Black Keys Read online

  Once my robe fell to the floor, I raised my hand that held the blade-like piece and attempted to hurt the hand that was once more touching my neck. But before I was even close enough, his hand held my wrist and squeezed, tightly.

  “What the hell?” He looked at my hand that he held firmly in his with wide eyes and shock dominating his beautiful features.

  “Let go of me,’’ I screamed, tears streaming down my face. “Let go of me, you animal, I’ll never be yours, never! Over my dead body!”

  The prince’s eyes widened even more at the sound of my words. It took him a few moments as he kept staring into my eyes, bright green into clear blue, confusion-filled into anger-consumed, before his other hand let go of my hand that he’d been holding all along. He yanked the broken piece out of my hand that he was gripping strongly, and threw it away then let go of both of my hands.

  “Why did you agree to the marriage?” he said in a low-but-firm voice.

  “I never agreed to this, my brother forced me, don’t you get it? I’d rather be dead and buried than be touched by your filthy Arabian hands!”

  I thought anger would be the thing I’d see in his eyes when he heard what I’d said, but anger didn’t come until later. It was hurt that filled his eyes. Hurt.

  I felt a slight tingle in my chest, right where my heart beat and my blood pumped out to my body. Something stung inside me when I saw him looking so wounded in front of me. I had no idea what that feeling was. I had no idea why would I feel that way for a perfect stranger, someone I would never like to even be seen with, at that.

  The prince walked away from me, leaving me standing right in front of the bed, and then he sat down in one of the arm chairs across from me.

  I watched him as he dropped his head and buried it in his hands, his form screaming: broken. I hated that he looked like that. I hated that I was the reason for it. I hated that I hated it. I knew I shouldn’t care, but I did.

  A few minutes later, I sat down on the edge of the bed again, watching him as he sat with his shoulders hunched and his head bent down. I would’ve given up an arm to know what he was thinking at that moment.

  I didn’t know what would I do from there, or what the prince would do after learning I didn’t want him, and it was – scary.

  Minutes passed, and stretched into hours, hours passed as we sat like that, hardly ever moving. The music silenced at some point during the night, and the darkness faded and turned into the bright light of the morning shinning from the side window.

  It was a knock on the door that made me aware of how scared I was, because I gasped loudly when I heard it, even though it wasn’t that strong of a knock, but a very soft one.

  The prince stood up and went to the door, saying a word in Arabic that I didn’t understand. Mona replied with her name then he asked her something that she responded to in a quiet voice. His head turned in my direction and I saw anger flashing in his eyes as his nostrils flared, then he replied to her without moving his eyes away from mine.

  The next thing I knew, he was taking off the thing on his head and setting it on the armchair. For a moment, I was mesmerized by his hair that I was seeing for the first time, a dark brown mess of locks that went in every direction when he released it from under that cover, locks that appeared to be so soft that my fingertips stupidly wanted to touch.

  I woke up from my dazzled mind when he started unbuttoning the thawb he was wearing. Fear consumed me and filled every cell of my body as I saw him take it off and throw it to the floor as he took a step closer.

  Wearing only a white wife-beater and white pants, he made his way to a huge serving dish of fruits that was placed beside a vase of roses on a round table in the middle of the room.

  My eyes widened as I saw him take the knife that lay beside the fruit dish on the table. He took the few steps to where I was now standing by the edge of the bed, anger coming off of him in strong waves.

  He’s going to kill me!

  Oh, my God! I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

  “No, no!” I shook my head frantically. “Please, don’t! No!” I begged.

  When he was only an inch away I gripped his hand that held the knife, wanting to move it away from me, but he was so much stronger than me that I was barely able to move his hand.

  I was just about to scream, when he placed his other hand over my mouth. I stumbled and fell to the bed, forcing him down with me.

  Tears were pouring out of my eyes as I screamed into his hand and begged with my heart for God to make him let go of me. I didn’t want to die.

  My heart almost stopped as he brought the knife near my face, and I was about to bite his hand when I saw that the knife didn’t stop when it was near me. Instead, it kept moving up until it was on the shoulder of the hand that was over my mouth.

  My kicks stilled and my screams stopped, and my fear was replaced by confusion and shock as I watched him placing the blade on his shoulder, his eyes never leaving mine. He didn’t hiss or even flinch when the blade broke the skin where he pressed on it, blood escaping his freshly-cut wound.

  With hate and venom lacing his voice he told me, “Don’t you even, for a split second, think that I’m interested in a filthy American who spreads her legs for the first man who takes her out for dinner.”

  I wasn’t sure if the shock that was filling me had anything to do with the fact that he said he wasn’t interested in me in any way, that he had called me a filthy American, or the fact that he accused me of sleeping with the first guy who’d offer me dinner. I only knew that I was too shocked to move at all. I was like a limp noodle; I didn’t react with any objection when he pulled me up to my feet.

  I think I was just grateful that I wasn’t dead. Yet.

  Red rosebuds flew everywhere and all over the bed, as he yanked the bed sheets up and fisted them in his hand. He then brought them up to his shoulder and patted his wound a few times until he was satisfied with the smudge of blood that had now formed on the white sheets, and walked back to the door – but not before shooting me a disgusted look.

  He opened the door just a little and gave the sheets to whom I assumed to be Mona, making sure that his wound was hidden behind the door as he stood by it.

  I was beyond confused by the act. Why would he cut his arm that way to put blood on the sheets? Why was he asked to give over a sheet that had blood on it, anyway?

  Then Joseph’s words came to my mind: ‘Blood for blood.’

  It was virgin blood that was supposed to be on those sheets. He wanted to make them believe that the blood was just that. He had hurt himself to make them believe it was my virginity!

  But, why? Why didn’t he just tell them the truth? Why would he want to cover up what really happened by lying to his family?

  Lots of questions roamed around inside my head, but my thoughts were interrupted by the prince going into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him.

  I glanced back at the door to the room, the thought of opening it and just running seemed so sweet in my mind, but I knew someone could be out there. I didn’t want to risk being caught without even beginning to really escape.

  The prince came out of the bathroom, his wound now covered with a white bandage, his wife-beater gone. I had no idea why I looked at his chest, his tight muscles and perfect eight-pack abs. I swallowed thickly as I watched him moving around the room, a strange sensation going through me. Again, I wanted to believe it was fear, but I knew I couldn’t lie to myself about it for too long. It was a new feeling I wasn’t familiar with, and I had no idea if I really wanted to know what it was or not.

  He put his thawb on and left the room without even glancing my way, the head thing in his hand.

  I hadn’t noticed that I had been holding my breath, but when I heard the door being shut after him, I let out a big amount of air in a sigh of … relief, maybe.

  Not a minute later, and before I could move an inch from my spot, the door was opened again after a knock, though I hadn’t give
n permission to its owner to come in.

  Mona entered the room with a little box in her hand. She took one look at me and gasped, “Princess! You didn’t have to wear your dress again, all you had to do was just call my name.”

  Maybe I was still shocked into not speaking after what the prince had said and done, because I didn’t reply. After a moment of silence she spoke again, “I’ll prepare the bath for you.”

  “Uh, why the water is brown?” I asked as I looked with disgust at the tub filled with unclear water and no soap in it at all, not even a few bubbles.

  “It’s herbs, Princess. It’ll help you relax your muscles and remove any soreness you might be feeling,” she explained.

  Soreness?

  Why would she thinks I’m so-

  Oh!

  I hopped into the tub, not very comfortable that I was naked in front of a stranger, but I noticed that she was avoiding looking at me until my body was completely under the water.

  True to her words, the tension was leaving my body more and more as the minutes passed. It was very relaxing, especially since the ugly-looking herbs, surprisingly, smelled really good.

  After the bath, I found that Mona had set out clothes for me. It was some sort of a dress but not really a dress; the end of it reached the floor and it was decorated in a way that was really breathtaking. It was love at first sight between me and the dress, as the golden color lining the dark red was just perfect. However, I still asked for my own clothes. I wasn’t going to wear them since I really liked the dress, but I still wanted to know where they were and why I wasn’t to wear them or pick out my own clothes.

  “Just for the week, Princess. It’s a tradition,” Mona replied.

  Well, I’m not staying here for the week, my dear. I’m flying home really soon.

  The cloth felt wonderful against my skin, so soft despite all of the decorations on the front and the back; it was amazing.

  I had to convince Mona that I could do my hair by myself, because she made a big deal out of it, saying it’d be disrespectful of her to let me do it myself, whatever that meant.

  “Queen Shams will be with you shortly, Princess.”

  “Okay,” I replied. “Wait, what?”

  “Uh, the queen? A very short visit,” she nodded.

  “Why is she visiting me?”

  The prince told her!

  Oh, my God!

  She knows the blood is not mine and she’s coming to kill me! God! Oh, God!

  “Tradition, Princess.” And she was gone.

  It was a tradition for the queen to kill the new princess the day after the wedding?

  “How are you doing, Benty?” Queen Shams asked once she was seated in the arm chair.

  “Uh, I’m doing fine, thank you,” I said hesitantly as I eyed the box beside her, wondering if it had a weapon inside it.

  She speaks English after all …

  I tried not to think about the fact that she didn’t talk to me last night at the wedding, or the fact that I didn’t like the way she was looking at me.

  “Glad to hear it,” she said, her voice not really giving away the reassurance that her words were.

  We went into a very awkward silence, which I didn’t like just as much as I didn’t like her stare. There was something about that woman I just couldn’t bear. She was sending me huge waves of negative energy that were too much for my liking.

  Our minutes of silence were over the second she huffed and shook her head. I frowned at her behavior but still said nothing. She then reached for the box that she’d brought with her and laid on the table in front of us, the same table I had signed my misery on, and stood up.

  “This is for you,” she said as she looked down at me, her face blank.

  I stood up, carefully taking the square-shaped box from her hand.

  “Uh, thank you, Queen Shams,” I said politely.

  “Mother,” she said, and I frowned at what ‘Mother’ meant, confused as to why she’d said that, then realizing right away that she meant for me to call her that. My eyes widened slightly. I knew in my heart that I’d never call anyone other than my own mother that name, let alone that woman standing in front of me.

  I forced a smile, but that was all she was getting from me as a reply. She raised an eyebrow and I pretended to be busy admiring the box.

  “Can I open it?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  A nod.

  My eyes widened once again, but for a completely different reason. Laid upon the silk that filled the inside of the box was a necklace, designed to sit only on the collarbone, decorated with at least a hundred gemstones or so all over it, shaped into roses. Large and small diamond gemstones.

  “Wow! This is for me?”

  “I’ve already said it is.”

  “Uh, thank you.”

  “Put it on.”

  I didn’t feel like putting it on while she stood there, but didn’t want to get into an argument with her. I thought it wouldn’t really hurt me if I did as she requested, so I did.

  “I think it’d look better if you removed that...thing.” She pointed with her finger and a disgusted look to my necklace.

  My hand flew to my cross, holding it in my hand protectively. It felt like she was going to take it away from me, even though I was so sure she wouldn’t dare do so. But then again, I didn’t know her and knew nothing of her personality. I only knew that what I had seen so far was very unlikable.

  “Uh, I don’t ever take it off,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “Hmm,” she hummed. “Listen, Yabent,” she started with a cold gaze and an undeniable sneer, “Mazen is a very good man; he’s kindhearted and more than nice. He deserves the best, and even more.” She eyed my hand that was still holding my cross with disgust before looking back into my eyes. “I’ll do anything in my power to prevent that kind heart from being hurt. Anything.”

  I gazed at her with shock. Her words weren’t hurtful, per se, but it didn’t mean that those words weren’t full of what seemed like a warning.

  “I would’ve really loved for my only child to marry someone who knows how to treat her husband well, someone who knows her duties towards her husband, his rights over her and how to make him happy,” she paused. “Someone who’s a Muslim.”

  Wow!

  Now it wasn’t only a warning that laced her words, it was also hatred. Plain and simple.

  “But, we can’t really always have what we want, can we?” she said with a shake of her head. “However, we do know how to accept what fate has forced on us.”

  Is she speaking about me or herself?

  Hello! I was the one forced into this here!

  “If you ever hurt Mazen in any way, I’ll make sure to make you regret it.”

  And then she left. Leaving me standing right where I was, too shocked to speak or even move.

  Guess my queen/mother-in-law doesn’t like me, after all.

  How much I would like to tell her that the feeling is so mutual. To her and everyone else in this stupid kingdom.

  God!

  I put the box with the other boxes from yesterday, determined to leave them behind when I finally leave this hell-hole and never look back. It was really nice, but all of those diamonds didn’t belong to me. I wasn’t the prince’s bride, nor would I ever be.

  Mona came in after a few minutes with breakfast, and the prince arrived before she’d left the room. He told her something in Arabic, which she responded to with a nod and left the room.

  I gazed at the prince as he stood beside the door. His angry stare was no longer there; it was replaced by a blank expression, so I couldn’t read him – yet again.

  For some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. It was like I was waiting for something, only I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t wonder for long, since my thoughts were interrupted the second his soft voice filled the silence.

  “We need to talk.”

  I held my breath at his words. I had no idea what he would tell me
, ask from me, or what that would be about. I didn’t know anything. I dreamed of him letting me go. But I knew he wouldn’t. He’d probably keep me in here and torture me to death. His kind could be sadistic like that – no surprise.

  I eyed him for a moment, trying to discover his hidden intentions, to hear his silent thoughts, to see the future. But nothing worked; I couldn’t read his mind.

  I won’t lie, I was scared, so scared. Not knowing anything was not very pleasant.

  I felt so lonely, in a country that wasn’t my own, with people who didn’t speak my language, and believed in a religion that wasn’t mine. No family, no friends, nobody I knew. My only family had betrayed me, then went on with his life like nothing had happened. I didn’t have any clue if he was still anywhere around. I didn’t know anything. At all.

  My nose tingled as the threat of tears falling down my face came to me. I fought it, but my vision blurred, and I knew he could see the shining in my eyes. I hated it, I didn’t want him to see me weak. I wasn’t weak. But I was helpless. I didn’t know if that was a weakness. I didn’t know anything. At all.

  He motioned for me to sit on the couch, and I hesitantly did. He then sat in the same chair his mother had just left. I folded my arms in front of my chest protectively, my eyes lowered, looking anywhere but into his eyes, waiting for what he would say. My heart was pounding in my chest violently, and the fear inside me left my mouth drier than a fallen leaf in autumn.

  I heard him sighing, and I had to look up; he seemed bitter, depressed, and sad. But he wasn’t angry or mad, and for that, I was grateful. I only hoped that it wasn’t an act.

  “Before anything,” he started, “I need to– … What I said earlier, I shouldn’t have said it. It was uncalled for.”

  My eyes widened slightly at what he said; I hadn’t expected him to apologize to me. His voice sounded genuine, and he seemed to be honest in what he was saying, but … it was hard to believe. My mind was telling me that he couldn’t be.