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‘Sit down, son.’
Khalid took a seat when he would have preferred to stay standing, for he was certain he was about to be disciplined. At sixteen he had been in New York City for close to a year and he and Ethan had discovered fake IDs and girls.
Yes, there were plenty of reasons Ethan’s father might want to have words with him.
‘There’s no easy way to say this.’ Jobe cleared his throat. ‘Khalid, you need to call home.’
‘Is something wrong with the twins?’ Khalid asked, for he knew his mother was due to give birth any day now.
‘No. Your mother gave birth to twins this morning, but there were complications. Your mom took a turn for the worse and could not be revived. I’m very sorry to tell you this, Khalid, but your mom is dead.’
It felt as if the air had been sucked out of the study and though Khalid determinedly didn’t show it, he felt as if he could not breathe. It simply could not be, for his mother was so alive and, unlike his stern father, she smiled and laughed and loved life. Queen Dalila was the very reason that Khalid was here in NYC.
‘Call home,’ Jobe said. ‘Tell your father we can head straight to the airport and that I will accompany you back to Al-Zahan.’
‘No.’ Khalid shook his head, for Jobe did not understand that Khalid had to arrive aboard the royal plane. ‘But thank you for the kind offer.’
‘Khalid.’ Jobe spoke with exasperation. ‘You are allowed to be upset.’
‘With respect, sir, I know what is allowed. I shall call the King now.’
Khalid awaited privacy, but Jobe remained in his seat and then, to Khalid’s mind, did the oddest thing. Jobe Devereux put his elbows on the mahogany desk and buried his face in his hands.
Jobe, Khalid realised with both bemusement and strange gratitude, had found telling him hard. It had hurt Jobe to break the news, and he hurt for their mother, and his two-year-old brother, Hussain, and for the twins just born.
Then he heard the voice of the King.
‘Alab,’ Khalid said, calling him Father.
A mistake.
‘I am your King first,’ he reminded Khalid. ‘You must never forget it, not even for a moment, and especially in dark times.’
‘Is it true?’ Khalid said. ‘Is she dead?’
The King confirmed the grim news, but said there was much consolation that an heir had been spared. ‘We celebrate that this morning another heir to the Al-Zahan kingdom was born.’
‘So she had a boy and a girl?’ Khalid checked.
‘Correct.’
‘Did she get to see them?’ Khalid asked. ‘To hold them? Did she know what she had?’
‘Khalid, what sort of question is that? I wa
s not with her.’
That he hadn’t even found out had Khalid fold then, and an agonised breath shuddered out of him that the King heard.
‘There will be no tears,’ the King said sharply. ‘You are a prince, not a princess. The people need to see strength, not their future King acting like some peasant who weeps and keens.’
As Khalid was being reminded he was royal, and so above emotion and pain, Jobe came around the desk and placed his hand on Khalid’s shoulder. Jobe did not know what was being said, for Khalid spoke in Arabic, yet his hand remained, even when the phone call had ended.
‘I’m so sorry, son. You’ll get through this. Abe and Ethan lost their mom too.’
‘They had you, though.’ It was the most honest admission.
‘So do you, Khalid,’ Jobe said, for having himself spoken to Khalid’s icy father he knew the young man would get no true support at home.
