do you know, Elena?’ Khalil rounded on her and Elena blinked up, stunned at how quickly he had become suspicious, even angry. Dimah hadn’t said anything, Elena didn’t even know what she was going to say, yet here was Khalil, glaring at her accusingly.
‘Khalil,’ she whispered and he turned back to Dimah.
‘What do you need to tell me, Dimah?’
‘I should have told you a long time ago, Khalil.’ For once Dimah’s voice was low, certain, which made Elena all the more anxious. What was she going to say? ‘Perhaps even when you were a boy, but I was afraid. Afraid first for you, and how you would take it, and then afraid for me. How you would feel about me keeping such a secret.’
Khalil stared at her, his expression shuttered. ‘You are speaking in riddles.’
‘Only because I am still afraid to tell you the truth,’ Dimah admitted quietly. ‘But I can see you have changed, Khalil. I know you love Elena—’
‘Don’t tell me what I feel.’ Khalil cut her off brusquely and everything in Elena cringed and shrank. What was happening, and how had it all gone so wrong, so quickly?
Because it hadn’t been strong enough to begin with.
‘Khalil.’ Dimah faced him directly, bravely, as if she were facing a firing squad—a death sentence. ‘Hashem is not your father.’
His expression, amazingly, did not change. It did not so much as flicker. He didn’t even blink.
‘Say something,’ Dimah said softly and a muscle in his jaw bunched.
‘Nonsense.’
‘You don’t believe me?’ Dimah blinked, incredulous.
‘Why are you telling me this now, Dimah, after so many years?’ He nodded towards Elena. ‘Is it because of Elena? Because you think I’ve changed?’
Elena flinched; he sounded so contemptuous.
‘Partly. You have more to live for now, Khalil, than being Sheikh.’
He clenched his hands into fists. ‘But you’re lying. Hashem is my father.’
Dimah cocked her head and in that moment Elena imagined the older woman was looking at Khalil as she had when he’d first come to her, wild and angry and so very terrified. ‘Why would I lie, Khalil?’
He shrugged, the movement abrupt, aggressive. ‘You never wanted me to return to Kadar. Maybe my marriage to Elena has given you the opportunity—’
‘What opportunity? To deny you your birthright?’
‘It is my birthright.’
‘No,’ Dimah said with heavy finality. ‘It is not.’
Khalil shook his head. He held himself rigid, his gaze unblinking. ‘No.’
Everything in Elena ached as she realised what he was facing: the loss of his life’s purpose, his very self. No wonder he wanted to deny it.
‘I know it is a terrible thing for you to accept—’
‘How can I accept it?’ he demanded, and for a moment it seemed as if he almost wanted an answer to the question. ‘Why would you not tell me for twenty-five years?’
‘I told you, I was afraid!’ Dimah’s voice rang out, harsh and desperate. ‘The more time passed, the more difficult it became. I did not want you to think badly of me, or your mother. Her memory seemed like the only thing that sustained you.’
‘And you are tainting her memory now!’ Elena saw the agony in his eyes. ‘She was always so gentle with me. How could you do such a thing, Dimah? How could you accuse her of such a crime?’
‘Oh, Khalil.’ Dimah’s voice broke. ‘I’m a pitiful old woman, I know. I should have said something before. Long before. I closed my eyes to your ambition because I thought you would let go of it, in time. When Aziz became Sheikh, at least. I hoped that, in telling you now, I might finally set you free from this fruitless hope you’ve clung to for so long. That you’d be happy with the life you are making with Elena.’
‘Why would my father make his will so open-ended, if I was not his son?’ Khalil demanded.
‘Maybe because Aziz has never seemed interested in Kadar,’ Dimah offered helplessly. ‘I don’t know why, Khalil. But I do know what is true, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.’
Elena stepped forward and reached out one trembling hand. ‘Khalil,’ she began, but he jerked away from her.
‘This suits you, doesn’t it?’ he said in a snarl. ‘Now you’ll have just what you wanted—a puppet prince at your beck and call.’
She blinked, stung. ‘That’s not fair. And that’s not what I want at all.’
‘It’s certainly not what I want,’ Khalil snapped. ‘I’ll never forget Kadar and my birthright and everything that has ever been important to me. Everything I’ve ever been.’ His voice broke on the last word and he turned away from her, his head bowed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dimah said quietly. ‘I should have spoken before. I knew I had to speak now, since you were intending on returning to Kadar.’
‘How would you even know such a thing as this? My mother—’
‘Told me. She wrote me a letter, admitting everything. She even had a photograph of him, Khalil. Of your father.’
‘No.’ The one word was a cry of anguish and it broke Elena right open. Without even thinking of what she was doing or how Khalil might react, she went to him.
‘Khalil.’ She put her arms around his rigid body. ‘Khalil.’ Tears started in her eyes. What could she say to him? How could she make this better?
‘It can’t be true,’ Khalil said, and she heard then the agonised acceptance in his voice. He believed. He didn’t want to believe, but he did.
‘I can show you the letter, if you like,’ Dimah said quietly. ‘The photograph.’
Khalil gave a little shake of his head, then shrugged out of Elena’s embrace, his back to them both. ‘Who was he?’ he asked, his voice barely audible.
‘One of the palace guards,’ Dimah answered in a whisper. ‘You have his eyes.’
Khalil let out a sound that was almost a moan. Then he shook his head. ‘I can’t—’ He stopped, stared blankly for a moment. ‘I need to be alone,’ he said, and walked out of the room without looking at either of them again.
* * *
It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t, it couldn’t, it couldn’t.
He sounded like a little boy, Khalil thought with a surge of fury. Like a terrified little boy, begging for mercy.
Don’t hit me. Please don’t hit me. Where is my mother? My father? Please...
