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Is he asking me this because he thinks I'm some kind of government spy? The thought makes me panic anew, and I struggle to keep my voice from shaking as I try to convince him of the truth. "I'm no one important—-"
"Just answer my question."
Shit.
"And forget about holding anything back."
The blandness of his tone only makes his warning all the more frightening, and I find myself rushing into speech as I throw out every Huznan fact I'm able to remember. "You had your b-borders closed for the past fifty years. A c-civil war broke out, and you were able to overthrow your former king, who's been found guilty of conspiring with rebel forces from Ramil. Your, um, your culture or your society is...is a-androcentric—-"
"Androcentric?"
There's that mocking tone of his again, but this time, it's more than a little offensive, and I find myself momentarily forgetting my fear. "Just because I work in housekeeping doesn't mean I'm illiterate—-"
"But it doesn't guarantee you'd be articulate either, does it?"
Irritation burns through my shock, but it's a blessing in disguise. Anger gives me a moment of clarity, and a sudden fact hits me like a punch in the guts.
If this man is no different from the other VIPs I've worked for - and I have no reason to think that he is - then the only way I can make sure I survive this ordeal with my neck intact is tonotcower and blubber in his presence...never mind if his ability to legally order my death sentence makes me want to do exactly that: cower and blubber, and maybe swap my citizenship for Canadian, just to be safe.
"What else do you know about our kingdom?"
He's using the same bland tone from earlier, and while the sound reminds me awfully of how John Effin' Wick speaks—-
Just be yourself, Seven!
And so I look at him in the eye and say, "I know just one other thing."
"Which is?"
"You guys are filthy rich."
I'm hoping that would throw him off, but the words only make his golden eyes glitter.
Shit.
I have this really bad feeling my plan's completely backfired, and I've just given the sheikh another reason to punish me.
"Do you know who I am?"
I shake my head. Huznan royalty is notoriously overzealous about guarding its privacy, and the one and only time a tabloid magazine dared to publish their photos online, the kingdom's legal forces had been unleashed like a rain of missles.
With the London-based tabloid declaring bankruptcy just three days after its court battle, all other news and media outlets had virtually responded with a 'copy that', and the Internet hasn't seen a single photo of the royal family since then.
"My name is Saif."
Oh.
Then that means...
"You've heard of me," he says silkily.
"It's part of our job, Your Highness." I'm not really the type to pick my words with care, but there's just something about Sheikh Saif that makes me feel like I'm treading on eggshells, and one wrong move can have him instantly transform from sophisticated royal to the most dangerous predator.
"Tell me what you know."
I'm tempted to lie and say I don't know anything, but since I'm just not ready to risk the consequences of doing so, I decide to start with the least interesting facts. "You're the heir to the throne, and you have three younger brothers." I mentally cross my fingers and hope those things would suffice, but...no...such...luck.
"Is that all?"
