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His voice was dark, angry. I recognized it well. In recent months, things had become more and more tense between Omar and his brother. Sajid felt the fact that he was already married with children meant the country should waste no more time on the issue, and skip over Omar and his romantic indecision and allow Sajid to become king. It was unlike any other family squabble I had been a part of, and made the fights my sister and I used to have over Barbie dolls look pathetic.

Happily, Jada turned toward Sajid to answer him earnestly. Sajid caught onto that, too. He was as smart as Omar.

He turned back to the last of his steak with a sly, condescending smile. Say, you should get a move on with this one, Omar, if you hope to be king anytime this century. Jada gasped, her face turning as red as her dress.

It was a noble gesture, but it made me nauseous all the same. I surreptitiously reached for another flute of champagne. Omar shook his head. I love my nieces dearly, but they do not make you a king. How can we trust you with the responsibility of leading a nation if you cannot even build your own kingdom in a household? I have produced heirs. The throne should be mine. All the rest is technicality. Nearby tables began to notice the emerging row.

All I could do was sit and watch, wanting to help Omar bite back against the sharp tongue of his brother, but knowing I had no place to speak. That was one sure way to lose my job.

Both her sons stopped talking immediately and looked at her with shame in their eyes.

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She closed her eyes and shook her head. Your father would never put up with this nonsense, and it has been a difficult enough time without him to see you both descend into such petty foolishness. I only wanted to be his wife, and mother to his children. And as Queen, I am going to put a stop to this nonsense with a special decree. The constitution of our country is ancient, and I am not allowed to amend it.

The constitution says the next ruler must be male. So I say, the first of you, my sons, to deliver me a grandson will accede to the throne, and that will be the end of this.

Mirah took a deep breath.

I want to spend my last years in the garden with my grandchildren, teaching them poetry. I certainly do not want to continue moderating the squabbling of my grown sons who continue to fight over the same toy.

So let this be the end of it.

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Produce me a grandson, and you will have the throne of Al-Thakri. Exhausted by the emotion of it, I tried to pass the time staring out the window, watching the glittering, faraway desert dunes on the outskirts of the city. Under the moonlight, they shone like beautiful mountains of white diamonds. Mirah had spent the rest of the evening mingling with her birthday guests, while Sajid had swept up his wife and daughters before the family left early in their limo. Omar had tried to enjoy himself, but I could tell he was deeply rattled by the row, stuck in his own mind.

Her disappointment only seemed to increase when the motorcade stopped to drop her outside her penthouse apartment.

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Omar followed Jada out of the limo and Rafiq and I waited in awkward silence as he escorted her back up to her penthouse. When Omar returned, all pretense of happiness had dropped from his face. He was angry. I heard it in his voice when he told Abdul to drive on.

I stared at Omar as he gazed out the window, deep in thought. I wanted desperately to comfort him.

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Truthfully, I needed to be comforted myself. As a trauma doctor, being in tense situations was nothing new, but there was something vastly different about a royal family in the middle of a heated succession problem. Sajid already had a wife, and was probably trying to produce his male heir as we sat in the limo. Omar had much more work ahead of him, and now his clock was ticking even faster.

As his physician, I would become her doctor, too. I would be responsible for her health, and for ensuring the health of the heir of Al-Thakri. I would have to smile while I watched the man I loved create life with some other woman.

I glanced over at Omar, who was too busy in his own thoughts to notice me looking. I had to quit. I had to leave this place before the heartache of it killed me. I spend the rest of the limo ride trying to hold back my tears. Like some prophet, Rafiq gave me glances that said he could tell what was going on beneath the surface, but I ignored him. The motorcade passed the palace gates and wound up the asphalt roads to the rear of the palace.

The place was ancient, built long before cars existed, and there was no driveway to take us to the front.

Constructing one would have ruined the gorgeous beauty of the symmetrical front walk, dotted with palm trees, water features, and gorgeous blooming flowers. Omar stepped out first, with Rafiq following behind. As I stepped out into the semi-darkness, a strong hand was offered to me. I returned it shyly and accepted his hand, feeling the electric shock in my heart that I felt whenever we touched. For a moment, I felt like I could be his queen. It felt good to see him laugh. His whole face lit up when he did.

He must have noticed, because he looked at me curiously for a moment before he spoke again. How would you feel about a nightcap? I wanted to return to my private suite and end the evening alone, probably crying in my giant bathtub as I figured out how to pen my resignation letter.

The palace hallways were quiet, most of the staff having gone home or retreated to their own quarters for the night. Only the night guards were alert, positioned evenly throughout the hallways and at the entrances, politely ignoring us as we sauntered slowly by. Omar led us to his library, one of my favorite rooms, where the walls were two stories high and one had to use a ladder to get to the topmost books on the shelves.

He poured us both a glass of brandy from the collection of bottles at the bar in the corner. Is everything all right? I just have a lot on my mind, I guess. Your problems are my problems.

He never said things like that to the other staff members, even though I know he did care about them. The Sheikh treated everyone with respect, and never yelled even when he was angry. It was just that he seemed to treat me a little differently; he paid me just a bit more attention than anyone else—something that made my heart flutter to think about. I stalled with another sip of brandy.

He stepped closer to me. Are you not happy with your quarters, or your salary? You know you can discuss those things with me if something is bothering you. His shoulders slumped. You want to leave me?

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You never get sick or hurt. Anything could happen. Who will be here to help me if you leave?

There has to be someone who would better enjoy this quiet life than me. Omar fell silent. He moved away from me and collapsed tiredly into one of the brown leather reading chairs, downing his brandy in one big gulp. The silence grew between us and made the tension in my chest even worse. Did he want me to leave the room? Did this mean my employment was officially over? I stood there, frozen like a statue, waiting for him to react. Omar took a deep breath and finally spoke, but the words that came out of his mouth were not those I expected to hear.

Like what, more money? Like I have a purpose. He was not a man who got nervous very often. When he looked up at me, there was emotion in his eyes that was crushing and heavy. Though I ask you to keep the details of this conversation between us.

After taking a sip, he continued. Neither of us seemed to notice, as we stared at each other in tense anticipation. I can even understand you coming up with this as a solution to the problem.

But why me? Why not ask Jada, or any of them? They would surely leap at the chance to carry your heir. Omar shook his head impatiently. Why should it be me to give you an heir? You have a beautiful and kind disposition that I believe would benefit any child, especially one who will one day become a king. You are intelligent, thoughtful, and hard-working, and you truly care about people; what other qualities would better suit an eventual heir to a kingdom?

For months, I had been dreaming about hearing him talk to me like this; finally hearing it was almost unbelievable. I understand this is an incredible request to make of any you, to ask you to give up your bodily autonomy and produce a life, but I assure you I have every intent of making sure you are adequately compensated, in any way you should request.

Blood rushed in my ears like the sound of the raging ocean, fast as the thoughts that swarmed my shocked mind. Finally, I had to let out a deep breath. I have nothing but questions in my head. What if I have a girl? And you would be under no obligation to try again for a boy. My family will not be a problem. The constitution states clearly that the child must simply be my heir. The writers of the ancient world did not make any emphasis on who the mother should be.

My seed is enough to ensure they will not bother you. Will you help me? Then the question simply became: with whom would I want to create a child, one that could grow up to rule the nation I love? And, well… the answer was very clearly you. He had no idea how I felt about him, and no idea of the true significance of what he was asking of me.

My head is swimming right now, Your Highness. This is all too much, too fast. Until right now, I was of the mind that having children was an adventure I was never going to have.

I just figured I had to pick between the two, and I made my choice when I entered med school. He would stay here with you; I would basically be a surrogate. I just have to think about this.

It would kill me if I made you unhappy. Please let me know as soon as possible whether you are staying to help… or leaving. Too shocked to say anything else, I simply bowed my head a little and turned, hurrying out of the library and down the palace hallways.

By the time I rounded the corner near my private suite, I was practically running like Cinderella trying to catch her pumpkin before midnight struck, hot tears streaming down my face. Neither the jet tub nor a few more glasses of wine did anything to wring out the tension that galloped through my muscles at the thought of the decision before me.

I paced around the plush carpet of my private suite for hours, trying to weigh the pros and cons, asking myself the hard questions. It had been daunting enough to consider quitting this job and finding myself a new place to live and work. Now on top of that, I had to consider a much bigger, more life-changing decision, and one I never expected to have to make.

The man I secretly love asking me to carry his child—as a business arrangement. What had my life become?

Six months ago, I was tying tourniquets gritted with sand and trying to get my hands on any local remedy that would wash the constant smell of blood out of my hair.

Now, there was an evening gown on the floor of my plush suite, looking like a dark puddle of water in an ocean of cream-colored carpet, and I had to decide if I wanted to carry the heir of one of the oldest countries in the Middle East so that the man I loved could take the throne. Teary-eyed, I sighed as I hung up the call, hovering on the edge of my enormous canopy bed. It was probably for the best, anyway. There was no easy way to explain what was happening here, and my mother would be horrified at the prospect of me selling out my womb to anyone, Sheikh or not.

My mother cried for three days when I told her I was headed to be a doctor in a war-torn country. The thought hit me like a landslide. To rent out my reproductive organs in order to produce something he needed. Some part of that realization horrified me.

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