Black Keys (The Colorblind Trilogy #1) (19 page)

With hesitation, the prince surrounded my body with his unsure arms, tightening them around me when I hugged him tighter, holding me to him and pressing harder every time I pressed hard.

“I was so scared,” I sobbed into his chest, my eyes finally letting go of my tears. “So, so scared, I thought he was going to kill me, I really thought he was going to do it. I was shaking: I could barely hold the pen. I couldn’t escape, I was afraid to say another ‘no’, I had no choice but to sign the papers. He was frightening, he was scary, he scared me. I could hardly breathe, I could hardly move, I had nowhere to go, I had no one to hold, I had no one to keep me safe,” I cried hysterically, holding him tighter with every new word I spoke. He would press even more every time I did it, until it was almost painful. Almost. But not quite.

“Shhh,” the prince soothed, his hand finding my hair, smoothing it with soft caresses, his other hand holding me to him, pressing. Hard. Tight. But not close enough. “You’re safe. I’ll keep you safe. I promise, I promise,” he whispered his promise.

My prayer of safety–—it was answered.

“No one will touch a hair on your head, no one would ever
dare
. Not as long as I breathe,” he spoke into my hair, as his hand hugged my head to his chest. “I swear.”

My prayer of comfort–—it was answered.

The prince backed away the tiniest bit, and both hands left their previous places on my head and back, moving to hold my face between them. His eyes stared deep into mine. His thumbs wiped away the tears that wet my cheeks. His tone was filled with hope when he asked, “Do you believe me, Princess? Do you believe me?”

I couldn’t lie to myself. I couldn’t lie to him. With the little space his hands gave me, I nodded.

He took me into his arms again, hugged me again, let me bury my head into his chest again, let me breathe him in again.

My prayer of protection—it was answered.

The prince held me until my tears dried, rocking us back and forth a few times, slowly, lazily. He moved his hand over my hair, sent his comfort over my heart. He whispered to me once again that he’d keep me safe, reassuring me once again that he meant it.

I felt much of what I had craved in my perfect stranger’s arms.

He smelled like sandalwood and safety. He hugged like softness and comfort. He whispered like quietness and protection.

I knew that I’d spent too long in his arms, but it felt like mere seconds. And when there was a knock on the door, I pretended that I didn’t hear it. And when the prince heard it, I wanted to tell him to ignore it. And when he backed away from me, I wanted to beg him to come back. To put
me
back. In his arms. I wanted back.

The knocks weren’t coming from the main door, but from one of the hidden doors. The one that led to the living room. The room that Janna was staying in.

She entered on the invitation presented by the prince. Swollen eyes, swollen lips, pink nose, and red cheeks.

I didn’t want to look at her. I didn’t want to feel anything for her, but the miserable look in her eyes--that I’d come to know very well lately--prevented me from blocking those feelings of sympathy and sorrow for her.

She wanted to talk. I didn’t want to.

Little did I know that on Janna’s hands I would be getting the answer for my last prayer.

An out.

Home.

I didn’t like the situation I was in. I didn’t like her being that way. I couldn’t bear it.

Maybe I was mad at her, in a way. Maybe I blamed her for what was happening to me. Maybe I said all I’d said for revenge. To make my brother suffer with her knowledge, and to make her suffer with said knowledge, too. But…I wasn’t cold-hearted.

It was such torture.

To have her on her knees. In front of me. All tears. All begging. All pain. It was such torture.

I
hated
it.

My own tears fell as I looked away from her kneeling-begging form. I pressed on my lips hard and then harder to hold in the words I wanted to tell her, but my heart wasn’t letting me do it.

“Please, Marie, please,” Janna begged. “I can’t take anymore, I can’t stand you hating me too. I have no one left,” she cried.

It broke my heart.

“I’ll do anything, please,” she sobbed. “Just, please, forgive me. I didn’t know. I swear to God, I didn’t know.”

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“I forgive you,” I whispered with a shaking voice.

“It’s just too much to take in,” Janna said, wiping tears. “I still can’t believe it.”

“Same here,” I sighed, resting my back on the arm chair.

After I’d told her that I forgave her, she asked if we could talk for a few minutes. Even if she didn’t beg with words for that, she did beg with her eyes–so much, at that. And I just couldn’t say no to her; she looked miserable enough.

So, we ended up sitting in the same spot where we’d met the Queen Mother a few hours ago. The prince also had closed the walls once again, giving us more privacy or whatever, while he stayed on the other side.

I wondered what he was doing.

My mind kept drifting back to the minutes I’d spent in his arms and how his embrace had felt. I kept thinking of all of the thoughts that roamed through my head then, the feelings that filled my heart and…the sensations caused by touching his body,
that
way.

I had no idea what had gotten me to do such a thing, to
need
such a thing, to feel such a thing. It was really strange, and I was so afraid of thinking about it, only because I already knew what my mind would come up with eventually as an explanation for my actions. It was scary. And not right. Wrong.

“It makes me wonder if anything he ever told me was true,” Janna sniffed, pulling me away from my thoughts. “I mean, did he really love me at all? Or was it all for who I was? But then again–he didn’t know about my family until after we found out about the pregnancy.” She touched her stomach. “It can’t be true that he played me that much, could it?”

I didn’t reply to her. I couldn’t. I didn’t know the answer, for I was a lot like her, feeling the same. I didn’t know him anymore, didn’t know what was real and what was a lie. I didn’t know how to find out if it was just a game of his, another way to deceive and betray, or just to fix mistakes and right wrongs.

“I can’t help but think that even his converting was fake. God, Marie. That would end me!” she wailed.

I bit my bottom lip and fought tears, shaking my head to shrug them away. Here she was, begging with all of her might for his change of religion to be sincere, honest; while on the other hand,
I
wished with everything in me for it to be just another lie of his.

I still hoped for anything. I still hoped at least for him to remain Christian–if he was still Christian, that is.

“Why did he have to convert to Islam, anyway?” I asked.

“We’re not allowed to marry non-Muslims,” she replied.

“Yeah,
I heard
,” I told her. “I mean, why didn’t I have to change my religion to be able to marry a Muslim?” I was still Christian and would forever be one: the cross on my chest told everyone here that. The queen
knew
that, so I didn’t think that my brother had lied about it. I wondered why it was different when a Muslim woman married a Christian, than a Christian woman marrying a Muslim?

Janna drew in a long breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, then she spoke. “It’s pretty complicated, I don’t know how to explain it,” she started. “I think it’s safe to say that the main reason is that the children follow their father’s religion. Another reason is that in Islam we do believe in Christianity and Judaism. We believe that we all worship the same God, that the three holy books were sent from him, the one and only God, but just like Judaism doesn’t believe in Christianity or Islam while Islam believes in both, Christianity doesn’t believe in Islam but believes in Judaism.

“There is also a rule in Islam that forbids anyone to force another into becoming Muslim, so no Muslim male would ever force his non-Muslim wife into becoming a Muslim, too. But there is no such a rule in Christianity or Judaism, so you can’t guarantee that a non-Muslim husband wouldn’t force his wife into converting to his religion, you know? Also, there are lots of things that we practice every day, like praying and so on, and a non-Muslim husband could prevent his Muslim wife from doing this or that, which would affect her relationship with God,” she explained.

Wow!
How did she even understand what she was saying? It was really complicated. But I had to admit, it made sense and was somewhat convincing.

I nodded my head slowly as I tried to take in everything she’d said. Glad to know that they had such a rule, because religion wasn’t something you could shove down someone’s throat. It’s a belief. Comes from the heart and
to
the heart. It was good to hear that no one was going to think of forcing me into changing my religion while I stayed here, because God knows I wouldn’t do it even if it cost me my life.

“Why did he have to change his name?” I asked after a moment of silence.

“He didn’t have to,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s optional as long as your name isn’t offensive to Islam. His old name wasn’t, but he wanted to change it, anyway.”

“How was it even possible to do all of that in such a short time? I mean, you’re still in your first trimester, right?” I wondered.

“It’s not a huge deal when you’re royal, Marie. All of the legal papers and so on were taken care of in one day, no big deal,” she said. “As for his converting, it only takes the person saying, ‘There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his servant and prophet,’ to become a Muslim – after that comes the practicing and stuff. God is the only one who could judge what’s in your heart, though. Not people.” A tear escaped her eyes, and I knew why it was there; she had begun to doubt everything about my brother after what I’d told her earlier. I didn’t blame her, and I could only imagine what she was going through right now.

Yes, I was betrayed, as well. Big time. But for her, the guilt of her mistake that had caused all of this was topping all of it. She must’ve
really
been suffering.

It didn’t escape me that she’d put all of her pain aside and took the time to explain things to me, because I was completely clueless about the whole thing. About Islam all together, to be quite honest. I didn’t know if it was because of what she felt for me. Because
‘it was killing her’
–as the prince had put it–what her actions did to me: causing me to witness things I would’ve never thought I would face in my life. Or if it was the pure kindness in her and she was genuinely that nice and that was a part of her nature–to put her feelings aside for others.

Whichever way, the weight of the world of sadness and sorrow was filling her chocolate-brown eyes, and I felt the undeniable urge to try to ease it somehow.
Her
pain, I wanted to ease.

“You do realize that he did all he did for you, Janna, don’t you?” I asked in a low voice.