Sada’s story…
Five year old Sada watched as her two older brothers, Tazir and Rayed, hurried down the hallway. They were ten years older and always seemed to be doing something more interesting than she was allowed to do.
“Don’t gawk, Princess Sada,” her nanny admonished.
Sada lowered her gaze to her lap, but she peeked up again when she thought that her nanny wasn’t watching. Tazir and Rayed were laughing, throwing a ball to each other as they made their way down the hallway.
“Why are they allowed to throw a ball inside?” Zhara, Sada’s baby sister asked. At three years old, Zhara was always watching, always noticing everything.
The nanny’s mouth pursed into a disapproving moue. “They aren’t, ladies,” she told both girls. “But males are allowed to get away with more improprieties than females.” She nodded for emphasis. “Remember that. Besides,” she sighed and shook her head, “Prince Tazir will be ruler of Fahre. He’s allowed to set whatever rules he wants to make.”
Sada thought about that as she smoothed her hand down over her pink dress. It would be very nice to make rules instead of having to follow them. Oh, how she longed to break the rules. Just a few rules, she thought. Such as not having to wear a dress, for one. It was hard to run and play when one was wearing a dress.
Or perhaps she’d break the “don’t be impertinent” rule that her nanny quoted so often. Sada sighed, her shoulders sagging. “When I get older,” she whispered, then stopped when Zhara’s eyes lifted curiously.
“What are you going to do?” Zhara whispered, obviously fascinated.
Sada shook her head. “I’ll follow the rules,” she lied. Silently, she vowed never to follow the rules. When she got older, she’d break all the rules! She’d never follow rules! She’d break rules simply because the rule was made! She’d run and hide and never, ever, wear a dress again! She’d shun all rules and stick her tongue out at anyone who made her follow rules!
Micah’s story…
“This way!” Micah whispered, hiding the key to the prison cell as he led the prisoners out of the dark, wet cell. “There are guards to the left up ahead,” he added.
The three men nodded, their filth-covered features anxious, but hopeful as they crouched down low.
Micah could smell the fear emanating from them, but ignored the scent. If he were caught, he was pretty sure that his father would put him into one of those prison cells.
Lifting his hand in the air, he silently signaled to the men to wait. For several moments, he watched until the lazy guard walked into the back room where a television was playing some comedy show.
“Okay, let’s go!” he whispered.
Leading the three men through the maze of tunnels that comprised the old prison, he wondered how many more men and women he could save. These three shouldn’t be in the prison cell. Their only “crime” was daring to criticize his father’s current military spending, most of which, Micah suspected had gone into his father’s private bank accounts and not on defense spending, as the funds had been intended.
Ten minutes later, Micah led the three journalists out into the sunshine. The men blinked, their eyes hurting since they hadn’t seen light in weeks. When their eyes finally adjusted to the bright light, they were stunned. “Who are you?” one of them asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Micah replied, turning his head and pointing towards a van parked across the street. “That van will take you out of the city. There’s a private plane waiting to take you out of the country.” He looked at each man. “I know that you’ve been through a lot, and I appreciate the sacrifice you’ve made to Batam.”
Then he walked away, rounding a corner. Immediately, he was surrounded by his bodyguards.
The three men stood in place, staring at the corner. “Did our ruler’s son just rescue us from hell?” one of them whispered.
There was no answer from the other two. All three men were too stunned as they watched the Crown Prince of Batam walk away.
Micah al-Mari walked into the palace, feigning exhaustion. It had taken him three days to figure out those ancient tunnels! So most of his exhaustion was real.
“Where the hell have you been?” his father demanded.
Micah stopped and glared down at his father. The man had gained a significant amount of weight over the past several years. He’d been away at university, coming home only to find his country in shambles because of the decrepit leadership of his pathetic and dissolute father.
“I was out drinking,” he grumbled, aware of the very few distractions of which his father would approve. “Next time, I’ll bring you with me.”
His father merely grunted, then proceeded on his way. Micah wondered how much longer his father would last. The man probably had some very serious heart conditions. He was a raging alcoholic, rarely exercised, and his two main pasttimes lately were eating and having sex with random women.
Micah took note of everything, planning for when he would be in power. There was absolutely no way he would allow his country to suffer once he gained power. He also noted the people within the palace who tried to do the right thing, despite Micah’s father’s attempts to ignore the country’s problems.
Soon, very soon, Micah would get his country back on track. He’d clean up the corruption, oust the problematic element within the palace administration and clean house! He’d bring in foreign investors, increase the country’s infrastructure by using the country’s dwindling treasury to fix the roads and bridges. There was so much he could do to make things better. He just needed to bide his time until he was in power. Then there would be no holding back on fixing the ailing country that he loved!
