Dirty Wild Sultan by Mahi Mistry
1
Zain
Ididn’t deserve to be the Sultan of Azmia.
The thought rang hollow against my entire body. Pounding in my head increasing when people on the floor kept laughing and talking, dancing in-tune with the sounds of gentle instruments played by the musicians. Walls of the Court Room felt like they were getting smaller and smaller as each minute passed by. Shrinking down on the dais where I sat, on the throne that I didn’t deserve to be seated on.
Its dark color leeched of any life. Black against the beige mosaic of the Court Room, the dome at the center glowing brightly as foreign royals awed at the structure. Awed at me, the sheathed sword leaning on the lion's leg of the throne.
My legs tensed, my neck straining after nodding at the guests who had arrived at my palace, my entire body locking and coiling—
“Stop glaring at everyone, Brother,” Khalid drawled, prowling towards the obsidian throne. I gave him a look—a look to behave himself—when he left two twin princesses of our neighboring country on the floor and placed himself on the arm of the throne. “These princesses are here for your attention, and you are doing your best to scare them away. Here.”
I unclenched my jaw and looked at him, his face so similar to mine. Dark slashing brows, sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of dark chocolate. They held more pain than I could ever imagine in my thirty-three years of life.
“I do not want to indulge myself with any alcohol, Khalid. You are already reeking of it,” I said, glancing at the crowd. The mothers with their young daughters fawning at us, wishing their daughter would grab the attention of either me, Sultan of Azmia or my brother, Prince of Azmia.
“Why do I need to look for a bride when this party is held for Zara’s birthday?” I grumbled to myself, making Khalid chuckle.
We held the party for my sister, the only Princess of Azmia, Zara Al Latif, who would turn nineteen when the clock struck midnight. We were celebrating her birthday and also welcoming the New Year. Zara was born on New Year’s Day, and I and Khalid were both relieved and sad that we would celebrate her birthday in a few hours. Relieved that she would be more independent, responsible; and sad that we wouldn’t be able to make sure she was safe with… men, boys of her age, when she was away for her studies.
Khalid pressed an intricate golden cup in my hand, the auburn liquid swishing in it. “Drink this. It will make you feel more relaxed and… if you are lucky, you will finally get laid, Zain.”
I glared at him when he smirked at me, sauntering away to find the twin princesses and warm their bed for the night. Blood rushed to my cheeks. I gulped the burning liquid down my throat, relishing the scorching taste it left on my lips.
Unfortunately for me, my younger brother knew I had never slept with anyone… had sex with anyone. I was a virgin. A thirty-three-year-old, Sultan of the most powerful country in the Middle East, was a virgin. I planned to keep it that way. I did not mind that one bit. I was perfectly fine pouring my energy into ruling the country, being a better Sultan than my father ever was and taking care of my siblings as the oldest.
Even though it came to using my own hands during unfortunate events, I did not see the need to seek any female for… more pleasure.
“Found anyone yet?” Zara, my little sister, asked, lacing her arm around my elbow when I walked down the steps from the dais to the marble floor designed in beautiful, tangled patterns.
It was not my idea to keep the throne and Court Room but our advisor, Rahim, felt the need to keep it as it was over a hundred years old.
“No luck, yet,” I replied, thanking her for sticking to my side and not letting me walk alone among the women who kept eyeing me.
Just like the unnecessary throne that we didn’t want or need, our advisor wanted me, the Sultan of Azmia, the Golden Country, to get married and have heirs. I had scoffed at that notion when I was twenty-five, but almost a decade later I could not scoff and ignore it anymore. To protect my country and be a better sultan, I knew the day would come where I would have to find a woman to get married and have heirs.
Even though I wanted to stay celibate and not have any children of my own. I had decided that fifteen years ago.
Her beautiful chestnut wavy hair gleamed in the light when she asked, “Can I go with Khalid to our club?”
I looked at her innocent elfish face, her hazel eyes similar to mine and Khalid’s, but the difference of her pale skin to our tan-golden skin was noticeable. She was the daughter of our second mother, who married our father when he visited London nineteen-years ago.
“You know I won’t allow you to go to the club. You are—”
“Too young?” she asked. The beauty spot above her lip shifted when she narrowed her eyes at me. Uh-oh, she was angry. But it didn’t matter, Khalid was the fun brother for her and I was the less-fun brother. “Khalid will be there, Zain. You can’t always say no to me. I will be nineteen in a few hours, for fuck’s sake!”
“Language, Zara!” I said. “Khalid won’t be able to keep an eye on you the entire night, and you are the only Princess of Azmia, you know how precious you are.”
She gave me a deadpanned look and pointed towards her two bodyguards, who were a foot away from us. I hired them for her protection, and even though there were guards stationed everywhere in the palace, those two were for her own safety.
Before I could speak, Rahim, our advisor, walked towards us, clearing his throat. He was dressed in a beige cotton tunic and pants, an upgrade from the usual white clothes he wore. He bowed his head, wishing Zara a happy birthday who hugged him in return, complimenting the new tunic.
I hid my smile, watching them together. Rahim was less of our advisor and more of a parental figure for all of us. He had taken the role well after what happened with our father. His voice was raspy when he said, “The Sultan of Al Naaem wants to speak with you.”
“Not now, Rahim,” I said, pointing towards Zara, who was humming to herself and avoiding the eyes of young princes her age.
Talking to my sister and making her feel heard was my main priority—
“He has two daughters that would like to meet you, Sultan,” he emphasized.
I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. Looking at Zara’s wide hazel eyes, begging me to allow her to go. It was enough for me to say yes. She grinned, a dimple poking her cheek as she hugged me.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Zara giggled, the sound making my heart light. “You are the best brother ever!”
“Don’t let Khalid hear that,” I chuckled, hugging her back. “And don’t make me regret my decision, Zara. You know what you mean to this country, to us. Don’t let any stupid boy break your heart.”
With the sheer excitement sparkling in her eyes, it must be a miracle she would have heard me. She was already running away to get dressed for the club; her smile wide. I watched her dark hair as she disappeared from the crowd.
My head took me back to the dark place.
* * *
The soundsof our feet running down the cool marble floors echoed in the silent night. The only other noise we heard was her cries. Zara’s cries.
“If he hurts her—” Khalid swore, following me.
“I won’t let that happen,” I promised my nineteen-year-old brother. His short hair flopping on his forehead as the guards stopped us outside the Sultan’s room. They shook their heads, their eyes cold.
“If you don’t open this door, I will make sure your family pays for it,” I lied, clenching my fists as I threatened his family. Their eyes widened, Khalid swallowing when we heard another cry from our six-year-old sister.
Rahim, the advisor, called off the guards towards him, nodding at us as we entered the room. Our hearts in our throats. There… Salman Al Latif, our father, holding the dainty wrist of—
“Khalid, Zain… I want to leave,” Zara cried, her eyes red and swollen as tears slid down her flushed cheeks. Her hair was rumpled, just like her night pajamas. Moments ago, we had been in her room, watching a Disney movie and Khalid reading her a book.
But now, our father was forcing her to accept the proposal of a betrothal when at her age her only worry should be to learn and play.
“Baba!” Khalid yelled, “Stop it. You are hurting her.”
It had been a mess after that. A mess of shouts, cries and blood. So much blood that it had stained the tunics Khalid and I wore. The splatter of blood covering Zara’s cheeks and neck, another splatter on the empty wall of our father’s room as he died in front of our eyes.
* * *
“Sultan!”
I snapped back to reality, turning my head to Rahim, who tilted his head at me. Right. That happened years ago. There was no need for me to worry about it.
Facing Zara’s guards, I ordered, “Keep your eyes on her drink the entire time and double the surrounding protection.” I made sure Khalid knew she would be at the club. Even though it was our club, I wanted to make sure nothing happened to her. Especially when she would turn nineteen in a few hours.
I faced the advisor, his wise face wrinkled with old age, his eyes shining with wisdom. I leaned forward with my arm, “Lead me to meet the princesses, Rahim.”
The walk to my study was silent, the night stars twinkling brightly as the wind whispered through the pillars. There were fireworks to celebrate my sister’s birthday, making the corners of my lips curl. It was said that the Golden Palace of Azmia took a hundred years to complete. My late father made sure that no one dared to infiltrate the palace even though no country would be stupid enough to go against us.
Rahim walked beside me in the ancient hallways of the palace, lit by golden chandeliers over the domes, making the intricate designs glow. “If this engagement succeeds, it would benefit both Azmia and Al Naaem and the future generations.”
That was all I needed to know. I could get married to either of the princesses if they would have me as their husband. But the marriage would only succeed on my terms if my partner agreed not to have sex with me. They could have secret lovers of their own for all I cared, in their privacy. But I would never engage in any sexual activities, for that matter.
Even with my own future wife.
I had seen how my father treated my mothers and how he raised Khalid and me with his cruelty. We still bore his marks of anger. I did not wish to have any child of my own and behave worse than my father.
Especially when that night was stuck in my head like a nightmare turned reality, rolling over and over and watching my siblings di—
“What is troubling you?” Rahim asked, his weathered face concerned.
“That night.” I took a deep breath, “I was thinking about the night he died.”
“If the ghosts of the past are bothering you, it is better to leave them be.” He laid his hand on my shoulder, giving me a brief smile. “Focus on the present, child.”
I watched him walk ahead of me, the guards waiting behind me as I pondered over his response. Leave Rahim to make me feel like a five-year-old having an existential crisis.
Shaking off the events of that night, I squared my shoulders. The guards opened the mahogany doors to the private study room. I had only one thing in mind.
If the sexless marriage would benefit Azmia and my family, I would do anything.
* * *
“So,what plans do you have for your future?” I asked, clearing my throat at the stunning olive-skinned twin princesses. The only way I could tell the difference between them was how they had chosen different colored dresses. Blue and green, which made their skin glow.
Rahim had forgotten to mention that they were the same twin princesses that Khalid was flirting with a few moments ago. Their father had greeted me and left the room with my advisor and the guards, leaving me alone to engage and talk with them.
They shared a mischievous look and giggled. “We have no plans, Sultan Zain,” the princess in blue purred. “We would enjoy whatever you offer us.”
I sighed in relief, relaxing back in the comfortable chair. I could offer them a sexless and loveless marriage and—
“Anything you want to offer us, Sultan,” the princess in the green dress whispered, standing up, walking towards me with a gleam in her dark eyes.
Wait…
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, quickly turning my head when she unclasped the hooks of her top, removing it and baring herself in front of me.
I took a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut and stopping myself before I could threaten their entire lineage for having the audacity to be so… argh, fuck.
“Please cover yourself. I do not want to—”
“Look at us, Sultan Zain,” her twin said. “We are here for your pleasure.”
Grumbling under my breath, I leaned back as far as I could when I felt their hands on me, gliding over my legs and stroking my face. I pulled them off and stood up, walking away from them and focusing my attention on my breath.
If I order to get them executed, I will be at war with Al Naeem. Which is the last thing I want right now.
But I didn’t hold back the anger in my voice. “If you do not cover yourself in ten seconds, I will make sure you and your family never enter my palace again. Let alone my country.”
“But Sultan—”
“I am not interested in… whatever you are thinking about.” My cheeks heated with blood.
I heard some shuffling and turned around when they told me they were decent. They both eyed me warily. “Are you into men?”
I sighed. If I had a penny for each time someone asked me that, I would be three pennies richer than I was, which was not much, but it counted. “No, I am not, and even if I was, it won’t be any of your concern,” I said in my stern voice. Their demeanor changed when they realized I was truly angry with them. “Now explain to me, why did you both feel the need to do what you just did?”
“To seduce you and hopefully be the future Sultana.”
I eyed them. “Both of you?”
They shrugged. “Many sultans have over one wife.”
I rubbed a hand down my face. “Not me. I prefer monogamous relationships.” Ignoring their cooing, I added, “You don’t need to do that to seduce anyone, do you hear me? If they can’t sit and talk to you for five minutes without you having to strip your clothes, then for fuck’s sake, don’t marry them. You both are princesses of Al Naeem. Our countries fought side by side a hundred years ago.”
They looked down at their laps and murmured a quick apology. The princess in blue said, “We were warned you might behave this way, Sultan. It was our fault that we wanted to try to seduce you. I assure you—we assure you we won’t bother you again.”
I nodded, stopping them to ask, “Who warned you?”
They stopped at the door. The princess in the green dress smiled at me, “Prince Khalid.”
That motherfucker.