“Of course. He was with me.” Willow’s voice shook, and she steadied herself. “Zak’s bedtime is eight. That lesson went till nine. He has school in the morning, so I don’t see how—”

  “And the one before that?” Hadi’s voice was sharp, cutting.

  “We were playing on the swings.” Willow drew herself up. “He’s seven. He needs that. He needs time to be a kid.”

  “Time to be—” Hadi pushed back from the table. His chair scraped on the flagstones as he got to his feet. “I thought we’d been through this. He can play all he wants once the ceremony is behind us. Did I not make that clear?”

  “I thought I made my side clear: you’re pushing too hard.” Willow stayed sitting, though her rage flashed white-hot. “He’s tired. We’re both tired. We need—”

  “Oh, now you too?” Hadi pressed his palm to his forehead. “How are your studies coming, for our upcoming nuptials? Are you remotely prepared?”

  “I—”

  “What do we do, ten days before our wedding?”

  Willow’s head spun. She knew this, she did. She’d been over it with Malik, the family dinner, the formal welcome. The trip to the Moonstones, to give thanks to the—

  “We fast,” said Hadi. He spat the words like poison, his eyes burning black. “We fast to purify our bodies, and we rest for the festivities. You should know this like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  “I do know. I just—”

  “Next to a royal wedding, Zak’s ceremony is nothing. A few hours and it’s over, and he can play all he wants. We have ten days of ritual—feasts and parades, our offering to the stars. Our religious ceremony, our public ceremony, the exchange of the rings.” Hadi began to pace. “You’re not just marrying me. You’re marrying all of Tanodayea. They’ll all be watching, and do you know your part?”

  Willow couldn’t answer. Her throat had closed up. She did know, or she’d thought she did, but Hadi didn’t see it. He’d told her be confident, but where was his trust? He didn’t believe in her, not when it mattered. She felt her pride crumbling, her certainty giving way.

  “I’m badgering you,” said Hadi. “But I need to know you understand. I need to know you’re taking this seriously.”

  Willow choked back tears. She wouldn’t cry in front of Hadi. Not over this. “I am,” she said. “And Zak is too.”

  “Then tonight’s gathering—”

  “The tea ceremony.” Willow pulled herself together and got to her feet. “Zak will meet his future advisors, and he’ll serve them tea. He’s ready. You can count on him. He could pour in his sleep.”

  “I’d prefer him awake, but I’m pleased to hear that.” Hadi smiled for the first time since he’d burst in on brunch. His shoulders went lax as he exhaled. “Tonight will be good for Zak. Once he sees he can do this, the rest will come easy. He’ll relax and his verses will flow off his tongue.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I know so.” Hadi took her hands and held them to his chest. “I know he can do this. He just needs a boost. A shot of success to put the wind in his sails.”

  Willow managed a faint smile. Her stomach was churning, a jumble of nerves. If Zak pulled this off, Hadi’s expectations would shoot sky high. If he didn’t, if he flubbed it, she didn’t want to think about what might happen.

  “Till tonight, then.” Hadi kissed her forehead, then he bowed and took his leave. Willow watched him go, half sick.

  Please let this go right.

  14

  Willow was glowing. Zak had poured beautifully, as smoothly as Lale. He’d shared all the sweet trays in just the right order and delivered his blessing so eloquently Hadi had swelled with pride. Now he was doing as Malik had taught him, listening attentively as Hadi’s minister of parklands held forth. The man had been rattling on since the lemon snaps and showed no sign of tiring.

  “Now, some things are sacred,” he said. He beamed past Zak at Malik and favored him with a nod. “Some things don’t change. This hasn’t changed, this ceremony, this sharing. Like a long thread through history, tying us to our ancestors. It’s a cozy thought, isn’t it? That our great-grandparents might have sat here, drunk from these cups?” He stroked his gray beard. “What was I talking about? I was going somewhere, but...”

  “You were saying things were different when you were my age.” Zak held up the teapot. “May I pour you more tea?”

  “You’re kind, but no thanks. I’m still working on my first cup. At my age, my teeth...” He took a small, cautious sip. Lale covered a yawn. If the old minister noticed, he gave no sign. He sucked his teeth for a moment and picked up where he’d left off. “Anyway, that’s right. I was saying things took time. We wrote letters, long letters, and sent them abroad. They’d take weeks to arrive and weeks to reply, so a month could go by, two months sometimes...”

  Willow pinched herself. With the hard part behind her, she was ready to drop. The minister’s droning was putting her to sleep. Even Hadi looked bored, nodding on autopilot.

  “And how about you, Zak?” The old man smiled down at him. “Have you ever had a pen pal?”

  Zak cocked his head, thoughtful. “I get e-mails and texts sometimes. But snail mail, I—oh!” A wide grin split his face. “I got a card on my birthday, from my whole class in Sweden. Only, when I opened it, it was ten cards taped together. It flew out like—” He flung his arms wide and caught the teapot with the edge of his hand. It knocked Lale’s bowl over and rolled off the table. Hadi gave a shout. The minister leapt to his feet, dripping hot water.

  “Ow, hot—” He flapped his robes all about, away from his crotch. His toe caught the teapot and it skidded into the wall. The handle broke off and clattered to the floor.

  “Minister Khalid, my apologies.” Hadi got to his feet. “Are you scalded? Should I send for help?”

  The minister stopped dancing and let go of his robes. “No, I don’t think so. No harm done.” He sat down, red-faced, and brushed at his lap. “It was a surprise, I’ll concede, but after forty years in government, my skin is quite thick.”

  “Zak, what do you say?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Zak. The words came out faltering, all choked with tears. “I just got excited. I do that sometimes. I could get you a towel, or more cookies, or—”

  “It’s a warm night,” said Khalid. “I’ll go outside when we’re done here—pin myself to the clothesline, let the breeze do its work.”

  That earned him a laugh from the assembled advisors, but Zak had deflated. He sat with his head down, staring at the rug.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he said. “I liked hearing about pen pals, and when you were young.”

  “You’re most kind to say so.” Khalid looked pleased, but Hadi hadn’t sat down. He touched Zak on the shoulder and motioned him to his feet.

  “Come with me just a minute. Let’s get you straightened up.”

  Zak got up slowly. He followed Hadi to the garden and stood shuffling his feet. Hadi crouched down next to him and set to straightening his collar. He must have said something then, because Zak shook his head. Willow leaned forward, straining to hear.

  “Dad’s mad,” Lale said.

  “What? Can you hear him?”

  “No. But he’s looming. He only looms when he’s mad.” Lale leaned in to demonstrate, brows drawn together.

  “Excuse me.” Willow stood up so fast she nearly spilled her own tea. She crossed the room in three strides and froze at the threshold. Zak had wilted, shrunk in on himself, and Hadi—

  “I’m disappointed,” he said. “Not only were you clumsy, but Minister Khalid’s an old man. If you’d hurt him, at his age—”

  Willow gasped. “Hadi!”

  Zak ran to her, sobbing. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “No.” Willow scooped him up as if he weighed nothing at all. She squared up to Hadi, dizzy with rage. “Zak didn’t spill on you. He doesn’t owe you an apology.”

  Hadi’s lip curled. “He disrupted the whole ceremony. And now he’s crying.”

  “Because you made him cry.” Willow realized she was shouting and lowered her voice to a hiss. “You could’ve laughed with the rest of us, and the ceremony would’ve gone on. You could’ve told him you’re proud of him, and everyone makes mistakes. You could’ve showed the first hint of kindness, and—”

  “Kindness!”

  “Yes. Kindness.” Willow clenched her jaw. “Zak isn’t perfect, and neither am I. And we’re never going to be, so you have a choice: love us as we are or leave us alone.” She set Zak on his feet and took him by the hand. “Come on. We’re going.”

  “Going?” Hadi started after her. “The ceremony’s not over.”

  “No, but we are.” She shot Hadi such a black look he stopped in his tracks. “You may be Zak’s father, but I still have custody, and I’m drawing the line. We’re done with all this. We’re going to go play.”

  Hadi stood dumbstruck, rooted to the spot. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—she was walking away. Storming off with his son. Any moment, she’d snap out of it. She’d come to her senses and turn back, shamefaced. Any moment, any second—

  Lale brushed past him, a dark shape in the twilight.

  “Lale. Where are you going?”

  She glanced back, scowling. “Everyone’s leaving. I’m going with Zak.”

  “You—” Hadi shut his mouth sharply. Lale was right. The party was breaking up. Snapping at her wouldn’t change that or unmake Zak’s mess. He gathered himself with an effort and headed back inside. Khalid was just leaving with his nephew in tow. Hadi stopped to soothe them and bid them goodnight.

  “Minister Khalid, Minister Rayyan. Thank you for coming, and for your grace under fire.” He bowed to each one in turn. “I’ll speak with my son, and he’ll make amends.”

  “No need,” said Khalid. “The only harm was to my pride.”

  “Then the boy did you a service. Humility’s a virtue.” Rayyan winked at Hadi. “The prince has elbows—who doesn’t? My uncle’s just fine.”

  “You’re both too kind.” Hadi excused himself and stood aside to let them pass. The rest of the guests had dispersed, perhaps to grant him privacy, and only Malik remained, rounding up the crockery. Hadi knelt next to him and retrieved the broken teapot. “Well, this is done,” he said.

  “What, the pot?” Malik took the handle and turned it over in his hands. “No, it’s a clean break. It’ll glue right back on.”

  “It won’t be the same.”

  “It’ll be exactly the same,” said Malik. “I’ve dropped that thing myself. Your sisters have, too. It glues back every time, and no one’s the wiser.”

  “The pot’s not the point.” Hadi set it down, fuming. “Tonight was Zak’s night. His first impression. He should’ve been perfect, but instead, look at this.” He lifted the tea rug, stained with Zak’s tea. “The stars are all brown now. And my son’s a laughingstock.”

  Malik made a humming sound. He sat wiping Khalid’s tea bowl, swabbing away even though it was dry.

  Hadi glowered at him. “What?”

  “I wouldn’t presume.” Malik bowed his head.

  Hadi barked laughter, a loud, jarring sound. “Oh, presume. Please do. Everyone else has, so go on. Speak your mind.”

  Malik set down the tea bowl and rocked back on his heels. “They weren’t laughing at Zak,” he said. “They were laughing at the idea of Khalid hanging himself on a clothesline. And why shouldn’t they? It was funny. Even Khalid thought so.”

  “Funny.” Hadi pulled a face. His stomach felt as if he’d drunk sour milk. “It should’ve been solemn. Dignified. How did Khalid put it—a long thread through history?”

  “Through history, yes.” Malik blotted at the tea stain. “Have you thought how this might have looked, back at the start? Two families reuniting after seasons with no word?”

  “Much like this, I should imagine. It hasn’t changed much.”

  “Hasn’t it? I wonder.” Malik sat up straighter. “We call it a ceremony, but it’s a celebration. It’s meant to be joyful. A reunion between friends. Shouldn’t that come with laughter? A sense of something shared?”

  Hadi pressed his lips together. Malik might be right, but Zak had been careless, and Willow had been worse. She’d been downright disrespectful, storming off the way she had. It wasn’t right, wasn’t done, and if she couldn’t see that by now—

  “You know as well as anyone that our traditions have purpose.” Malik got to his feet. “Tonight’s was to celebrate your children. To honor them and their achievements, not send them off in tears.”

  “I wanted that,” said Hadi. A different feeling now settled in his belly, not sickness but shame. Had Zak ruined the ceremony, or had he done it himself? Why hadn’t he laughed along, even just in the moment? He could’ve corrected Zak later, once the guests had all gone.

  “Sir...” Malik squared his shoulders. “I’ll speak very frankly now, because I respect you, and because you need to hear it. I’m strict in my teaching because you expect it. But your children don’t need it. Zak and Lale love learning, and they want to make you happy. You could show them you are, even once in a while.”

  “I thought I did.” Hadi felt like Malik had punched him right in the gut. “I’m proud of them. I am.”

  “Then tell them.” Malik sat down again and began to stack the tea bowls. After a moment, Hadi joined in. Rayyan had been right—humility was a virtue, and he’d need all he could muster to face Zak and Willow.

  15

  Hadi stood in the hallway, throat tight, shoulders tense. He could hear Zak and Lale giggling in the day room, playing cards from the sounds of it.

  “Go fish,” said Lale. Zak blew a raspberry. Hadi leaned on the door, his pulse pounding in his temples. He’d hoped to catch Zak alone, but maybe this was best. He’d been hard on Lale too, pushed her to be perfect. She deserved an apology every bit as much as Zak.

  He took a deep breath and opened the door. Zak and Lale spotted him, and they both sat up straight. Zak dropped his cards, and Lale pulled a sour face. She planted her hands on her hips, ready for a fight.

  “Mom says you can’t yell at me,” said Zak. “I spilled on Minister Khalid. He forgave me, so it’s over.”

  “Over,” agreed Lale. “You can play cards with us, but you can’t yell.”

  Hadi raised his hands. “All right, no yelling. I come in peace, I swear.” He sat down across from them. “What are we playing?”

  “Go Fish,” said Zak. “But you can’t play this round. We already started.”

  “I’m winning,” said Lale. “Got any kings?”

  Zak forked over his kings. He’d half-turned from Hadi, twisted sideways in his chair. Hadi stifled a sigh. He deserved this, no doubt, but it stung just the same.

  “I did want to talk,” he said. “About last night, I—”

  “No need,” said Zak. “I’ve worked it all out already. I’m going to abdicate, and Lale can be sheikh.”

  “Abdicate?” Hadi blinked, bemused. “You want to—do you know what that means?”

  “It means I don’t want to be sheikh, so I walk away, and you can’t make me stay.” His expression turned defiant. “I lived in London, remember? I know about kings. I know they can abdicate, then they do what they want.”

  “Well, that’s...sort of right.” Hadi covered a chuckle. Zak was so like his mother, so smart, so independent. One day, he’d be formidable, but today he was just a kid, and Hadi was his father. He reached out and touched his shoulder. “Zak, if I’ve hurt your feelings—”

  “You have.” Lale scowled at him. “You’ve been mean this whole time. Even Malik thinks you’re mean.”

  “Lale.” Hadi raised his voice without thinking, then caught himself and sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I came to make amends. I’m not off to the best start.”

  “So start again.” Zak wasn’t smiling, not quite, but he had a twinkle in his eye. “It’s okay to mess up as long as you keep trying.”

  “Your mom tell you that too?”

  Zak nodded. “Yep.”

  “Well, she’s right. You’ve been doing your best, and I’ve been an ogre.” He made his story-time ogre face, lip curled, teeth bared. Zak made a snorting sound. Lale laughed out loud. Encouraged, Hadi pressed on. “First, you should know you’d make a very fine sheikh. I don’t want you to walk away. My heart would break if you did, and not because you’re my heir. Because you’re my son, and because I love you.”

  “You do?” Zak’s eyes went wide. “I thought—I thought you didn’t want me, so we’re going away. Mom said we could. I’m sorry. I...” Zak made a gulping sound, like he might cry. Hadi stood up quickly and pulled him into a hug.

  “I’m sorry, Zak. You have nothing to be sorry for. I didn’t welcome you as I should have, didn’t show you how I felt. That’s my fault, not yours.”

  “So you have to fix it.” Lale was back on her feet. “You can’t give me a brother then scare him away.”

  “Zak.” Hadi held him closer. “If I could be more reasonable, would you still want to go?”

  “No.” Zak wiped his face on Hadi’s jacket. “I don’t want to leave Lale. And I do love you, Dad. But I keep letting you down, so I—”

  “You don’t. Not ever.”

  “I never used to have fun,” said Lale. She’d crept closer too, wiggled into the hug. “At least, not like with Zak. The kids at school are all formal because you’re my dad. No one just plays with me, but Zak does, and I like it.” She tipped her head back to look Hadi in the face. “Miss Mandrake plays with you, too. Like that time in the park, when you danced her all around. I never heard you laugh like that. You can’t let her go.”

  Hadi’s breath caught in his throat. Losing Willow was bad enough, but Lale losing her smile? Both kids losing each other, on the verge of becoming a family? It was too much to take. Willow had brought joy to the palace—to his life, to his heart—and she’d take it when she went. The thought made his chest hurt, a deep, hollow ache.