Beholden to the Throne. Carol Marinelli
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Emir said. ‘You now have the privacy that you asked for. You have your chance to speak. So why have you suddenly lost your voice?’
‘I haven’t.’
‘Then speak.’
Amy could not look at him. Gone now was her boldness. She drew in a deep breath and, staring down, saw that her hands were pleated together. Very deliberately she separated them and placed her arms at her sides, forced her chin up to meet his stare. He was right—she had the audience she had requested. A very private, very intimidating audience, but at least now she had a chance to speak with the King. On behalf of Clemira and Nakia she would force herself to do so while she still had the chance. Amy was well aware that he would probably fire her, but she hoped that if he listened even to a little of what she had to say things might change.
They had to.
Which was why she forced herself to speak.
‘When I was hired it was on the understanding that I was to assist in the raising of the children.’ Her voice was calmer now, even if her heart was not. ‘Queen Hannah was very specific in her wishes for the girls and we had similar values …’ She faltered then, for she should not compare herself to the late Queen. ‘Rather, I admired Queen Hannah’s values—I understood what she wanted for her girls, and we spoke at length about their future. It was the reason why I signed such a long contract.’
‘Go on,’ Emir invited.
‘When I took the job I understood that her pregnancy had made the Queen unwell—that it might take some considerable time for her to recover and that she might not be able to do all she wanted to for the babies. However—’
‘I am sure Queen Hannah would have preferred that you were just assisting her in the raising of the twins,’ Emir interrupted. ‘I am sure that when she hired you, Queen Hannah had no intention of dying.’ His lip curled in disdain as he looked down at Amy and his words dripped sarcasm. ‘I apologise for the inconvenience.’
‘No!’ Amy refused to let him turn things around again—refused to let him miss her point. ‘If Queen Hannah were still alive I would happily get up to the twins ten times in the night if I had to. She was a wonderful woman, an amazing mother, and I would have done anything for her …’ Amy meant every word she said. She had admired the Queen so much, had adored her for her forward thinking and for the choices she had made to ensure the happiness of her girls. ‘I would have done anything for Queen Hannah, but I—’
‘You will have assistance,’ Emir said. ‘I will see that Fatima—’
She could not believe that he still didn’t get it. Bold again now, she interrupted the King. ‘It’s not another nanny that the twins need. It’s you! I am tired of getting up at night while their father sleeps.’
‘Their father is the King.’ His voice was both angry and incredulous. ‘Their father is busy running the country. I am trying to push through a modern maternity hospital with a cardiac ward to ensure no other woman suffers as my wife did. Today I have twenty workers trapped in the emerald mines. But instead of reaching out to my people I have to hear about your woes. The people I rule are nervous as to the future of their country and yet you expect me, the King, to get up at night to a crying child?’
‘You used to!’ Amy was instant in her response. ‘You used to get up to your babies.’
And there it was again—that flash of pain across his features. Only this time it did not dissipate. This time it remained. His eyes were screwed closed, he pressed his thumb and finger to the bridge of his nose and she could hear his hard breathing. Amy realised that somewhere inside was the Emir she had known and she was desperate to contact him again, to see the loving father he had once been returned to his daughters—it was for that reason she continued.
‘I would bring Queen Hannah one of the twins for feeding while you would take care of the other.’
He removed his hand from his face, and stood there as she spoke, his fists clenched, his face so rigid and taut that she could see a muscle flickering beneath his eye. And she knew that it was pain not rage that she was witnessing, Amy was quite sure of it, for as sad as those times had been still they had been precious.
‘And, no, I don’t honestly expect you to get up at night to your babies, but is it too much for you to come in and see them each day? Is it too much to ask that you take a more active role in their lives? They are starting to talk …’
He shook his head—a warning, perhaps, that she should not continue—but she had to let him know all that he was missing out on, even if it cost her her job.
‘Clemira is standing now. She pulls herself up on the furniture and Nakia tries to copy—she claps and smiles and …’
‘Stop.’ His word was a raw husk.
‘No!’ She would not stop. Could not stop.
Amy was too upset to register properly the plea in his voice, for she was crying now. The scarf that had slipped from her head as she made her case unravelled and fell to the floor. She wanted to grab it, retrieve it, for she felt his eyes move to her neck, to the beastly scar that was there—her permanent reminder of hell—but her hands did not fly to her neck in an attempt to cover it. She had more important things on her mind—two little girls whose births she had witnessed, two little girls who had won her heart—and her voice broke as she choked out the truth.
‘You need to know that things are happening with your children. It is their first birthday in two days’ time and they’ll be terrified in the desert—terrified to be parted from me. And then, when they return to the Palace, they’ll be dressed up and trotted out for the people to admire. You will hold them, and they will be so happy that you do, but then you will go back to ignoring them …’ She was going to be fired, Amy knew it, so she carried on speaking while she still could. ‘I cannot stand to see how they are being treated.’
‘They are treated like the princesses they are!’ Emir flared. ‘They have everything—’
‘They have nothing!’ Amy shouted. ‘They have the best clothes and cots and furniture and jewels, and it means nothing because they don’t have you. Just because they’re gi—’ Amy stopped herself from saying it, halted her words, but it was already too late.
‘Go on.’ His words invited her but his tone and stance did not.
‘I think that I have already said enough.’ There was no point saying any more, Amy realised. Emir was not going to change at her bidding. The country was not going to embrace the girls just because she did. So she picked up her scarf and replaced it. ‘Thank you for your time, Your Highness.’
She turned to go and as she did his voice halted her.
‘Amy …’
So he did remember her name.
She turned to look at him, met his black gaze full on. The pain was still there, witness to the agony this year must have been for him, but even as she recognised it, it vanished. His features were hardening in anger now, and the voice he had used to call her changed in that instant.
His words were stern when they came. ‘It is not your place to question our ways.’
‘What is my place?’
‘An employee.’
Oh, he’d made things brutally clear, but at least it sounded as if she still had a job—at least she would not be sent away from the twins. ‘I’ll remember that in future.’
‘You would be very wise to,’ Emir said, watching as she bowed and then walked out, leaving him standing for once alone in his sumptuous office. But not for long. Patel walked in almost the second that Amy had gone, ready to resume, for there was still much to be taken care of even at this late stage in the day.
‘I apologise, Your Highness,’ Patel said as he entered. ‘I should never have allowed her to speak with you directly—you