on the still-warm flatbread and she ripped off a chunk.
“Zahir and I stole a trebuchet when I got tired of the little house, made the servants help us move everything to the beach, and obliterated it with a barrage of the biggest rocks we could carry.”
There.
A bright, musical peel of laughter erupted from her even as she turned her head and gave him the most dubious sidelong look.
“I’m fairly certain if you look long enough, you can still find Lego blocks on the beach by the palace.”
“Okay, you’re forgiven for being a dork. And you’re lucky you don’t have that Lego any more. I might have to challenge you to a Lego battle, which would mess with our hospital timeline.”
“Can’t have that.”
“Would be a tragedy.”
“Or we could go for a Lego hospital instead, scrap all this planning nonsense. Cheerful red, blue and yellow bricks. Green roof. Easy snap assembly.”
She pretended to consider his suggestion, nodding as she munched on the bread. “I have to ask: where in the world did you find a trebuchet? And how did you steal one, for goodness’ sake? How old were you when you got tired of your Lego playhouse, twenty?” Then she did chuck a small bit of bread at him, bouncing it off his chest.
He picked it up and ate the evidence before the housekeeper could catch them. “I was six. Zahir was almost twelve. It was a very small working model from the Hall of Armaments at the palace. One of our ancestors had built this small trebuchet a few centuries back for some reason, I have no idea why. It’s perfectly preserved, still in working order, and has since been chained to the floor. We took off with it. Then we both got punished, Zahir more than me because I was six. Big lecture about responsibility and being good leaders, which I’ve come to believe he took far too seriously.”
Talking and laughing with her was enough that Dakan could almost forget where he was and where he had to return to when he left the penthouse.
In the palace and on duty, he had to be serious. He had to be what was expected of him, or at least try to be. He had to be post-trebuchet Zahir, and he sucked at being any version of Zahir—even his crappy knock-off attempt chafed terribly.
Something he couldn’t fix right now. It was better to try and fix Nira’s problems than his own. And he was starting to think he could. The more he spoke with her, the more he became convinced he’d seen her father somewhere. Not just seen but spoken with. She had mannerisms he’d have sworn were learned but which seemed to have been inherited.
He’d definitely seen that sideways look before. At some point in his life. Here, maybe. Maybe in a neighboring country he’d visited for some reason. It hadn’t been in England, and as little time as he’d spent in Mamlakat Almas since going away to school young, it shouldn’t be too hard to revisit those short months per year and what he’d gotten up to during holidays.
He’d have to sneak in and get a shot of that photo of her parents when she wasn’t looking, so he could have some time to really study it, perhaps jog his memory.
It was in there somewhere, buried, but it would be cruel to get her hopes up if he couldn’t produce the information.
“Now, back to Arabic. You want to become fluent so you must practice. Now, which famous ancient buildings did you reconstruct with your Lego?”
THE NEXT DAY Dakan sat in his father’s study, signing the daily papers staff brought him, when his mobile rang.
Nira?
He dropped his pen and hurried across the study to where he’d set his mobile phone charging earlier. He’d given her his number in the hope she’d call—not that he wanted her to have trouble with the examples he’d given her, but talking to her was the highlight of his days in residence. He wanted to make her misbehave a little, a desire she already harbored, or she wouldn’t have reacted to his flirting in a way that had made him flirt with her even more, a way that made him want to throw off his responsibilities and hers and spend the day just talking. Playing.
Their verbal sparring was the closest thing to play he could remember having had at home since the trebuchet incident.
He lifted the phone and turned to look at the display. Not Nira. But it was the next best thing.
“Zahir. I’m running amok, you really should get back here and stop me.”
“Good morning to you too, Dakan.” His brother, ever able to recover smoothly from whatever Dakan threw at him. “Have you reinstated the harem?”
“No, but now that you mention it...” he returned to the seat and leaned back “...I like that architect you hired. I think she’d look fantastic in something sheer and dirty.”
“It would be Mother you’d have to fear if you tried it. Besides, Nira works for you. Don’t go putting your cheesy moves on her.”
“Too late.” Come on, Zahir, be the responsible one. Dakan hated being the responsible one.
“You’re lying.”
Dakan tsked. “I’m the ruler in residence so don’t start flinging insults. I may have to...figure out some kind of...diplomatic something. Sanction. That’s the word. Or sentence you to hard labor. Here. In the palace.”
“I thought you liked Nira. It’s such a chore, working with her?”
“It’s not her, believe me. She’s gorgeous and mysterious. And a little bit weird.”
“Just like you like them.”
Dakan laughed this time. “Yes. Somehow, despite not being my type, she sort of is my type. How’s Adele? Missing the palace? Let me talk to her. I bet she’d like to come and visit for a few decades.”
“Adele’s pregnant.”
Dakan’s stomach bottomed out from those two simple words. “That was quick.”
And that was the wrong reaction...
“Yes.” Zahir let the word hang and Dakan didn’t even have to ask what it meant.
Zahir wasn’t coming home. No way would he let her deliver here, with the medical system being what it was.
“Congratulations.” There it was, the right response, even if he had to strain to get it out.
Zahir let the pause extend for a moment, no doubt searching for the right thing to say to Dakan. “It’s only forty weeks. Less now, since it’s been a few weeks already.”
“Right.” The filler word squeaked past his lips, just because he needed something to say.
Plans dashed. Would anything be able to shorten his stay now?
“Father and Mother will be back before then. A couple more weeks,” the voice said down the line.
But the hospital would still need to be Dakan’s job. He couldn’t just up and leave as soon as their parents returned, though that was how things had always gone for Zahir: live in London and come home only when he was needed. Hospitals took a long time to build, more than a year. Probably a couple of years. Stuck.
But a birthing center... That he might be able to get done in a few months.
* * *
It’d been two days since she’d last seen Dakan, and Nira had spent most of that time working. In between viewing the examples he’d had compiled, she’d spent too much time mentally replaying their dinner and the thrill that had rushed through her with every playful word and flirting smile. But the rest was about proper working, still a lot of work between spells of idiocy.
The only other time away from her workstation