As the son of a multi-billionaire, Khalid Bakhtiar had seen a fair share of opulence. Between the private planes, the international properties, and the sheer amount of money at his fingertips, luxury was something he was familiar with.

But this? This was on another level.

“Careful of the fountain,” Zayn warned as they made their way through the open-air foyer, past two rows of waiting servants. “It spits a bit.”

While the marble fountain was distracting in its own right, the entrance hall as a whole was spectacular. Hand painted tiles lined not only the floors, but the walls as well, creating a mosaic of script, geometric shapes, and color. It embraced and welcomed its visitors, directing them to the sweeping staircases on either sides of the room, or straight through the archway that led into the lush, green courtyard garden.

Zayn guided them with the ease of someone who had spent plenty of time wandering this grand palace, never faltering or hesitating. Khalid gaped as they made their way up one of the staircases and into the west wing, unsure of what to focus on, because the classic Arabesque architecture was nothing short of a masterpiece.

The color schemes and furnishings changed subtly from hall to hall, but they all flowed smoothly into each other. While the fluidity was a nice touch, Khalid couldn’t tell where exactly they were going, or where they had even come from because of it. Now he could understand how Zayn had gotten so lost in here as a child, because Khalid was certain there was no way he could get out of here on his own. But that wasn’t a problem; he was fine with stumbling along behind Zayn, jaw practically on the floor as they made their way from one end of the palace to the other.

What seemed like an eternity later, Zayn paused in front of a set of intricately carved doors before throwing them open. What looked to be his bedroom lay before them, yet another vast room with a vaulted ceiling and plenty of natural light. Unlike the rest of the colorful building, the space was done in pure white, the only hint of color coming from outside the balcony doors, which peered down at not only the estate’s main garden but hinted at the ocean off in the distance. Khalid was almost certain this was the best view in the entire palace.

As Khalid continued to admire it, Zayn threw himself onto the bed. “Ya Khalid, you don’t know how good it is to be back home.” He sighed in bliss. “And I get to be here for the next two months, insha’Allah. It doesn’t get any better.”

Khalid dropped into an oversized chair in the corner of the room. “Nothing like sleeping in your own bed. I should be back in mine soon enough, barring any trouble getting home.”

“Enjoy it. You excited to see your family?”

He nodded before letting his head fall back. “My sister and grandmother, at least.”

“Not your father?”

Khalid squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not sure he’s going to be all that happy with me.”

“No?” Zayn lifted his head from the bed. “Why not?”

“I...” Khalid trailed off before heaving a sigh and opening his eyes. “My sister and I lied to him about something, and he’s probably discovered it by now. I can’t imagine the aftermath is going to be pretty.”

It felt strange to be so vague with Zayn about this. The guy may have been his closest friend, but this was a family matter and he was determined to keep family drama contained. Unlike the rest of the Bakhtiars—and probably every other Persian on the planet—he preferred to keep his life private. There was no need to gossip or involve other people in things that didn’t concern them. Too bad everyone he knew felt the exact opposite.

This was between him and his sister. The news of her failed fake engagement and impending arranged—or really, forced—marriage didn’t need to become the latest gossip. Not that he thought Zayn would tell anyone, but it still wasn’t Khalid’s place to speak.

“Then why did you lie in the first place?” Zayn asked. It was a gentle enough question, but it twisted the knife of guilt in Khalid’s stomach.

He grimaced and dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s a long story, but I thought I was protecting her. Turns out, I just made it worse.”

Worse was an understatement. Luckily, Amir was still conducting business in Iran, just a few hundred miles away from where Khalid was now, but there was bound to be trouble when they both returned home to DC. Khalid couldn’t imagine the news hadn’t reached Amir yet, and while his sister was sure to bear the brunt of Amir’s wrath, Khalid knew he wouldn’t escape it unscathed either.

“I understand,” Zayn said softly, pushing himself up on an elbow. “I would do anything for my sisters.”

Uneasiness lingered in his chest. All he could do now was change the subject and hope it would go away. “Speaking of your sisters, when do I get to meet everyone? You can’t expect me to fly all the way out here and not meet your family.”

With a laugh, Zayn rolled out of bed and took a moment to stretch. “You’re a brave soul to want to.” He dropped his arms back to his sides, then motioned for Khalid to follow him. “Come on, if you’re going to meet my family, we have to dress you for the occasion.”

“That sounds ominous,” Khalid joked but got up from the chair.

Zayn glanced over his shoulder, taking in Khalid’s outfit of jeans, a black t-shirt, and sneakers. “Your attire isn’t exactly appropriate for a National Day celebration, especially as a guest of the royal family.”

“Hey, this shirt is Gucci,” he attempted to protest but stopped when he realized what Zayn meant. “Oh, no. No, no. You will not get me into one of your...dresses.”

Zayn grinned, and Khalid didn’t like it one bit. “Come on, what do you have against wearing a thobe?”

Did he really have to answer that? Other than simply coming from two cultures where thobes weren’t part of day-to-day dress, it just seemed weird. It wasn’t that he had anything against thobes—or dishdashas, or kanduras, or…whatever they called them in this damn country—because on actual men from the Gulf they were appropriate, stylish, and he couldn’t deny they looked pretty great.

But on him? A Persian-American who couldn’t stand the idea of wearing something that most Americans would simply mistake for a long, white shirt-dress? Yeah, he’d pass on that.

Unfortunately, his complaints went ignored. Twenty minutes later, Khalid found himself standing next to Zayn in the walk-in closet, assessing their almost identical outfits of thobes and white headdresses held in place by black circlets of rope.

And, well, he couldn’t deny they both looked good.

“We could be twins.” Khalid snickered, looking back and forth between them. “Really, I can’t tell the difference.”

“The difference is that my thobe costs about two grand more than yours. And this.” Zayn grabbed what looked to be a long, sheer black cloak embroidered with gold off a nearby hook and draped it across his shoulders. “You don’t get one of these, sorry.”

“I’m not complaining, I’d probably roast in that thing.” He shook his head, still getting used to the feel of the ghutra. “Besides, this feels wrong enough as is. I think I’ve become too Americanized.”

“I could have told you that ages ago.”

Khalid gave him a friendly shot to the shoulder. “Asshole.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” Zayn laughed, flipping the edge of his ghutra over his shoulder with ease. “Last thing I need is to be late for my own father’s speech.”

Khalid motioned for Zayn to lead the way, knowing there was no way they would have made it out of the palace before midnight if he had been responsible for guiding them. Even still, it took close to five minutes to make it back to the grand entryway, where a lone figure dressed head to toe in black stood at the bottom of the staircase.

“Mama!” Zayn exclaimed, practically jumping over the last three steps to reach the abaya clad woman. “Assalamu alaikum, it’s so good to see you.”

“Wa alaikum salaam, habibi.” The woman laughed, allowing her son to sweep her into a hug.

As happy as Khalid was for his friend’s reunion, the sight of their embrace made his chest constrict. For a moment, all Khalid could see was his own mother, a woman he had lost—along with his biological father and aunt Sahar—many years ago in a tragic accident. It wasn’t often he thought of her, but it was moments like this that made him miss her desperately.

But she was in a better place now. At least, that was what he liked to tell himself. He had never considered himself to be very religious even though he’d been raised Muslim, but if some form of a beautiful afterlife existed, that was where he imagined his mother would be.

The conversation turned fully to Arabic after that, and Khalid had to listen closely to make out what they were saying, distracting him from thoughts of his mother. English was his first language, followed closely by Farsi, but Arabic was something he’d been working on since middle school. At this point he was fluent in the language, but with all the differing dialects, it could be hard to figure out what anyone was saying.

Thankfully, when the conversation finally shifted to include him, Khalid somehow managed to introduce himself to Zayn’s mother without making a fool of himself, a feat he was immensely proud of.

Eventually, Zayn kissed his mother on both of her niqaab covered cheeks and motioned to Khalid that it was finally time to go. Khalid tossed one last goodbye over his shoulder to the woman before stepping out the front doors and back into the sweltering heat of the day.

“I didn’t catch like half of that conversation,” Khalid admitted. “Please tell me I didn’t miss anything important.”

Zayn laughed as he plucked a set of car keys from the outstretched palm of one of the palace staff members. “No, it was mostly her saying how much she missed me. And that my father wanted to speak to me.”

“Do you need to go do that now? I can hang out with your mom instead.”

“It can wait,” Zayn said, waving a hand to dismiss the idea. “His speech is in less than an hour anyway, so I’m sure he meant he wanted to talk afterward.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Now, come on, we have to fight our way through National Day traffic.”

Khalid watched as Zayn motioned toward the Rolls Royce with a Malikbahri flag decal on the side parked just a few feet away, and he could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat. It was love at first sight.

“It just keeps getting better,” he said under his breath, reaching out to open the passenger side door. “I love this place.”

Although Zayn had mentioned something about fighting National Day traffic, it was no trouble when you had a military escort directly from the palace gates. It put the US president’s motorcade—which Khalid had seen hundreds of time thanks to being a DC native—to shame, and this wasn’t even for a head of state.

It was a short fifteen minutes when Zayn finally pulled to a stop on a side street just a few hundred yards from the capital city’s main square. The street was lined with what had to be at least a few hundred people, with even more packed into the square ahead, but it wasn’t the people themselves Khalid found impressive. No, it was the show of patriotism currently on display.

Everywhere he looked, he saw only green, white, black, and red, the colors of the Malikbahri flag. It was painted on the faces of children, draped around the shoulders of elders, and waved above the heads of all. Amongst the flags were the faces of the royal family, printed or even hand painted on massive posters, adorned with calligraphy. While King Mohammed’s face was the most prominent, Khalid was quick to note just how many seemed to be of Zayn.

And, of course, he was also quick to note just how many absolutely breathtaking women were in the crowd.

“You have a kingdom full of beautiful women,” Khalid murmured to Zayn as they got out of the car, a gorgeous girl in black jeans, heels, and a loosely held together abaya breezing by. “God bless.”

Zayn grinned but didn’t turn to look at the girl. “Lower your gaze, brother,” he teased, nudging Khalid in the ribs. “You’re not supposed to stare.”

“How can you not?” he scoffed. “There must be something in the water because your people are gorgeous. No wonder your oldest brother is always in the papers with a different girl on his arm each week.”

Zayn’s shoulders tensed, but he kept walking, following the lead of his security team. “Don’t remind me.”

“What about you?” Khalid prodded, figuring Zayn didn’t want to talk about Majid, the notorious playboy of the al-Haydar family. “Have you bedded very many of your subjects?”

“That’s an inappropriate question to be asking.”

“Forgive me, your highness,” Khalid mocked, grinning as he curtseyed in apology. “But I think we’re past the point where any topic is inappropriate.”

Zayn gave him a light shove, laughing. “You’re an idiot. And it’s royal highness.”

“Thank you for correcting me, your royal pain in the ass.” He grinned as they continued to walk, coming upon the barricade that led to a massive stage in the middle of the city square. “But really, how many?”

Zayn stayed silent, seeming to simply listen to the happy shouts and loud music. “Zero,” he finally answered.

“That’s no fun.” Khalid took a moment to nod at the guard who let them through the barricade and into the area where a handful of diplomats, high-ranking government officials, and what appeared to be the rest of Zayn’s family were seated. “You more interested in girls not from your country? I know I’ve seen you hanging around with a few at school.”

“It’s still zero.”

The grin disappeared from Khalid’s face, and he stopped abruptly. “Zero?”

Zayn smiled serenely in response.

“You mean you’re…”

“A virgin, yes.”

“I…” Khalid began, unsure of what to say. “Wow. Shit. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“It surprises me too sometimes,” Zayn replied, nudging Khalid into walking again.

“Yeah?”

Zayn hesitated before answering. “Let’s just say I did some things in the past I regret. You could call it my rebellious phase.”

“And what exactly did you get up to during it?” Khalid pushed, leading them into the front row of chairs.

“A little of everything. Drinking, drugs, women…” He trailed off, shrugging.

Confusion filled Khalid. “Women? But you said—”

“I know what I said,” Zayn interrupted gently, motioning for Khalid to take a seat next to the finance minister. “And of all people you should know there’s more to being with a woman than just sex.”

“True,” Khalid admitted, falling into the chair as Zayn sat gracefully beside him. “Still, that blows my mind. How did you manage to hold out for so long?”

“No clue. I have a tough time with temptation, especially when it comes to fine food and beautiful women.”

Khalid threw his head back and laughed. “Well, I think you’re fine on the food front since you look awfully fit in that thobe. And considering you’re a prince who could have any woman in the world and you’re still a virgin, I’d say you’re fine there too.”

Zayn shot him a wry glance. “Got to admit, it’s nice to hear that from someone else for once. My brothers all preferred the wild version of me.”

“What made you want to change?” Khalid asked, not particularly caring if he was prying.

“More like who.” Zayn toyed with one of the buttons on his thobe. “Majid was a shining example of what I didn’t want to turn into.”

“How so?”

“He almost died of a drug overdose a few years ago,” Zayn revealed, lowering his voice so no one would overhear their conversation. “After that, I realized just how dangerous that kind of life is, and I didn’t want any part of it. That was around the time I started finding my way back to Islam, and I felt that was the right path for me.”

“Good for you, man. But I only want to know one thing.” Khalid turned and fixed him with a serious look, but he was fighting a grin. “Why the fuck am I just now hearing about this? I’ve been under the impression you’ve been a good boy your entire life. You absolute liar.”

Zayn laughed. “I figured it wasn’t that big of a deal. Besides, it all happened before we met.”

Khalid made a sound of understanding. “Sometimes I forget I’ve only known you for the past two years. Feels like forever.”

“I know,” Zayn agreed, reaching out to sling an arm around Khalid’s shoulders. “You’re like an extremely annoying brother to me. I guess I can consider you an honorary member of the family now that you’ve met my mother. Plus, she likes you.”

Khalid clapped a hand over his heart. “I’m flattered. But I guess it’s time for you to meet my family now.”

Zayn drew his arm back. “I hope you mean the ones in Iran.”

“Try America.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said, shaking his head. “Americans aren’t too fond of sheikhs from oil rich countries.”

“We’re not all like that, I’ll have you know. Especially my family.”

Before Zayn could respond, a loud cheer rippled through the crowd, and they both glanced up to see King Mohammed enter onto the stage. The king waved to the thousands who had come out for his speech and the various National Day celebrations, and was forced to wait for a long few minutes before the crowd settled enough for him to speak.

“Do you need me to translate for you?” Zayn whispered to Khalid as King Mohammed greeted the crowd.

Khalid shook his head. “No, I think I’ll be okay. I’m fluent in Modern Standard, but if your father uses that weird-ass dialect of yours that I can barely understand, I’ll ask you.”

They fell into silence shortly after, listening to the king proclaim his love for this beautiful country, discuss its history, and how he envisioned its future. Khalid was impressed by the poetic quality of the king’s speech and sheer dedication to his homeland. Even he, a child of two separate countries and two very different cultures, felt like he could call Malikbahr home after this speech. He could have listened to His Majesty speak all day, even if he was just discussing something as boring as the weather.

Eventually, the speech started to wrap up, but Khalid froze at the king’s latest line.

“And this is why, today, I announce my successor.”

He squinted in confusion, not sure if he had translated the last word correctly.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” he whispered, leaning into Zayn. “What did he say?”

Zayn frowned but never took his eyes off his father. “He said he’s about to name the crown prince.”

Zayn looked like he was about to say more but was cut short when King Mohammed’s gaze landed on him. And when the man smiled, Khalid knew his friend was in for something big.

“My son, Prince Zayn bin Mohammed al-Haydar.”