He didn’t announce his presence, and King Khalid didn’t notice he had arrived. The older man stared out at the water, which at this time of the day, with the sun high in the sky, glinted like diamonds had been scattered across its surface.
Wasim noted with a bit of alarm that his father’s robes hung more loosely on him, an indication that he’d lost more weight. He would need to have a stern talk with him about this vegan diet he’d adopted. For health reasons, he’d said, but Wasim didn’t like the rapid weight loss. He and Yasmin had discussed their father’s appearance once before, and he’d bring it to her attention again so they could address the issue with him.
The king seemed to be focused on his yacht moored in the water, but Wasim suspected that he wasn’t really looking at it. Under the ghutra and long beard peppered with gray, he seemed…aggrieved. The expression on his face pricked Wasim’s heart, and he wondered if he was thinking about Wasim’s mother again. The anniversary of her death would be in a few weeks.
King Khalid’s second wife, her children, and staff resided on the fifth floor in the east wing. His third wife resided on the fourth floor in the east wing. He lived on the top floor in his own apartment, alone ever since his first wife, Wasim’s mother, had tragically drowned. Twenty-six years had passed since her death.
At one time, Wasim had assumed his father had moved on. But after he hadn’t moved either of his new wives into the queen’s apartment on the sixth floor, he realized his father had not. His new wives had kept him from being lonely over the years, but they’d never replaced her in his heart.
He moved closer and his father glanced over at him, his face brightening.
“As-salamu alaikum, Walidi.” He bowed slightly.
“Wa alaikum assalaam.” King Khalid opened his arms, inviting him in for a hug.
Wasim embraced him, noting again the lack of bulk in his body since the last time he’d seen him. “You looked deep in thought.”
King Khalid nodded. “I was. Thinking about a lot of things.” His tone sounded rather serious—downright grave. He waved at the food spread out on the table between them. “Have something?”
Wasim shook his head. “I ate an early lunch, but I’ll have a drink.”
King Khalid called for one of the servants standing nearby, who immediately filled a glass with jellab and then stepped back, inconspicuous against the window.
Wasim sipped the cold drink in appreciation. Then he handed over one of the reports to his father. “Where is Akmal?”
“Running late, as usual,” his father replied, pursing his lips in annoyance. “At least he called this time.”
There was nothing his father hated more than tardiness, and Akmal seemed bound and determined to make his blood pressure spike by constantly showing up late to meetings and events. He was young—only twenty-five—but not too young to know better.
“Everything set for the technology expo in a couple of weeks?” his father asked.
“Yes. So far, so good. I’m convinced it’s going to be a success.”
This was a project he’d been planning for years—to have an expo that focused on technology—highlighting innovations in cybersecurity, high-tech, and robotics, and bringing together companies from the Arab world to create partnerships. But his vision had taken on a life of its own and become larger than expected, pulling international interest that expanded the attendees well beyond his expectations.
“Good. I won’t be able to attend, but you don’t need me there anyway, this is your project.” King Khalid set aside the report. “Before we get started with that, I wanted to talk to you. Alone.”
As he dismissed the servants hovering nearby, unease settled in the pit of Wasim’s stomach. The other night when he’d gotten the message he’d immediately sensed that something was wrong but had brushed aside his concerns since then. Now they resurged anew.
When they were alone, his father looked at him, his expression so morose—so defeated—panic clutched at his abdomen.
“Walidi, what is it?” Fully focused, Wasim set aside his report.
“I don’t know how to say this. I haven’t gotten used to the idea myself.”
The smile he gave Wasim wavered at the corners. Wasim couldn’t smile back at all, and the sense of panic only increased, tightening to pain in his chest.
“I’m sick, Wasim. Very sick.”
“Sick? How? What’s wrong?”
“I’m in the advanced stages of pancreatic cancer.”
What? Wasim’s lips formed the question but never uttered the word aloud.
“I was diagnosed several months ago, and since then we—my doctors and I—have tried to find a way to make this go away through alternative treatments. I told them I do not want chemotherapy.”
“That’s why you changed your diet?”
He nodded. “I thought it would help. I was willing to try anything.” He sighed heavily.
“Why didn’t you tell us? Me, at least?”
“I didn’t want to worry you, but the cancer is in the advanced stages. They don’t give me much time.”
Wasim shot from the chair. “No. There must be some mistake. We need a second opinion.” He was ready to handle the situation. “We’ll go to Dubai or Malaysia or Singapore. India! We could…”
The muscles in his throat constricted at the devastating thought of losing his father. He was already grief-stricken and his father hadn’t passed yet. What would he do without him? What would this country do without him?
King Khalid’s eyes bore the heaviness of sympathy, when in fact he was the one who needed sympathy. He clearly saw Wasim’s fears.
“Sit, Wasim,” he said wearily. “That’s why I went abroad. To get a second opinion. But it’s too late. Nothing can be done.”
“How much time do we have?” He remained standing, forcing the question past stiff lips.
“A few weeks,” his father said in a grave voice.
A few weeks! This couldn’t be happening.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you privately. To tell you about my illness and a decision I’ve made. I want you to become the ruler of Barrakesch. I think you would be good for the country, but you don’t have a wife.”
“Walidi…” Wasim started with dread.
“Not even a prospect with the chance to start a family. You’ve turned down every potential wife your aunt has brought to you.” Since Wasim’s mother had passed, his father’s sister was responsible for helping him choose a wife. “Before I die, I need to know I’m leaving the country in good hands, with a ruler who is stable and can provide an heir. Since you cannot provide the peace of mind that I—we need—I have made the difficult decision to choose someone else to succeed me.”
Wasim sank onto the chair with the heaviness of a stone dropping to the bottom of the ocean. He hadn’t expected to have to take the throne so soon, and he hadn’t expected his father to pass him over, either.
“There are already factions in the Parliament who think you’re too flamboyant, too reckless, and too progressive. With no wife and the possibility of continuing our line, their confidence will be further shaken and could result in unrest, upheaval in the government.”