The Royal Investigation
1693 Words
The royal palace of Zahrania stood like a monument of silence and history beneath the desert sun its marble corridors guarded by men in gold-trimmed uniforms, its halls echoing with footsteps that carried power and caution.
Queen Layla sat alone in the East Wing solarium, a place usually reserved for her morning reflections. But today, there was no peace. On the table before her was the printed photo of the Tanzanian boy Ayaan with his striking eyes and unmistakable air.
Her fingers hovered above it, almost afraid to touch it again. Those eyes. His eyes.
She pressed the bell. Within seconds, her chief advisor, Abbas al-Fayad, entered. “Your Majesty?”
“I need a name,” she said, her voice firm. “I want to know who this boy is, where he lives, who his mother is—and who his father might be.”
Abbas hesitated. “You believe”
“I don’t believe. I know,” she cut in sharply. “He’s Zayyan’s son.”
Abbas’s eyes widened.
“I want no official trace. Nothing on paper. No media,” she continued. “This must be a private investigation. Quiet. Discreet. And fast.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
As Abbas left, her gaze remained fixed on the photo. “What have you done, Zayyan?” she whispered. “What have you hidden from me?”
Meanwhile, in London...
Prince Zayyan Al-Hazari stood at the glass window of his private suite overlooking the Thames, a glass of untouched scotch in hand. His jaw was clenched, his dark eyes brooding.
He had just gotten off a call with his mother.
“Find him,” she had said. “Your son.”
He had not spoken a word in return. The silence had said enough.
A son?
It was impossible. Unthinkable.
And yet... Zahra’s face appeared in his mind, the last time he saw her. That night on the beach in Bagamoyo. The goodbye that wasn’t one. The pain in her eyes when he walked away without explanation.
What if she had been pregnant?
What if she had never told him?
He cursed under his breath.
He picked up his phone, dialing a secure number. “Yusuf,” he said, his voice low. “I need you in Tanzania. Immediately. Find Zahra Bakari.”
Back in Bagamoyo...
Zahra was back in her classroom, the walls lined with posters of science projects and English phrases. She taught with energy, but her mind was elsewhere. Something felt... off. Since the award ceremony, she had felt eyes on her.
She glanced out the window and froze.
A black SUV had been parked across the road for three days now.
She had a feeling one she didn’t like.
That night, Zahra double-locked the door to her house, her instincts on high alert. Ayaan was fast asleep, his head buried beneath his favorite lion-print blanket. But Zahra sat in the dim kitchen light, heart uneasy.
She remembered how the reporter at the ceremony had asked about Ayaan’s father. She thought she had buried that part of her life for her own peace, and Ayaan’s safety. But the past had a way of resurfacing when least wanted.
Suddenly, a knock.
Three sharp taps on the door.
She froze.
Then a voice: “Miss Zahra Bakari?”
Male. Calm. Foreign accent.
She didn’t answer.
“We’re not here to harm you. My name is Yusuf. I come from... an old friend.”
Zahra’s breath caught.
Zayyan.
Her fingers hovered over the lock. Every instinct screamed no.
But she opened it anyway.
Standing before her was a sharply dressed man in a dark suit, his expression composed, almost kind. Behind him, the same black SUV from before.
“I was sent by Prince Zayyan Al-Hazari of Zahrania,” he said. “He wishes to speak with you. Privately.”
Zahra’s eyes narrowed. “He’s eight years late.”
Yusuf gave a respectful nod. “And yet... he never knew.”
Elsewhere in Zahrania...
Prince Zayyan stood before the royal family council. The photo of Ayaan lay on the conference table, printed on fine paper. Around the room sat half a dozen stern-faced elders, including his mother, Queen Layla.
“He’s a child,” one elder muttered. “And we don’t even know if he’s yours.”
“I know,” Zayyan said coldly. “I know that face. That blood. He’s mine.”
“And his mother?” another asked.
Zayyan glanced at his mother, then back at the room. “She was never told who I truly was. I left without a word. That was my mistake.”
“A mistake that could cost you the throne,” Khalid chimed in from the corner, arms crossed, smug. “An illegitimate child from a foreign schoolteacher?”
Zayyan stepped forward. “Watch your tongue.”
But Queen Layla raised a hand. “Enough.”
She turned to her son. “If this boy is truly your son, we must be careful. The press. The public. The law.”
Zayyan’s jaw tightened. “I will handle it.”
The Queen’s gaze softened for a brief moment. “Then go. See her. See the boy. But remember—this kingdom does not belong to just your heart. It belongs to our people.”
Back in Bagamoyo...
Yusuf handed Zahra a simple envelope. Inside it, a plane ticket. First-class. Dar es Salaam to Zahrania.
“Prince Zayyan is requesting a private audience,” Yusuf said. “Not for politics. Not for pressure. Just... to see him. The boy.”
Zahra folded the paper slowly. Her fingers trembled.
A decade of silence.
One unforgettable night.
And now... the truth was calling.
She looked toward Ayaan’s room.
“No promises,” she said quietly. “I’ll hear him out. That’s all.”
Yusuf nodded. “That’s all he asks.”
Great! Let’s continue Chapter 2: The Royal Investigation—this time diving deeper as Zahra travels to Zahrania and finally comes face-to-face with Prince Zayyan after eight years. This segment will develop their emotional tension, the cultural and political atmosphere of Zahrania, and how Ayaan’s presence begins to shift the power balance.
The private jet touched down on Zahranian soil just after sunset. From the window, Zahra could see the glimmering lights of the capital city—a stark contrast to the quiet shores of Bagamoyo.
Ayaan sat beside her, sleepy but wide-eyed.
“Mama... are we really in another country?”
“Yes, baby,” Zahra whispered, smoothing his curls. “This is where your father comes from.”
The royal escort waiting on the tarmac didn’t wear military uniforms, but the way they moved silent, deliberate made Zahra’s skin crawl. Everything felt like a well-rehearsed secret.
As they stepped into the black luxury car, Ayaan leaned into her.
“I’m scared.”
She kissed his forehead. “I am too.”
The Royal Palace – East Wing Guest Quarters
Zahra had never seen anything like it. Marble floors so polished they reflected the ornate ceilings. Gold leaf trimmed the archways. Servants walked like whispers, eyes down, but nothing escaped their notice.
She was shown to a suite with separate bedrooms, a private sitting area, and a glass terrace overlooking the city.
Not once did she smile.
Not even when a silver tray arrived with tea and fresh dates.
She sat on the edge of the velvet couch, her fingers clenched.
Then, the door opened.
Zayyan.
The same man.
Only... not.
He wore royal garb now—dark navy with the Zahranian emblem embroidered at the chest. But it was his eyes that stole her breath. The same storm-grey she had fallen for years ago. The same ones Ayaan had inherited.
“Zahra,” he said.
Her name in his voice hurt more than she expected.
“You don’t get to say it,” she snapped, standing.
He swallowed hard. “I deserve that.”
There was silence.
Eight years’ worth.
Zahra’s voice broke as she finally spoke again. “You left without a word.”
“I didn’t know you were” he stopped himself. “If I had known...”
She shook her head. “Don’t say that. Don’t lie.”
Zayyan stepped forward. “I’m not lying. I didn’t know. My mother... she kept things from me. She knew. Somehow, she knew. But she waited until his photo surfaced.”
He paused. “That boy is mine, Zahra. Isn’t he?”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Zayyan took a deep breath. “I need to meet him.”
Zahra nodded slowly. “Tomorrow. After school hours. One hour. That’s all.”
The Next Day – Royal Garden
Ayaan ran his hands over the trimmed hedges, his eyes full of wonder. Zahra stood nearby, tense.
Zayyan entered the garden, alone. His footsteps slowed when he saw the boy.
The resemblance was... undeniable.
Ayaan looked up.
Their eyes met.
Neither spoke.
But Zahra saw it—the recognition. Like a mirror meeting its reflection.
Zayyan knelt down.
“You must be Ayaan.”
The boy nodded shyly. “Are you my... mom said I’d meet you today.”
Zayyan smiled gently. “Yes. I’m your father.”
The words lingered in the air like a sacred spell.
Ayaan didn’t run. Didn’t speak. He simply walked forward... and hugged him.
Zahra turned away, wiping a tear.
Later That Night – Council Chambers
Queen Layla sat with her son, tension between them like glass ready to shatter.
“You brought her here,” she said coldly.
“She agreed. For his sake.”
“You still believe love is stronger than legacy.”
“I believe truth is.”
She rose, walking to the window. “If the council confirms the boy’s lineage, he becomes the crown’s bloodline. That means the throne is at stake. Your cousin Khalid will not sit quietly.”
“I know.”
“And Zahra?”
Zayyan’s jaw clenched. “She will never be used.”
The Queen turned. “Then you must choose wisely. The boy or the crown. Because here, you may not keep both.”
- Writer
