Page 1 of Dirty Wild Sultan

Part I

“Because, Princess Nasrin,

I am asking you to marry me.”

1

Zain

Ididn’t deserve to be the Sultan of Azmia.

The thought rang hollow against my entire body. Pounding in my head increasing when people on the floor kept laughing and talking, dancing in-tune with the sounds of gentle instruments played by the musicians. Walls of the Court Room felt like they were getting smaller and smaller as each minute passed by. Shrinking down on the dais where I sat, on the throne that I didn’t deserve to be seated on.

Its dark color leeched of any life. Black against the beige mosaic of the Court Room, the dome at the center glowing brightly as foreign royals awed at the structure. Awed at me, the sheathed sword leaning on the lion's leg of the throne.

My legs tensed, my neck straining after nodding at the guests who had arrived at my palace, my entire body locking and coiling—

“Stop glaring at everyone, Brother,” Khalid drawled, prowling towards the obsidian throne. I gave him a look—a look tobehavehimself—when he left two twin princesses of our neighboring country on the floor and placed himself on the arm of the throne. “These princesses are here for your attention, and you are doing your best to scare them away. Here.”

I unclenched my jaw and looked at him, his face so similar to mine. Dark slashing brows, sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of dark chocolate. They held more pain than I could ever imagine in my thirty-three years of life.

“I do not want to indulge myself with any alcohol, Khalid. You are already reeking of it,” I said, glancing at the crowd. The mothers with their young daughters fawning at us, wishing their daughter would grab the attention of either me, Sultan of Azmia or my brother, Prince of Azmia.

“Why do I need to look for a bride when this party is held for Zara’s birthday?” I grumbled to myself, making Khalid chuckle.

We held the party for my sister, the only Princess of Azmia, Zara Al Latif, who would turn nineteen when the clock struck midnight. We were celebrating her birthday and also welcoming the New Year. Zara was born on New Year’s Day, and I and Khalid were both relieved and sad that we would celebrate her birthday in a few hours. Relieved that she would be more independent, responsible; and sad that we wouldn’t be able to make sure she was safe with…men, boys of her age, when she was away for her studies.

Khalid pressed an intricate golden cup in my hand, the auburn liquid swishing in it. “Drink this. It will make you feel more relaxed and… if you are lucky, you will finally get laid, Zain.”

I glared at him when he smirked at me, sauntering away to find the twin princesses and warm their bed for the night. Blood rushed to my cheeks. I gulped the burning liquid down my throat, relishing the scorching taste it left on my lips.

Unfortunately for me, my younger brother knew I had never slept with anyone… had sex with anyone. I was a virgin. A thirty-three-year-old, Sultan of the most powerful country in the Middle East, was a virgin. I planned to keep it that way. I did not mind that one bit. I was perfectly fine pouring my energy into ruling the country, being a better Sultan than my father ever was and taking care of my siblings as the oldest.

Even though it came to using my own hands during unfortunate events, I did not see the need to seek any female for… more pleasure.

“Found anyone yet?” Zara, my little sister, asked, lacing her arm around my elbow when I walked down the steps from the dais to the marble floor designed in beautiful, tangled patterns.

It was not my idea to keep the throne and Court Room but our advisor, Rahim, felt the need to keep it as it was over a hundred years old.

“No luck, yet,” I replied, thanking her for sticking to my side and not letting me walk alone among the women who kept eyeing me.

Just like the unnecessary throne that we didn’t want or need, our advisor wanted me, the Sultan of Azmia, the Golden Country, to get married and have heirs. I had scoffed at that notion when I was twenty-five, but almost a decade later I could not scoff and ignore it anymore. To protect my country and be a better sultan, I knew the day would come where I would have to find a woman to get married and have heirs.

Even though I wanted to stay celibate and not have any children of my own. I had decided that fifteen years ago.

Her beautiful chestnut wavy hair gleamed in the light when she asked, “Can I go with Khalid to our club?”

I looked at her innocent elfish face, her hazel eyes similar to mine and Khalid’s, but the difference of her pale skin to our tan-golden skin was noticeable. She was the daughter of our second mother, who married our father when he visited London nineteen-years ago.

“You know I won’t allow you to go to the club. You are—”

“Too young?” she asked. The beauty spot above her lip shifted when she narrowed her eyes at me.Uh-oh, she was angry. But it didn’t matter, Khalid was the fun brother for her and I was theless-fun brother. “Khalid will be there, Zain. You can’t always say no to me. I will be nineteen in a few hours, for fuck’s sake!”

“Language, Zara!” I said. “Khalid won’t be able to keep an eye on you the entire night, and you are the only Princess of Azmia, you know how precious you are.”

She gave me a deadpanned look and pointed towards her two bodyguards, who were a foot away from us. I hired them for her protection, and even though there were guards stationed everywhere in the palace, those two were for her own safety.

Before I could speak, Rahim, our advisor, walked towards us, clearing his throat. He was dressed in a beige cotton tunic and pants, an upgrade from the usual white clothes he wore. He bowed his head, wishing Zara a happy birthday who hugged him in return, complimenting the new tunic.

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