Inside the hotel room, Zarah had fallen asleep on her praying mat, a half-eaten plate of chicken biryani lying next to her. The shrill sound of the alarm clock suddenly pierced the air, causing Safeenah to jolt awake. She rubbed her eyes and glanced around the room before spotting her mother, still snoring loudly like a yeti. Safeenah walked over and shook her gently. "Mum, wake up!" she yelled, her voice cutting through the early morning quiet.

Zarah stirred and checked the alarm clock. It was 7:00 am; she was late again. But this time, she was thankful she had eaten the sahoor meal.

Safeenah picked up the leftover chicken and began to eat, she was not fasting today. 

"Sweetheart, it's not healthy to eat without brushing your teeth. You've got germs in there!" Zarah lectured while tidying up.

The doorbell rang, and Safeenah rushed to answer it. Dale stood at the entrance.

"Uncle Dale, come in!" Safeenah invited.

"No, dear. Where is your mum? If she’s out, tell her I’ll be waiting at the parking lot," Dale replied, a smile plastered on his face. Safeenah walked back into the room, confused and speechless, her six-year-old mind struggling to process his message.

Twenty minutes later, Zarah and her daughter were both dressed and ready. Zarah took Safeenah by the hand and they left the room together, heading to Zarah's workplace. Safeenah, clutching her small backpack filled with coloring books and snacks, seemed content to accompany her mother.

Zarah walked to the blue Tesla, got in with Safeenah, and Dale drove off in silence. 

They drove to the palace in silence, the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging in the air. When they reached the grand entrance, Dale brought the car to a smooth stop. Without a word, he got out and walked around to open the door for Zarah, his actions precise and deliberate.

Zarah got down and helped her daughter out. "Have a nice day, Dale!" Zarah called out, but Dale ignored her and drove off. What's wrong with him? Zarah wondered.

"Ms. Zarah, you’re late again," Uthman greeted her with a smile, an unusual gesture from him. He then looked down at little Safeenah and added, "Hello, little girl."

"Salaam, uncle," Safeenah responded with a slight pout.

"I am so sorry, I slept off," Zarah apologized, her eyes fixed on the ground.

"No time to sulk, let’s go to the Prince," Uthman said with a wave of his hand. "The French men are here," he added. Then, crouching down to Safeenah's level, he said, "Little girl, you'll come with me and let mummy do her work, right?"

Safeenah looked up at her mother, silently asking for permission. Zarah nodded, and Safeenah took Uthman's hand.

"That's it," Uthman said cheerfully. "Go meet them at the gazebo," he instructed Zarah before starting to walk away.

"Bye, ummi," Safeenah waved at her mother as she followed Uthman.

"Bye, habibti," Zarah waved back, heading towards the gazebo.

Prince Abubakar sat among the French delegates, a frown plastered on his face. It wasn't because he found their conversation amusing, but because he couldn't understand a word of it. The elongated vowels and unfamiliar intonations sounded humorous to his ears.

Zarah hurried toward the gazebo, keenly aware of her tardiness. She avoided eye contact with the prince as she approached the group.

"Bonsoir Monsieur," Zarah greeted a younger Frenchman with a bright smile. Abubakar muttered something inaudible, clearly annoyed. Zarah took her seat next to the younger man, who appeared to be related to the older French delegate.

The younger Frenchman cast Zarah a series of lustful glances. He looked like a wealthy heir, accustomed to being surrounded by beautiful women.

"Ah, enfin, quelqu'un qui peut parler notre langue," the younger Frenchman said with a smirk. 

"Ah, finally, someone who can speak our language."

"We have been waiting for quite some time, Mademoiselle. Your prince seems more interested in his phone than in our presence. He hasn't even offered us a drink," he added, gesturing towards Prince Abubakar, who was still absorbed in his phone.

Zarah's eyes widened slightly at the blatant disrespect — she wasn't surprised at all. She composed herself quickly and turned to the older Frenchman. "Je suis désolée pour l'attente. Le prince est souvent très occupé, mais je vais m'assurer que vous êtes pris en charge."

"I am sorry for the wait. The prince is often very busy, but I will make sure you are taken care of."

The older Frenchman, with a wry chuckle, shook his head. "C'est inacceptable. Nous sommes ici pour des affaires sérieuses, pas pour être ignorés. Un prince vagabond, c'est ce qu'il est."

"This is unacceptable. We are here for serious business, not to be ignored. A vagabond prince, that's what he is."

Zarah felt a flush of embarrassment for the prince. She leaned forward, her voice calm yet firm. "Monsieur, je comprends votre frustration. Allow me to arrange for refreshments immediately, and I will personally ensure that the prince gives you his full attention." She signalled to a servant nearby to bring drinks and refreshments and at the same time gently kicked the prince's leg under the table but he ignored her — still wearing the same expression — annoyance. "I apologize for the inconvenience. Your time and presence here are highly valued."

"Sir, I understand your frustration."

Prince Abubakar, upon hearing what Zarah said, finally looked up from his phone. He noticed Zarah's stern expression and the obvious displeasure of the French delegates. "Is everything alright?" he asked, trying to mask his annoyance.

Zarah gave him a pointed look. "The French delegation has been waiting for a while, Your Highness. It would be appropriate to address their concerns and offer them some hospitality."

"Ms. Rahman, you don't give me orders, last time I checked, I was still the crown prince."

"An Incapable one." The older French man commented.

"Pere, stop it." The younger French man nudged the other, hiding his laughter.

"In fact, I can't deal with this right now, I'm not the Sheikh." Prince Abubakar said, standing from his seat angrily and walking off.

"Donne-nous une minute," Zarah said to the French men who seemed unaffected by Abubakar's words before also standing up. She followed the Prince behind, running after him. "Your Royal-ness," she shouted as she pursued him. "Prince Abubakar, you need to calm down, those people are angry." Zarah began softly, aware of his frustration.

"Give us a minute."

Prince Abubakar suddenly halted, turning to face Zarah, "How was I supposed to know they are angry, I'm not the French expert, am I?" He began walking back to Zarah, "or am I supposed to do your job for you? You were supposed to be translating everything they say, but you didn't, did you. What were they saying?" He inquired.

"I'll explain," Zarah muttered, not knowing where exactly she was to begin.

"Then explain," he snapped, struggling to contain his anger.

"The French delegates are here to discuss the new political and economic strategies between Paris and Dubai. They were laughing at the complexity of the situation, not at you personally," Zarah clarified, telling half the truth. 

"That was not what I heard, I'm pretty sure I heard vagabond prince — Ms. Rahman, are you lying to me?" Zarah remained mute, "—What were you supposed to be? You are my translator for Allah's sake!" Prince Abubakar said, suddenly gripping Zarah's hand tightly and marching towards the palace. 

"What is this for, you're hurting me." Zarah practically cried. She kept struggling but it was to no avail. The Prince was walking to the Fazza's division with Zarah. As they walked through the palace's hallway, servants greeted them with a slight bow. 

Prince Abubakar barged into the reserved Fazza's division without any greeting; as soon as he entered, he let go of Zarah's wrist. Now Zarah had no choice but to stay there and watch like a fool.

"Abubakar, are you out of your wits?" Sheik Hamdan asked, his irritation evident as he looked at the prince who had barged in unannounced.

"Thank Allah you know I'm Abubakar and not Fazza!" Prince Abubakar retorted, his tone laced with anger. Zarah made a move to turn away, but he gripped her arm tightly.

"I'm done with your French men. Do you know what they called me? A vagabond prince!" Abubakar emphasized the word "vagabond," his frustration palpable.

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't what they said, you don't even understand french." Sheik Hamdan's voice cut through the air as Abubakar released Zarah's wrist. "Don't be a whiny crown prince and do your duties," Fazza added, his words heavy with disrespect. Zarah sighed heavily, questioning why she had followed the prince into this uncomfortable situation.

"Father, have you ever considered my happiness? How many times have I recited the Qur'an? I have no time for myself. I don't need a translator. I don't need her. All I want is my free time!" Prince Abubakar's words were sharp, and Zarah felt her heart shatter into a million pieces.

"But Abubakar, you are my crown prince. You have to be the future Sheikh I want you to be, not the one you want to be," Sheik Hamdan insisted, ignoring Zarah as if she were invisible.

"But I can never be the ruler you want," Prince Abubakar replied angrily, his tone defiant.

"You can, Abubakar. Look at me now! I am the sheikh my father wanted me to be. Look, I've got houses, companies, and lots of cars, and I have a loving wife," Sheik Hamdan said, pointing at the miniature models of the city of Dubai and his vast enterprises.

Abubakar’s frustration bubbled over. "This reminds me of your responsibilities Baba, you're the Sheik,  aren't you? You need to engage properly with the French delegates. They have been waiting for you and feel disrespected. It’s essential to show them that we value their time and presence here." Prince Abubakar mimicked Zarah, and she just stood still.

"Go and have a good talk with the French men and don't disturb my peace!" Fazza said, patting the prince's shoulder dismissively.

Seething with anger, Prince Abubakar stormed out of the room. Zarah, feeling humiliated and ignored, bowed briefly before following him out.

♣♣♣

The atmosphere in the room was thick with warmth, the rich scent of musky oud permeating the air. Abubakar sat regally on a throne-like chair, his posture relaxed as he rested his arms on the ornately carved armrests. By his side, his pet tiger Bilal lounged silently, its watchful eyes following every movement. Zarah entered the room, halting abruptly as Bilal rose, poised to attack.

"Bilal!" Abubakar's voice cut through the tension, commanding the tiger to retreat. Obediently, Bilal settled back onto the ground.

"Abubakar... Prince Abubakar," Zarah stammered, her voice tinged with nervousness. "I think your father is right. You should go back to the French men. It's not polite to keep people waiting."

The Prince remained silent, his eyes unreadable.

"Were you eavesdropping on the conversation between the crown prince and the sheikh? You could get arrested for that," Prince Abubakar finally spoke, his tone sharp.

"You dragged me here! What was I supposed to do? Cover my ears?" Zarah shot back, her annoyance rising. "Let's go to the French men, I have a plan!" she added enthusiastically.

"Rule forty-five," Prince Abubakar intoned dismissively, his attitude infuriating Zarah.

She lost her composure. "Keep quiet, Abubakar! You're just a rude prince. To hell with your worthless rules. You should start treating people the way you want to be treated. I don't care if I get fired; I will stand by the truth. You are a stubborn prince who needs to grow up and accept reality. Do you think life is just a piece of cake you can order and eat? You're a coward, and I wish you'd realize that sooner."

Zarah turned and began to walk out of the room, her frustration palpable.

"Hold on, where do you think you're going?" Prince Abubakar called after her, his tone unceremonious but hinting at something more.

Author's note

So... This chapter is so stressful. I know I included new things that wasn't there before — trust me, it felt better this way. I hope you noticed the translations to each French dialogue in this chapter. If you have any questions, let me know in the comment.

Glossary

1. Ummi: means 'mother' in Arabic language.

2. Baba (Abu) means Father in most Languages, including Arabic language.

3. Habibti: means My Love in Arabic language.

4. Sheik (Malik) in this contrast means King/Ruler.

5. Sahoor: this is the predawn food eaten by Muslims to begin a day's fast.

6. Pere means Father in French