Hadi’s temples pulsed hotly. He let out a harsh breath. “I just found out myself. As for a text, by the time I got out of there, I was already trending.”

  “It’s that Raina Abbas.” Caasi made a hissing sound. “The Register, that’s where she works. And her son’s at that school.” Her expression darkened. “Not so very long ago, you could’ve had her beheaded.”

  Hadi ground his teeth. If Caasi thought she was funny—

  “No one’s beheading anyone. I think we can all agree on that.” Fisa laughed lightly, a soothing voice in the chaos. “How about we all sit, maybe send for something sweet?”

  “This isn’t a picnic,” Yasir said, one of Hadi’s junior advisors. “Sir, if I might—”

  “You might not.” Hadi brushed him off, flush with annoyance. He raised his hands for silence, and the chatter died down.

  “This is a family matter,” he said. “I’ll want to make a statement, and Yasir, you’ll fetch my lawyers. But before I move forward, I’d like to speak with my family in private.”

  Yasir went bright red. “But the press—”

  “Will be dealt with shortly. In the meantime, if you’re not family...” Hadi made a shooing motion. “Go on. Get out.”

  Caasi watched, tight-lipped, as the hangers-on filed out. Hadi studied her in turn. He’d be damned if she got her oar in before he said his piece. Always speak first, Dad had told him, drilled it in till it stuck. Let the first and the last words be yours, and the rest are soon forgotten.

  “Well, I think it’s wonderful,” Karima said. “A new little nephew, and the timing’s a gift.” Her eyes had gone starry. “First comes the prophecy, then a child, a new son. It’s a miracle. No, a sign. This is fate.”

  “Fate.” Hadi bit his cheek to hide a grimace. Trust Karima to spend her two cents while he fretted over what Caasi might say. “I’ve yet to meet the child,” he said. He stepped forward as he spoke, commanding attention. “But, sign or no sign, I believe he’s my son. The evidence is compelling, and a paternity test will confirm—”

  “Assume he is yours,” Fisa said. “Karima’s right—any child is a gift. But you’ll do well to remember he has family besides ours.”

  Hadi’s brows drew together. “What are you saying?”

  “This Willow, she’s raised him, right? Held him close all his life?” She reached for her coffee but didn’t take a sip. “Willow didn’t give birth to him, but Zak is her child. She won’t walk away from him, any more than I’d leave you.”

  “Nor would I ask her to.” Hadi bristled at the suggestion. “I’ll find her a residence once the dust clears. She’ll have visitation, be involved in his life...”

  “I wonder, is she pretty?” Fisa’s smile was serene, but her eyes were sharp and shrewd. “The prophecy doesn’t mention an heir, but it does call for marriage. How did it go again? Spheres seven align in the house of Makara—”

  “Rubbish.” Musa made a disgusted sound. “You’d wed our son to a stranger on some astrologer’s whim? Whomsoever takes his bride, and with her hand in his, joins the wedding of the spheres—”

  “On him and on his, fate smiles a hundred years.” Fisa went to the window and looked out. “It’s not just some whim,” she said. “The scroll itself is ancient, nearly three centuries old. The astrologer who discovered it is respected throughout Ad Diwasul.”

  “But what does it mean?” Musa’s frown deepened, but Fisa lit up.

  “The wedding of the spheres, that’s the alignment of the planets. Seven celestial bodies, all in the house of Capricorn.” She traced her finger across the glass, marking off constellations. “Hadi’s our sheikh, so him and his, that’s all of us. All his loyal subjects. If he marries this year—”

  “He’ll be married, nothing more.” Musa shook his head sharply. “This prophecy, it’s bunk. It’s as vague as a horoscope. No one truly believes—”

  “Our people believe it.” Fisa drew herself up. “Like it or not, this is Ad Diwasul. We’ve lived by the stars since we were nomads. The stars were our map then, and we still seek their guidance.” She crossed the room in quick strides and took Hadi by the hands. “This prophecy’s no whim. It’s the will of your people. They want you married, and as you’ve learned to your detriment, they want a male heir. If this Willow strikes your fancy, I don’t see why you can’t—”

  “Seriously?” Caasi surged to her feet, nearly colliding with a maid bearing desserts. “Where did you come from? Set that down and go—no, not there. By Hadi.” She seized the tray herself and plunked it down on the table. A cream puff rolled off and splattered at her feet. “Anyway, you should all be ashamed of yourselves, standing around talking like Lale doesn’t exist. The people want a male heir? It’s the twenty-first century, and even if it weren’t, who knows how that boy’s been raised? You need to get back in court and get Lale in line.”

  “I would if I could.” Hadi sat down, head pounding. “But Judge Hamed has already called. Assuming Zak is my son, the High Court won’t hear Lale’s appeal.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Zak’s older,” said Hadi. “His claim would precede Lale’s, even if the court ruled to let a daughter succeed. They won’t risk the outcry now that a male heir’s been found.”

  “You can’t bow to the naysayers,” said Caasi. She plucked a fresh cream puff and bit it in half. “If you give up on Lale, you show the press they can scream and you’ll go along like a lamb. Like a soft, fluffy—”

  Hadi’s eyes narrowed. “Baa at me, and I swear—”

  “Maah.”

  Karima snorted. Hadi stifled a groan.

  “Seeing as we’ve reached the barnyard noises phase of this discussion, here’s my bottom line.” He fixed Caasi with a hard look, daring her to butt in. “I believe Willow’s story. She has everything to lose if she’s caught in a lie. The press backlash would crush her. Her career would be over. I expect a paternity test will confirm Zak is my son. As for the rest of it—”

  “Eee!”

  Hadi jumped, startled by the ear-splitting squeal. Lale practically charged him, tripping over her nightgown and rocketing into his arms.

  “Zak’s my brother?” She hugged the breath out of him, buried her face in his shirt. “Is it true? Are we twins?”

  Hadi tipped her head back, thumbing her hair off her face. Her eyes were big and trusting. All his pique drained away, giving way to unease. “You’re not twins,” he said carefully. “You have different mothers, but I believe he’s my son.” Lale’s eyes were shining—tears of joy? Anger? Hurt? Hadi chucked her under the chin. “Would that please you, if he is?”

  “Yes! Daddy, yes!” She hugged him again, so tight she made him grunt. “Does this mean he’ll come live with us? And he won’t move away?”

  Hadi smiled. “We can talk about all of that, but right now, it’s getting late.” He nudged Lale away from him, toward the desserts. “Why don’t you grab a treat? I’ll walk you back to your room and we’ll chat on the way.”

  Lali helped herself to a cream puff, the biggest one she could find. She took a date square as well and offered it to Hadi.

  “Your favorite.”

  “You’re too kind.” He took it with a smile and a stiff, courtly bow. That made Lale laugh, though Caasi shook her head. She mouthed something at Hadi, something that looked suspiciously like maah. He ignored her and strode out, Lale trotting at his side.

  “So, will Zak come live with us? Will Miss Mandrake move in?”

  “They’ll be here tomorrow.” Hadi squeezed Lale’s shoulder. “You like Willow, yes?”

  “I love her.” Lale did a little skip. “She’s funny, like Aunt Karima, not mean like Miss Jamhour.”

  “Miss Jamhour? Your dance mistress?” Hadi cocked a brow.

  “She makes us sweep the dooryard if we don’t learn our steps.” Lale made a face. “And this one time, I burped, and she said I’m not ladylike.”

  Hadi tried not to laugh. “Did you cover your mouth, at least?”

  “I was holding the barre.” Lale skipped ahead without warning, braids bouncing behind her. “Can Zak have the blue room? It’s his favorite color.”

  “I don’t see why not.” Hadi caught up with her and switched on the light. The blue room was spacious, just right for a kid. Though the décor, especially those tapestries, could use some brightening up. Something more welcoming, like Lale’s ballet posters. He could—

  “Daddy?”

  “What is it?”

  Lale cocked her head. “You’ve got beetle-brows. Are you angry?”

  “Not angry. Just thinking.” He ruffled her hair. “You know Zak pretty well, right? What else does he like?”

  “He likes bugs,” said Lale. “He knows all their names. And at lunch, he likes pomegranate seeds. I trade him mine for his cheese sticks. Then there’s planes, giraffes, bunnies—” Lale rattled on, counting Zak’s passions on her fingers.

  “You like all the same things,” Hadi said, once she was done. “Except cheese and pomegranate seeds.”

  “I like pomegranates,” said Lale. “But I like cheese sticks more. You peel them like bananas.” She slipped out past Hadi and raced down the hall. “Miss Mandrake likes flowers. She’ll want a view of the garden.”

  “Then a view she shall have.” Hadi slowed down, caught in a reverie of Willow in the garden, picking lilies and honeysuckle. She was smiling, all dimple-cheeked, the sun in her hair. Her blazing pink hair, and wouldn’t Caasi love that? He swallowed, dry-mouthed. “We’ll pick flowers in the morning. How does that sound? A bouquet for her suite.”

  “She likes blood lilies,” Lale said. “She always has them on her desk.”

  “You’re a kind girl.” Hadi dropped to one knee to meet Lale’s eye. “Now, I need you to hear this. If Zak is your brother—and I believe he is—he’ll need some extra attention, some time to adjust. But if I’m spending time with him—”

  “I’ll be there too.” Lale grinned, wide and impish. “I mean, I will, right? He’ll have to take dance now, and etiquette and elocution. He’ll be in all my lessons, not just at school. I’ll have to teach him the tea ceremony, what clothes to wear, our—”

  “Okay! I see your point.” Hadi cut her off before she could chirp herself breathless. “We’ll do it together, then, get him all caught up.”

  Lale swelled with pride, and she did a little twirl. “I can’t wait. I have a brother.” She pirouetted away, and Hadi’s heart broke a little, watching her spin down the hall. Lale’s joy was a blessing, but what would Zak think, plucked from his life and transplanted to the palace? To the glitz of the royal court and the weight of the crown? Would Zak want that burden? Would Willow want it for him?

  He was born to it. He’s my heir. That’s just how it is.

  “Daddy! If Zak’s my half-brother, is Miss Mandrake my half-mom?”

  “No. She’s your...” Hadi broke off abruptly, unsure how to define her. He choked back sudden nausea as reality struck home. Zak and Willow would be here in twelve hours. They’d be right here, in his home, in his life, and he didn’t know them at all.

  3

  Willow stood in the kitchen, in the ruddy sunrise haze. Her apartment was tiny—an old gardener’s cottage at the foot of the school grounds, just big enough to fit her and Zak—but in the months since they’d moved in, she’d made it their home. And Zak had fallen in love with it, the curtains of ivy crowding up to the windows, the tiny, sneaky geckos that watched him from the ceiling.

  “Mom?” Zak craned around from his perch on the window seat. His eyes were round and anxious, his hair mussed from sleep. “There’s men outside with cameras.”

  “I know,” Willow said. She shooed Zak from the window and brushed crumbs off his shirt. “You’re all sticky from breakfast. Best go wash up.”

  Zak ran off, full of energy. Willow took his place at the window. She could just see the school gates and the dense crowd outside. They’d doubled their numbers since breakfast, rubberneckers and press. Willow drew the curtains, but the sounds still came through, shouts and laughter, distant chatter. Like a party down the street, only this party was—

  “Miss Mandrake? You in there?”

  “Just a minute.” She found her scarf draped over a doorknob and covered her hair. “Okay, come in.”

  Headmistress Maqbool came in and closed the door behind her. She looked perfect as ever, though her lips were tight with worry. She spoke without preamble, straight to the point.

  “We can’t have press at our gates,” she said. “I’ve had parents calling already, threatening to pull their kids.”

  Willow frowned. “Can’t security do something? Move them along?”

  “They’re on a public street.” Miss Maqbool made a peevish sound, a sort of quiet huff. “I’ve called for added security, but beyond that, well...” She toyed with a silver brooch pinned to her dress. “Not that I’m rushing you, but when will you be going?”

  “Hadi said—the sheikh said this morning. He said he’d send a car. But I thought I’d hold off till we’re sure Zak’s his.”

  Miss Maqbool’s brows shot up. “Hold off? Are you joking?”

  “I thought, given the circumstances—”

  “Clearly, you didn’t think.” Miss Maqbool yanked the curtains wide. They made a loud skreek sound that hurt Willow’s teeth. “I mean, what’s your plan? The sheikh’s car pulls up, and you say thanks, but no thanks? You think this is a scandal, wait till that hits. Sheikh’s heir held hostage. Or, no. Mandrake to sheikh: keep your car.”

  Willow winced, but didn’t back down. “It’s not the headlines I’m worried about. It’s what to tell Zak.” She lowered her voice. “He’s asked about his father. If I say I’ve found him, then it turns out I’m wrong—”

  “And if you don’t tell him, then what?” Miss Maqbool shook her head. “The news is everywhere. One way or another, he’s going to find out. He can hear it from you, or he can hear it from a classmate, or on TV, or yelled through the gate. I know which I’d prefer, but—”

  “All right. Point taken.” Willow sat down, head swimming. She hadn’t packed. She wasn’t ready. Outside, a horn honked, then another twice as loud. “Is that him already?”

  “No, just the gardener.” Miss Maqbool closed the curtains. “I’ll give you your privacy, but first, to be clear...?”

  “You’re right. We can’t stay here. This is for the best.”

  Miss Maqbool turned to go. Willow thought of Hadi. For your safety and Zak’s, he’d said. She’d assumed he was posturing, trying to scare her into submission. But Zak had been scared just now, peeking out at the crowd. If she let this continue, how bad could it get?

  “Zak?” She glanced down the hallway. “Hey, Zak? Come on out.”

  Zak came at a gallop, wiping toothpaste off his chin. “We’re all out of mouthwash. I used water instead.”

  “I don’t suppose that’ll hurt any. Come on. Sit with me.” She pushed out a chair. Zak clambered onto it and sat fiddling with his cuffs.

  “Are those men dangerous? The ones at the gate?”

  “No. They’re just nosy.” Willow twitched her own nose, which made Zak laugh. “But that’s why I called you here. You and I need to talk.”

  Zak snapped upright, all comic alarm. “I didn’t do it! Whatever they’re saying, it wasn’t me.”

  “They’re not saying anything, at least not to me.” Willow smiled fondly and reached for Zak’s hand. “Remember in London, when we talked about your dad? If you’d want to meet him, if—”

  “You found him?” Zak sprang up and ran to her and jumped into her lap.

  “Oof—Zak, you’re heavy.” She shifted him off her knee. “As for your father, I can’t promise I’ve found him, but there’s a good chance I have. We’ll need to do a test, but don’t worry. It won’t hurt. They’ll just take—”

  “DNA. I know.” Zak bounced where he sat. “Who is he? Can I meet him? Did you tell him I wanted to? Does he know I’ve been waiting?”

  “Slow down.” Willow’s stomach surged with butterflies. This was it, her big moment. Too late to turn back. “His name is Hadi Toma. So, uh, Lale from class? She’s...he’s her father too.”

  “Lale’s dad?” Zak rocked back, staring. His mouth hung open, still frosted with toothpaste. “So Lale’s my sister? My sister, for real?”

  “If Hadi’s your father, then—”

  “I knew it.” Zak jumped up, beaming. “I mean, I didn’t know know, but she hates plums and I hate plums. And we have the same eyebrows, and we can both wiggle our ears. That’s rare, you know.” His tone went all serious, like a pint-sized professor. “Only one out of five kids can wiggle their ears.”

  “Don’t wiggle them too hard. You might fly away.”

  Zak broke out giggling, but Willow felt numb. A weight had settled in her belly, a deep, heavy dread. Zak’s joy was so pure and straight from his heart. If it turned out Hadi wasn’t his father—

  “I can’t wait to tell Lale. Or did Dad tell her first?”

  Dad. Willow’s heart stopped. Still, she dredged up a smile for him, the brightest she had.

  “I guess we’ll find out,” she said. “We’re going to see them today.”

  Zak shrank against Willow’s leg, heading up the palace steps.

  “Who are all those people?” He glanced around fearfully, his voice small and scared.

  “I think they’re your dad’s staff.” Willow squeezed his hand. Inside, she was fuming—what was Hadi thinking, greeting a seven-year-old with maids lined up two deep? With soldiers with rifles flanking the doors? The spectacle was unnerving, even for her, the way the staff stood unsmiling, straight-backed and stiff.

  “You mean they’re servants?” Zak perked up, hopeful. “So if I say ‘go away’—”

  “They’re his servants, not yours.” Willow lowered her voice. “And you probably shouldn’t call them that. Kind of rude, don’t you think?”

  “Sorry,” Zak said, to no one in particular. Willow hurried him up the steps as fast as she dared. They’d left the press at the gates, but she could still hear their cameras snapping up a storm.