Page 24 of Dirty Wild Sultan

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The dark suithugged my frame with the little silver threads embroidered beautifully on the lapels and the cuffs. My eyes seemed full of hate when I stared at my reflection, recalling last night and the nightmare.

The way I had been with Nasrin, manipulating her and forcing her to accept the marriage. Just like my father. The way I had looked into her burning brown eyes and threatened her brother, her future. The way I had disappointed Khalid…

Bile rose in my stomach.

My eyes averted towards the sword hung over an empty wall. I glared at it. The sharp blade was sheathed carefully in the white and golden sheath. I had to remind myself that it wasn’t dripping with blood anymore. It did not stain the beige wall with a splatter of blood. But it was tainted with the curse that my father had passed on to all of us.

After all these years, I had tried to be better than him. A better brother. A better sultan. A better husband. But I was failing miserably, and we hadn’t even been engaged yet. My fingers dug into my palm. The screams of agony of my mother echoing in my head, her silent cries when my father wasn’t around, hiding her pain and suffering from us until he allowed her to fly and her dying in a plane crash.

I was ashamed and scared that I was doing the same to Nasrin.

Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, little Zain. You are just like me. A monster—

“No, I am not.” I gritted my teeth, ignoring the taunting words of my dead father.

“Don’t tell me you are drunk, Brother,” Khalid said, sauntering into my room and glancing at the blank wall where I looked. His stark face morphed into anger. It hurt him the most. After all, the sword was the living reminder of the burden he shouldered for killing our father in front of me and Zara.

Guilt crashed into me, wishing I had shouldered that burden, protected us, protected Zara from that monster. Wishing I had killed that man and not Khalid. I would do anything to erase that pain from his eyes.

“You should burn that rotten thing,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “It stinks of that… man’s cruelty.”

“It’s a family heirloom and tradition, Khalid.”

He scoffed, walking towards me. He was wearing a darker suit, identical to mine. His eyes had bags underneath them, but he still looked handsome as ever.

“Family tradition, huh? Are you going to treat Nasrin the same way as father did to mo—”

“Watch. Your. Words,” I snarled, stepping closer to him. He may be taller than me, had more muscles, but the way I glared at him made him look away. Anger coursed through my blood when I said, “I have never raised my hand to anyone, especially Nasrin. Nor will I ever. You would see me without my arms if I ever do.”

He hummed mockingly, “Father never hit women, Zain. Not even mother until our second mother gave birth to Zara. It started then, you know, all the screams and cries we would hear. Probably still hear in our nightmares. We couldn’t do anything but watch and get hit when we tried to stop him.”

Khalid took a step towards me, his hazel eyes swirling with pain, which we both shared. “Do not make me cut your arms, because I will if you—”

I chuckled darkly, “Threatening your older brother like you did to our father?”

“Stop.”

We both pulled away before we could start fighting and looked at our little sister, her wide hazel eyes looking at both of us. We straightened ourselves, ready with an excuse—

“There’s so much anger in both of your eyes that sometimes I wonder to myself that you are the same brothers who used to teach me how to paint and how to wield a sword,” she said, wounding our pride and ego in one blow. “I heard you are getting engaged to Princess Nasrin today. Give these to her when you go visit her.”

Zara dropped the bouquet of jasmine on the mahogany table, her feet stomping.

“Zara, wait, I need to talk to you about last night—” Khalid went after her, giving me one last look before leaving me alone in my room with the flowers.

I took a deep breath. If I had tried to be a better brother and better sultan, then there’s nothing stopping me from being a better husband. I did not want to disappoint my late mothers, my brother, my little sister, myself and… especially Nasrin. She deserved better after living with the men she grew up with for twenty-six years.

I would give her a better life than she had ever dreamt of. After all, I was the Sultan of Azmia.

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My palms weresweaty when I knocked on the door to Nasrin’s room, the guards stationed outside hiding their smile when they saw the white flowers in my hand. I cleared my throat and waited for the door to open.

“Princess told us to let you in if you visit her… or her maid,” one of the guards spoke.

Did she now? I stepped inside, locking the door behind me. Her room was clean, the subtle scent of jasmine and pine lingered in the fresh morning air, a warm breeze travelling through the open doors of the balcony into the room.

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