My queen.
Somehow she didn’t burst into tears. But she knew the memory of this moment would fuel weeping jags far into her future, probably till the day she died.
With one last kiss on her hand, he rose to his feet and a hush descended, as if everyone held their breath. She knew just how they felt. Her breath clogged in her lungs as she watched him glide to his throne with the regality of a king born. Then, sweeping his abaya aside, he sat down.
Still holding his abaya back with a hand at his hip, he leaned forward to prop his right hand over his knee and struck a pose, a display of grandeur and entitlement that would be the standard for every king who came after him.
After he was satisfied everyone had enough photo and video documentation, he turned to her, his smile flaring again. “How about we feed all these enthusiastic people? They’ve yelled enough for their dinners, don’t you think?”
Suddenly she was spluttering with laughter, then with surprise as she found herself plucked from her seat and up into his arms. He descended the steps, with her cradled against him as if she weighed nothing, and waded through the growing din of approval as people parted to let him pass.
The world spun with every thud of his powerful steps, with his feel and scent. Hoping she didn’t mess her face or his clothes too much, she clung around his neck, burying her face in his chest, letting him take her wherever he wished.
Excitement swelled as he whisked her outside the citadel walls, where the gigantic wedding tent had been erected in the clearing overlooking Zahara, which was celebrating their new king and his wedding in the most delightful way.
Under a rising full moon, every dwelling in town had its windows open, and in each room blazed a light with a different color, turning the hills they were built over into a spread of glowing gemstones as far as the eye could see.
Then they came to the tent that looked like a fairy castle made of malleable materials, its whiteness silvered by moonbeams and gilded by the flickering flames of the thousand torches surrounding it at a safe distance. It was so big it would accommodate the three thousand people who were attending from the three kingdoms and the world.
The inside was adorned in the same color scheme of her bridal clothes, the rich tones giving everything a deep luxury bordering on decadence. Mohab carried her past hundreds of tables spread with satin tablecloths, lanterns, flowers, the finest local pottery and blown glass, all in vibrant, complementing colors. Then he was setting her down in their kousha, a gilded arabesque “marital cage,” open on one side so they’d preside over the celebrations. Right in front of them was the biggest dance floor she’d ever seen covered in hundreds of hand-woven keleems.
As soon as everyone took their places around the semicircular tables, affording everyone the best view of the action, Mohab gestured for dinner to be served, and hundreds of waiters poured from every opening of the tent holding huge serving plates under brass domed covers. Her family and his were in the first row of tables across the dance floor. Her family looked so elated, it twisted the shard in her heart deeper. She brought it under control as she contemplated his family. Everyone, including that old goat King Hassan, looked happy with the whole thing. Everyone except Najeeb.
He hadn’t talked to her again since the engagement, but his disapproval grated on her every nerve. Najeeb had long come to terms with what his father had done, yet another of his parent’s ongoing transgressions that he’d had to put up with all his life. It was Mohab he couldn’t forgive. Najeeb also couldn’t understand why Jala was giving Mohab a second chance after everything that had happened.
As every hurt she’d ever suffered began rushing to her eyes, Mohab tugged at her. The music started to an overpowering rhythm and dozens of young men in flowing beige robes and red headdresses rushed in to form lines. Many women followed to face them, wearing beige-and-garnet dresses and head covers embroidered in cross-stitch designs. Then one of the most energetic folk dances she’d ever seen commenced, one she hadn’t witnessed during all the entertainment they’d had in the past two weeks. It must be one reserved for big occasions.
As if reading her mind, Mohab shouted over the music. “That’s a special dance for weddings. You haven’t seen one before because they postponed all weddings to focus on ours.”
As he talked he started clapping, urging her to clap, too. She did and was soon swept up in the unbridled energy of the performance. Then her family and all of his, except Najeeb, were rushing to the middle of the dance floor, uninhibitedly imitating the steps and soon becoming one with the choreography.
Suddenly the dancers streamed toward her and Mohab, the women converging on her and the men on Mohab.
“You put them up to this!” she accused laughingly, as she was carried on their wave away from him.
He gestured to her, feigning innocence. Then the two waves of dancers rushed toward each other with them in the middle, met then receded, leaving only her and Mohab together, with their families forming a circle around them. Guffawing, he caught her by the waist and swung her round and round, then put her back on the ground and prodded her to dance with him. Recalling long-unpracticed dance steps from Judar, she was soon moving with him to the primal, blood-pounding beat, her heart booming exuberantly in her chest. Finding herself transported into another realm where nothing existed but him, she felt his eyes dominating her, luring her, inflaming her, as he moved with her. It felt as if he was connected to her on fundamental levels, as if it was his will that powered her body.
The dances went on and on, interspersed with brief pauses to snatch refreshments and bites of food, then resuming. At one point, the singers handed mikes to each of the celebrity dancers to sing part of the songs. Mohab, of course, sang his motherland’s songs perfectly, but when she warbled through her own effort, the kind crowd still roared in approval.
At some point the music came to an end, and she couldn’t tell how much time had passed, minutes or hours. It felt as though she was wading in a dream. Then hundreds of people were shaking her hands or kissing her, insisting they’d never enjoyed themselves like this before. Even her family said this rivaled the delight of their own weddings.
Then Mohab disappeared from her side.
Eleven
Before alarm could descend on Jala, her brothers swept her into a 4x4 and drove with her into the desert.
As Farooq drove and Shehab sat beside him, Kamal accompanied her in the back. She nestled into him, still stunned by everything that had happened, endorphins and adrenaline fogging her brain. She didn’t even ask where they were taking her. It had to be to Mohab.