Page 21 of Dangerous Protocol

“Enter,” Nadim called out.

Adnan Bashar, the king’s right-hand man and longtime friend, approached and stopped in front of Nadim’s desk.

“What is it?” He lowered the lid to his laptop until it snapped shut.

“Sir, the girl has begun to stir.” Adnan looked straight ahead, as direct eye contact with the royal family was not allowed unless permission was given. “Shall we continue to medicate her?”

They’d grown up playing together as small boys, went through primary school together, and even attended Oxford together. Though Adnan had been there not as a student but to attend to Nadim’s needs. Even with their shared experiences, his friend was still a servant to the royal family, as had been his father and his father’s father before him.

Adnan also knew where all of the Al-Mansoori family skeletons were hidden. Literally and figuratively. Which was one of the more important reasons why Nadim kept him so close.

“I think it’s time for her to awaken. I’m curious to see what happens when she fully comprehends her situation.” Would she panic and scream and cry for her mother? Or would she exhibit the same iron will? “Set up a camera in her room. I’d hate to deprive her mother of a single moment of her daughter’s stay with us.”

“Yes, sir.” Adnan remained in place, waiting to be dismissed.

“Relax, my friend.” Nadim rolled his chair back from the desk and stood. “Come, let’s sit. I’ve requested some tea and would love for you to join me.”

He extended a hand and led the way over to a conversation area with two oversize sofas facing each other with a delicately carved, wooden table with a glass top set between them.

Adnan waited until the king was settled on the couch before sitting across from him.

“So, tell me, my friend. How are things going with you and Fatima?” Nadim asked.

“Things are … well, they are what they are.” He relaxed back. “She is busy planning the wedding.”

Fatima Mifsud was sixteen years younger than Nadim and Adnan’s thirty-six. She was the youngest daughter of seven daughters and was an immature, petulant, spoiled brat. Their marriage had been arranged the day she was born. Her family, like his, had served the Al-Mansooris for generations.

Adnan didn’t love Fatima and never would. His friend’s heart would always belong to another woman—an independent, sturdily built Dutch woman named Skyla whom he’d met and fallen in love with while in Great Britain. However, according to Qadiran customs, marriages outside of their culture were strictly forbidden.

There was a gentle rap on the door.

“Ah, our tea has arrived.” Nadim called out, “Enter.”

A guard swung the door open and allowed a young woman to pass into the massive office. With the exception of her eyes, which she kept focused downward, she was fully covered. In her hands was an engraved silver tray holding two small brass cups and a matching teapot. The entire set shone and glowed beneath the warm lights.

The guard waited at the door while she quietly set the tray on the table between them. She picked up the teapot to fill their cups.

“We’ll do that, Halima.” He shooed her hand away. “Thank you.”

She gave a slight bow, a flashing glance at Adnan, then she turned and walked out of the office.

Adnan watched her until she was out of sight.

“Your younger sister is doing quite well.” Nadim looped a finger through the small handle on the teapot, filled their cups with Yansoon tea, and handed one to his friend.

“Thank you.” Adnan accepted the tea. “She is honored to serve you.” His friend’s forced smile said otherwise.

“To good friends.” Nadim lifted his cup in a toast.

“To good friends,” he repeated.

Nadim tilted his cup to his lips and watched his friend over the brim as he did the same. The strong scent of anise whispered up from the sweet tea and filled his nose with a hint of black licorice.

“I know Fatima is not the woman you would’ve chosen for yourself, but sheisvery beautiful.” Fortunately for Adnan, their culture had no restrictions when it came to a man’s fidelity to his wife. “You can still be with Skyla, as long as you provide your wife with enough children to keep her busy.”

“Skyla has made it very clear that she will not be my ‘side chick,’ as they say in America.” Hemade air quotes around the crass term. “And I would never disrespect her in that way.” He let loose a deep sigh of resignation. “No, Skyla deserves a good life with a man who will be committed to her and her alone.”

His friend was much more noble than Nadim, who spent more nights in other women’s beds than with his own wife. She, too, was from a powerful family, and their marriage had been a business arrangement, not a love match.

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