sabah, because he is the only son of my mother.” She paused and gauged his reaction.
When he gave her a look of uneasy puzzlement, she rushed on. “Still, I have long suspected that his reckless nature as a child would make him a dangerous man. He cannot follow you on the throne of Gharnatah.”
Her father stood. “You want me to deny my eldest son the succession? Do you forget the traditions my late father established, that it is the eldest son who should rule?”
Although his tone was even, the words belied his expression. His brow knitted, the veins in his neck stood out in livid ridges, while his gaze raked over her face.
She said, “My grandfather chose you as his heir because you are a wise and good man. He could have chosen from among my uncles or his own brothers. Grandfather saw the strength in you. He did not act simply because you were his eldest son. You have always held the conviction to do what is right. The humility to admit when you are wrong. My brother does not have these qualities. He is not fit to rule.”
He slumped on his seat again and shook his head. “You have requested an audience only to tell me who should sit on my throne? You dare much, my daughter.”
“Father, I meant no disrespect.”
His gaze narrowed. “Yet you show me much the same, as your own husband has done! His ill-mannered ways have tainted you.”
Mistrust darkened his expression. She had seen that look before, directed at other people, never toward her.
“Do you deny that my brother is unpredictable?”
“He is my son, as you are my daughter! Have you no loyalty even to him? Is your only duty to your husband?”
“Father, this matter we speak of has naught to do with the conflict between you and Faraj. The future of your country is at stake. Would you see your son destroy your legacy of learning and just laws because of some misplaced
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