Page 2 of Dirty Wild Sultan

I hid my smile, watching them together. Rahim was less of our advisor and more of a parental figure for all of us. He had taken the role well after what happened with our father. His voice was raspy when he said, “The Sultan of Al Naaem wants to speak with you.”

“Not now, Rahim,” I said, pointing towards Zara, who was humming to herself and avoiding the eyes of young princes her age.

Talking to my sister and making her feel heard was my main priority—

“He has two daughters that would like to meet you, Sultan,” he emphasized.

I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. Looking at Zara’s wide hazel eyes, begging me to allow her to go. It was enough for me to sayyes. She grinned, a dimple poking her cheek as she hugged me.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Zara giggled, the sound making my heart light. “You are the best brother ever!”

“Don’t let Khalid hear that,” I chuckled, hugging her back. “And don’t make me regret my decision, Zara. You know what you mean to this country, to us. Don’t let any stupid boy break your heart.”

With the sheer excitement sparkling in her eyes, it must be a miracle she would have heard me. She was already running away to get dressed for the club; her smile wide. I watched her dark hair as she disappeared from the crowd.

My head took me back to the dark place.

* * *

The soundsof our feet running down the cool marble floors echoed in the silent night. The only other noise we heard was her cries. Zara’s cries.

“If he hurts her—” Khalid swore, following me.

“I won’t let that happen,” I promised my nineteen-year-old brother. His short hair flopping on his forehead as the guards stopped us outside the Sultan’s room. They shook their heads, their eyes cold.

“If you don’t open this door, I will make sure your family pays for it,” I lied, clenching my fists as I threatened his family. Their eyes widened, Khalid swallowing when we heard another cry from our six-year-old sister.

Rahim, the advisor, called off the guards towards him, nodding at us as we entered the room. Our hearts in our throats. There… Salman Al Latif, our father, holding the dainty wrist of—

“Khalid, Zain… I want to leave,” Zara cried, her eyes red and swollen as tears slid down her flushed cheeks. Her hair was rumpled, just like her night pajamas. Moments ago, we had been in her room, watching a Disney movie and Khalid reading her a book.

But now, our father was forcing her to accept the proposal of a betrothal when at her age her only worry should be to learn and play.

“Baba!” Khalid yelled, “Stop it. You are hurting her.”

It had been a mess after that. A mess of shouts, cries and blood. So much blood that it had stained the tunics Khalid and I wore. The splatter of blood covering Zara’s cheeks and neck, another splatter on the empty wall of our father’s room as he died in front of our eyes.

* * *

“Sultan!”

I snapped back to reality, turning my head to Rahim, who tilted his head at me.Right. That happened years ago. There was no need for me to worry about it.

Facing Zara’s guards, I ordered, “Keep your eyes on her drink the entire time and double the surrounding protection.” I made sure Khalid knew she would be at the club. Even though it was our club, I wanted to make sure nothing happened to her. Especially when she would turn nineteen in a few hours.

I faced the advisor, his wise face wrinkled with old age, his eyes shining with wisdom. I leaned forward with my arm, “Lead me to meet the princesses, Rahim.”

The walk to my study was silent, the night stars twinkling brightly as the wind whispered through the pillars. There were fireworks to celebrate my sister’s birthday, making the corners of my lips curl. It was said that the Golden Palace of Azmia took a hundred years to complete. My late father made sure that no one dared to infiltrate the palace even though no country would be stupid enough to go against us.

Rahim walked beside me in the ancient hallways of the palace, lit by golden chandeliers over the domes, making the intricate designs glow. “If this engagement succeeds, it would benefit both Azmia and Al Naaem and the future generations.”

That was all I needed to know. I could get married to either of the princesses if they would have me as their husband. But the marriage would only succeed on my terms if my partner agreed not to have sex with me. They could have secret lovers of their own for all I cared, in their privacy. But I would never engage in any sexual activities, for that matter.

Even with my own future wife.

I had seen how my father treated my mothers and how he raised Khalid and me with his cruelty. We still bore his marks of anger. I did not wish to have any child of my own and behave worse than my father.

Especially when that night was stuck in my head like a nightmare turned reality, rolling over and over and watching my siblings di—

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