Rashid slumped down in his favorite leather chair and stared at the floor. Resigned, he replied, “Yes, Father. It is best. You are right.” He stood up and paced the room. “After all, she was just a woman. There will be other women.”

Mohammed smiled. “That is more like the old Rashid. Remember who and what you are; the future King must devote himself to his country.”

“Yes, I understand, Father. I am sorry for my weakness.” He bowed his head.

Mohammed patted his son on the back. “I am sure you will overcome it. Now, come, let us have supper together.”

Later that night, Sabria, a young serving girl, crept into Rashid’s apartments and into his bed. He knew his father had sent her, as a solution to a problem, and though he also knew it was not, he did not send her away. He fiercely made love to the poor girl, trying to erase the sweet memory of Sara, until finally, he exploded deep inside the writhing body beneath him, but still the vision of cobalt blue eyes burned in his brain.

Out of breath, he rolled off the girl and told her to leave. He ignored the tears streaming down her face from his rough treatment of her. She clutched her dress around her and ran out of the room.

Alone in his bed, Rashid cursed the fates for bringing love into his life, then snatching it away again.




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