“Save the ma’ams and sirs for the royals. I’m Zayna.” She motioned Leighton into the bathroom. “Come in here. I need to fit the abayas to you.”
Though she complied, Leighton expected a trap. Her steps across the room were silent and tentative. When no more punishment came, she peeked to the side where the woman had vanished. She’d been right—there was not only a closet but a dressing room through there.
“On the dais,” Zayna snapped, pulling out two brown, beaded garments. “Wear the abaya over the pants. Keep your head covered at all times, unless you are in your room. Understand?”
Leighton nodded, her mind racing. But, no… “I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand about keeping your head?—”
“No, I—” Frustration twisted her words and thoughts. “I mean the room…the clothes… Why? I do not live here. I—” She better not say she was a prisoner, though it was true. “I do not have a room—not like this one.”
“Thank Princess Daria for changing that. She’s especially gracious now that her wedding plans are in full swing.”
Shock rooted her to the floor that the princess had any say in how Leighton was treated or where she stayed. Why would the king listen to a woman? Especially about a prisoner?
“She has decided you are a part of the wedding party.”
“Me?” Leighton squeaked. “I don’t—how—why?”
“That does not matter. You will attend and remain silent. Speak only when asked a direct question.” Zayna began stripping the smelly clothes off Leighton, then produced a tape measure from a pocket in her dress and measured her. “You are painfully thin. I’ll need to adjust everything.” She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “And if I were you—which I am not, thank Allah—I would keep every answer simple. I warn you, while she might see you as a pet now, Her Highness bores quickly and easily. You are a novelty today; tomorrow, an annoyance. Yes?”
Leighton nodded.
The rest of the fitting continued in silence, then Zayna ordered Leighton to shower. Once cleaned and changed into simple clothes that still bordered on luxurious, Leighton emerged from the bathroom to find the woman tidying up.
Zayna went to the round table in the corner and tapped a pad of paper. “These are all the royals and their names. Learn them. Memorize them. After this great gift you have been given in having a room up here, the last thing you want is to insult them by not knowing their names.”
Right. Because this was her idea of fun, being kidnapped and held hostage by ultra-rich royals. And yet, she recognized this gift of a clean, dry room with access to a bathroom—not a hole—and shower.
“Food will be delivered as it was in your cell. Stay away from the windows or they will board them up.” Zayna gathered the dirty clothes and towel. “Now—anything else?”
She’s asking me?
Zayna huffed when she did not answer. “Do you need anything, child?”
Yes, my home! My parents! My freedom!
But…for Ummi…
Positive those answers would earn a slap, Leighton had no idea what to say. But when the woman remained there, expression growing more angry, Leighton knew they’d never give her a phone or device, but perhaps… “May I have some books to read?”
“Books—tsk.” Zayna stalked to the door and gave it a distinctive rap—apparently to signal Asim—as she looked at Leighton. “I will bring the Salat. That is all you need.” When the door opened, she stepped aside.
Asim entered with a food tray and dropped it noisily onto the small round table next to the list of names. His gaze struck her. He scowled. “Cover your head!”
Heart pounding, she ducked, looking for a covering.
Zayna tossed one at her, then left with the guard.
Nerves flailing, Leighton jerked at the loud clap of the door slamming. Then flinched at the lock. And mercies, she hated it—hated being a prisoner. Hated how every little thing sent her nerves into overdrive. She dropped onto the chair and cried into the headscarf. How long, God? How long must I do this?
It was hard. So very hard. Yet…if it kept Ummi alive, so be it.
3
Loudoun County, Virginia
There must be some unwritten rule that covert ops had to be planned under cover of darkness, because they didn’t meet at the airstrip until well after sundown the next day.
