11 Nasrin

11

Nasrin

“Arrogant prick,” I grumbled under my breath when I rushed towards the palace, far away from the man who would be my husband in a few weeks if I accept his marriage proposal. Even his stupid, divine smelling suit reminded me of his handsome half-smirk. As if he knew I wouldn’t reject him. Couldn’t reject him.

But deep down, I knew he was right. All Zain was doing was being honest with me, and I hated how bitter the truth was. I knew that my beautiful country, Maahnoor, was not in good hands when my father appointed my eldest brother, Sadiq, as the sultan. He had made it unbearable for women to work, building clubs and bars when there was a need to build solid roads and schools for girls.

Not to mention about my rejection towards all the proposals that no one but a sixty-four-year-old man wanted me. Him or Sultan of Azmia. Despite being thirty-three, Zain had rejected all the proposals from the princesses to rich daughters of sheikhs, royals and even commoners. He didn’t wa