“That is ridiculous! You said yourself that I would be a good king.”
“I have no doubt, but others have doubt. And a good king would make sure there is a clear line of succession in place. That is what I intend to do, and you would be required to do if you were king. I am sorry, Wasim. You’ve left me no choice.”
“You have a choice. You could do what you know is right for the country, not what a few hard-headed conservatives want. The throne is mine. It is my birthright!”
“Wasim.” His father’s voice took on an imperial tone, demanding respect. “The decision has been made. I will not change my mind.”
Wasim stared at the tiled floor of the balcony, anger and disappointment rolling in his blood. “When will you announce the successor?”
“In a week’s time, when I announce my condition to the country.”
“Who have you chosen?”
“I haven’t made a final decision yet, but I will soon. Son, you won’t be king, but I need your help over the next few weeks. There is much to do.”
He was obligated to help. Not only because this man was his father and king, but because as a son and a subject, he wanted his father to go into the afterlife with his mind at ease. It would be his honor to do whatever he could to facilitate that transition.
With a heavy heart, Wasim took his father’s hand. “What do you need me to do?”
5
Imani lifted herself out of the water and picked up one of the towels she had left poolside on a chair. She removed her swim cap and wrapped a towel around her wet hair and then proceeded to dry her body with the other towel.
Much of her days were spent in ceremonial tasks, handling visa requests, and negotiating agreements between businesses located in the two countries. Today had been particularly stressful because she’d been unable to get a reliable answer about the environmental report from anyone in the commission’s office.
A relaxing swim had been exactly what she needed. Tomorrow she would begin the unpalatable task of trying to get an official report so they could make progress on the oil-drilling agreement.
She climbed the stairs to her bedroom and went into the large shower stall. She took a cool shower, washing her hair and skin thoroughly. After stepping out, she smoothed shea butter infused with the scent of passionfruit into her skin and pulled on a black abaya over a tank top and shorts.
Her personal aide, Doreen, who’d traveled with her from Zamibia, came into the room as she finished getting dressed. The older woman was of medium height and thick, with light-brown skin and dark eyes. Imani sat in the chair before the mirror and Doreen blew out her thick hair. She made the strands bone-straight and then added fullness with a few twists of a large-barreled curling iron.
Imani examined the finished product. “Looks good. I feel like a new woman.” She checked the profile view. The light use of argan oil gave her hair a silky and shiny appearance.
“You’ve been working too hard,” Doreen said as she put away the oil and iron.
“I want to make sure the incoming ambassador has very little to worry about,” Imani said.
“Well, they certainly won’t.”
The intercom phone rang and Doreen went over to the wall beside the bed and answered it. Seconds later, she turned to Imani. “Vilma says Prince Wasim is downstairs and would like to speak to you.”
She hadn’t been expecting him. “Tell her to take him to my office. I’ll be right down.”
Doreen nodded and repeated the message. When she left, Imani checked her face and applied lip gloss, which gave her mouth a hint of ruby color and a shimmery, moist appearance.
“Stop it,” she muttered with a shake of her head. “It’s just Wasim.”
She exited the bedroom and went downstairs to the office and found him standing in front of the French doors. As usual, her stomach did that odd tightening motion whenever she saw him. He was dressed semi-casually today in a white long-sleeved shirt and black slacks, a combination he often wore. With one hand tucked into his pants pocket, he seemed to be at ease at first glance, but she knew him well enough to know he wasn’t. Tension rested in his shoulders and rigid back.
“Hi, Wasim.”
He turned, and his face confirmed her suspicions. Something in his eyes called to her. She sensed all was not well.
“I hope you don’t mind that I popped up unannounced.”
“I’m used to it,” she said, softening the words with a smile.
“I say that every time, don’t I?” He smiled back.
“Yes, you do. Can I help you with something?” She glanced around the room and didn’t see any folders or paperwork.
“This is a personal visit,” he explained.
“Oh.”
“I called Kofi and Andres, but neither of them were available. So, you’re in luck. You get to hear the news.”
“I guess being third on your list isn’t so bad,” Imani said teasingly.
Wasim strolled over to one of the armchairs and sat down. Imani sat catty-corner to him on the sofa.
“What’s wrong?” She’d never seen him like this.
A pained smile crossed his lips. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Start where you feel comfortable.”
Their friendship was such that they could segue into more serious matters even though they typically maintained an easy-going, teasing relationship.
With a wry twist of his mouth, Wasim said, “I had an interesting talk with my father. It seems not settling down has consequences.”
“Oh.” Keeping her voice light, Imani said, “Goodness, he’s like my parents. There’s no rush.”
“On the contrary, there is a rush,” he said grimly, ominously. “He’s passing me over for the throne.”
“What?” Imani’s mouth fell open.
“You heard me correctly. There was a time when I didn’t want the position, but in recent years I’ve changed my mind. There are plans I want to implement which I won’t be able to unless I become king. The throne is mine. If I choose to decline it, that’s a different matter, but to be passed over is…unacceptable.”
The vehement tone of his voice and the way his eyebrows lowered over his eyes indicated his displeasure. Wasim played hard, but he worked hard, too, and she knew that one day he would be a good king.
The changes he wanted to make were unpopular ones his father had been unwilling to attempt. Among them was downsizing the monarchy’s Advisory Council by slashing the number of advisors. But to hear that he might be passed over for the throne was shocking. There must be more to King Khalid’s decision.
“Why the rush?” Imani asked.
“As you know, I went to see my father yesterday. Almost immediately, the conversation took an unexpected turn.”
He told her everything they discussed, his responses, and his father’s decision to pass him over.
Imani sat stunned, with a hand covering her mouth and sadness in her heart. “Wasim, I’m so sorry. King Khalid will truly be missed.”
The king was tough but beloved because he was open-minded and had made decisions that impacted the country in positive ways.
Wasim nodded. “He doesn’t want anyone to know yet, so please don’t tell your uncle. He wants to disclose his medical condition on his own terms.” Her uncle, King Babatunde, and King Khalid were friends.