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Miriam sighed and shrugged. What can we do? “He’s an old man, Bashir,” she said. “He probably feels that this is his only chance to find true happiness. She’s beyond the age of having children, so it’s not like Malakar will lose anything by it—”
“Wait, you mean he wasn’t happy with Mother?” Bashir asked, incredulous. His mother had spoken of his father as though he ws
“He was happy,” Miriam said. “But—and this is only what I know—he and Alya go back far longer than he and our mother.”
“I know that,” Bahir grumbled. “But he has family—”
“And we need to let him know that we love him,” she said, smiling sadly. “You don’t think he knows what she represents to us? But the heart loves who and how it will,” she said, shrugging. “So come down for dinner. You don’t have to say anything,” she added. “You can be surly if you want.”
He agreed, but it wasn’t until she left that he realized that he didn’t really have any idea how to be surly. He could refuse to speak, of course—but that would only work until someone said something hopelessly backwards. And given that this was Bahrain, and his uncle was here for the wedding as well, backwards ideas were guaranteed.
***
A small wedding.
It was so strange, seeing the great hall filled with people, that 250 people were counted as a “small wedding”. It was an odd mix of modern technology and tradition—the food was traditional although it was catered, the music was traditional music but piped by a DJ who laid an odd disco beat down. Most of the Bahranis were in the traditional Arabic robes, but Bashir had chosen to wear his suit instead. There were also some Westerners there, too—a cadre of French archaeologists who were apparently friends of Alya, and a Dutch contingent from Royal Shell, which Bashir recalled had been in negotiations for drilling rights off the shore.
Bashir sat back and watched the dancing. As the youngest prince, he would have ordinarily left as soon as the ceremony was over, but he was the only prince here today, so his father was keeping him at the table with stern looks and fierce scowls if he dared so much as shift in his chair. Miriam was smiling at him from across the table, waggling her eyebrows—she’d also been admonished to behave herself, but there was no question in Bashir’s mind that she had something planned.
Any chance of ruining the wedding had been dashed the night before when his father had nixed the idea of him giving a toast. The king had couched it in the most diplomatic of words, saying, “Of course it would be lovely to have a toast given by my own son, but I couldn’t possibly impose such a duty upon you with such short notice.” Bashir watched as his father circled around the tables with Alya, watching the reactions of the wedding guests. As far as he could tell, most of them approved of the wedding, but that just meant that nobody had blathered about the history of the King and Alya. Time to change that, Bashir thought sullenly. He’d slipped some vodka into his glass—and now he stood up, not sure about what he wanted to say, only that he was sure he couldn’t call the new queen a whore. Miriam gave him a secret smile—
—just as the DJ started up. He shot the man a displeased scowl, but the man was wearing sunglasses and headphones—standard gear for a DJ, true. But a deliberate way to keep him from being able to give a scathing toast? He had to admit his father was more cunning than he took him for.
Still, now that he was standing, he couldn’t very well just keep standing there like an idiot. He tugged at his sleeves and headed out the side exits—just a guy going to the toilet. The corridors between the great hall and the toilet were full of people coming and going.
He went upstairs. He had his own bathroom in his suite, and it was more private than the bathrooms that were designated for the guests. The palace was a private residence, but it’d been built with public functions in mind, and Bashir had always found it a bit odd that thee bathrooms downstairs had three stalls apiece.
He was washing his hands when he heard the door to his suite open. “Hello?” he called.
“Prince Bashir,” came Misha’s voice. He came out of the bathroom to see Misha standing in front of the door to the suite, at the ready as he always was.
“Didn’t I tell you to take our time here off?” Bashir asked.
“Your father asked me to resume duty for the duration of the wedding.”
Great. “Well, you can tell the old goat to suck it,” Bashir grumbled.
“I’ll pass the message along,” said Misha, nodding his head, but otherwise not moving.
“Well, go on,” Bashir said impatiently, as he took his jacket off and hung it up. “You’re allowed to go—you’re dismissed—”
“A thousand pardons, Prince, but I was ordered to make sure you got back to the festivities.”
“I’m not a child,” Bashir protested. “I know my way to the damn hall.”
“Those are my orders,” Misha said.
“Well, you’re my bodyguard, and my orders are to go back to the great hall, have yourself a cocktail, and just relax already. My dad just wants to keep an eye on me and make sure I don’t screw up his wedding.”
Misha hesitated, but in the end he backed out of the room and closed the door after himself. Bashir sighed and took off his tie. It was now that point in the festivities where people were loosening up, and he wanted to be able to stretch his legs and dance.
He went downstairs through the back staircase, though: he was feeling subversive and annoyed that his father would send Misha to do something like that. He was always planning on going back to the festivities—he couldn’t abandon his sister to three additional hours of boredom—but the one thing he couldn’t stand was being summoned like a peon.
I’m his son, too, he thought, fuming. Last in line, true—but still a prince. My father never respected me. He thinks I’m just a kid.
“Hey you, there!”
He was passing the kitchen, where the caterer had set up the trays and trays of food that needed to be served. She was waving him in—at first he thought that there was something wrong with the food and that she wanted him to tell the guests that there wouldn’t be any fruit, but then she thrust a tray in his hands, and shooed him away again, saying, “Remember, smile.”
