Thousand and One Hours

3. The Freedom Which The Loyalty Brought

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Zahra couldn’t have picked a place as perfect as Boston if she had chosen a place for herself. She understood why Raul was paid millions of dollars for his loyalty; he was sure to do a mighty fine job to ensure that whomever held his allegiance got the best of what they wanted.

Not that Zahra promised him anything, no.

Raul had told her that his loyalty was hers the moment she raised her hand against his execution five years ago. Capital punishment was outlawed in western countries but many countries in the Middle East never did; but even then they were cautious in its implementation considering the possibility of a judicial disaster, if the man they executed turned up innocent years down the line. A man who was dead stayed dead, innocent or not. There was no going back from it. But spies were the only exception— if caught, they were sure to turn up hooked to a noose by sunrise.

She had fought tooth and nail for her position in the Royal Council, which was why her jeopardizing her position to save his neck meant so much to Raul. It was the only interaction she was allowed to have with the outside world. He was aware that she had a real chance to being imprisoned in her own home for the sole reason of standing up for him.

Regardless, she did.

The men around her condemned her for showing compassion to a traitor. But she had pleaded to her father, the current Monarch. It was common knowledge that Sheikh Hussein had a soft spot for his youngest, only daughter and it was further cemented when Raul was condemned to five years in prison and a hundred hard lashings in exchange for his life. Raul agreed and served five years enduring severely painful lashings, only to come back to her and promise her anything she wanted with his loyalty.

She had asked for her freedom and he asked no questions.

And Raul will not go unpaid if he manages to give me the life I asked for, she vowed.

Even if she had left behind her life as a Royal and by extension her bottom-less bank account, she had liquidized enough of her inheritance and had deposited it in several of off-shore accounts over time to last her a full life without a day of worry and more. And considering how deep her family’s wallet went, she was confident that they wouldn’t notice even if she squirrelled away more than 9 figure sums.

The wealth of the royal family of Abadi was legendary, after all.

Zahra looked outside her window, at the tree in her backyard sheading orange leaves. Where she came from there was no spring or autumn; it was either summer or winter, both separated by a spell of rain. It was refreshing, at the same time made her think of her home.

Home.

Although she spent the better part of her life trying to escape from the said home, she still missed it.

She missed her brothers; Yousef, the twins-- Aiman and Ahmed and, lastly the eldest of them, Crown Prince Zahmair. Her brothers had coddled her whole life and there was not a day when she had not spoken or met at least one of them. Deep down Zahra knew that they feared she would feel separated from the rest of the family as she was from a different mother unlike them. Zahra’s mother was her father’s second wife after his first Queen died giving birth to Yousef. In a culture where the King was allowed multiple wives, Zahra had always admired her father for having one Queen when he could have had many. Long back, before her relationship with her father strained, Zahra had asked why.

“I am a weak man, my little flower.” He had answered her. “I have no heart to divide to gift my many wives for safe-keeping. And so I have one.”

It was then she saw more clearly.

The “one” her father spoke about was never her mother, the current Queen.

His heart was his first Queen’s only and would remain so till his death. His marriage to her mother and Zahra’s conception was just a political reassurance, if anything. And to compensate for the knowledge that she was a political pawn unlike her brothers who were born out of love, Sheikh Hussein loved her to a fault. He loved her obsessively, possessively.

Zahra was lavished with anything her heart desired.

Gold, jewels, expensive clothes, exotic pets and any other forms money could materialize as. Her luxurious palace sprawled over hundreds of acres was filled with the extremes of grandeur: swimming pools bigger than lakes, bed made of hand-woven Egyptian cotton, a wardrobe filled with clothes encrusted with precious stone and made custom from world-renowned designers, the dining large enough for a hundred people filled with any kind of food she can dream of, her collection of limited edition sports cars, rooms filled with her diamond accessories, her personal library filled with thousands of books, six personal servants and over fifty others serving her around the clock, her conservatory and sunroom both larger than a mansion each. And not to mention Fatoum, her pet cheetah who owned his own quarters and miles of artificial forest where he could hunt. Her father made sure that she had everything and more and even more.

But all of it came with a much heavier price tag, her freedom. She was to never leave her opulent mansion where she was alone with her servants. Her only friend was Laylah, daughter to one of the advisors to the Sheikh. They grew up together and when her flew in renowned professors from Oxford to her home rather than send her to a university; Laylah attended the private lectures with her rather than chase the freedom she had.

Zahra shook her head to get rid of her thoughts.

Here she was reminiscing her limited life at home when she should be out enjoying her freedom. She was well aware that until she was in UK, the freedom she was enjoying was all but temporary. And so she should be enjoying it like it could exhaust in a blink of her eye.

Once she made up her mind, she did a short work of pulling on a maroon full-sleeved sweater top and waist-high jeans with dark brown boots. She pulled out a gold-embellished bottle no larger than her thumb and stared at it fondly as she dabbed a drop the murky liquid inside on her wrists and behind her ears. It was Oudh, an intense Arabian scent that was worth its weight in gold. She breathed in the smoky scent that was lingering in her room even after safely tucking the tiny bottle away. For her it was her home, her culture and her childhood. She let her hair down on its natural waves and applied some mascara and a clear gloss before she gunned the engine of an ordinary white Prius she was provided by Raul.

Despite not being surrounded by the luxury she had known since her childhood, she felt much at ease in the weather-worn economy car, dressed in a common woman’s dress. She turned the volume high in her little cocoon of happiness as she navigated the traffic to the heart of the city of Boston.

What would she do, where would she go?

She could go anywhere, anytime she wished!

Zahra smiled and enjoyed the simplicity of it all. Does the people around her not know how blessed they were to experience this feeling all their lives? The liberty to choose for themselves was such a privilege and she felt jealous of how easy it came to them.

She couldn’t wait to let her heart choose what to do with this alien notion that was freedom.