23 Zayed

23

Zayed

The ceremony was in a full blast by the time I walked down the stairs to meet the other royals at the great hall. People were dancing and singing, coddling the couple seated on the dais of throne covered in flowers, greeting the guests.

No one knew just how misguided and wicked the groom was. Except me.

Even Iesha, the innocent maid, who was marrying him, didn’t know his true face by the way she looked at him.

My eyes flickered to my golden-haired witch, her red dress hugging her toned body with her hair falling down her back in waves. She was grinning and talking to a few people, the surrounding men captivated by her smile. I was an idiot not to bring a ring and make her wear it.

“Sheikh Zayed,” I turned my attention to the twin princesses of Al Naeem. “We heard how brave you were to fight the man who… poor Tibyan.”

“It wasn’t bravery. I was there at the right time.”

One of princesses’ eyes lowered to my abdomen, maybe trying to find the wound through the traditional dark