This has to be some kind of mistake.

It was the only thing Zayn could think as he rose from his seat and made the trek to stand beside his father on stage, barely aware of his feet moving, and lifted a hand to greet the people of Malikbahr.

His people.

They’d always been his people, his comrades, his family—but they were even more so now. Now that he was—

This can’t be real.

In an attempt to regain some sort of grip on reality, he sought Khalid’s gaze in the crowd, and when he found it, all he could see was wide-eyed confusion.

After that, everything was a blur.

How he had gotten from that stage in the middle of the city square to standing in his father’s office a few miles away, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure where Khalid had gone, or what he had done in the however many minutes—hours?—that had passed since the king’s announcement. And he still wasn’t sure if this was all actually happening.

“Sit, my son. You look as if you might faint.”

Zayn did as he was told, dropping into one of the plush leather armchairs in front of his father’s desk. A moment later, a glass of water was pressed into his hands, which he was surprised to find were shaking.

“Ya Zayn.”

But it wasn’t just his hands that were shaking. It felt like his entire existence was attempting to weather an earthquake, just waiting for it all to be over as everything around him crumbled.

“Ya Zayn. Look at me.”

With his father’s gentle command, he forced himself to look up, locking eyes with the older man. And then, suddenly, it was like the earthquake was over and the dust had settled, leaving Zayn’s eyes wide open and his mind clear.

“What have you done?” he whispered. “Why would you do this to me?”

But King Mohammed was calm, hands laced gently in his lap as he leaned against the old mahogany desk. “You dare question the decision of your king?”

“What I question,” Zayn began, grip tightening on the water glass as anger simmered low in his stomach, “is the decision of my father, whom I thought would always want the best for me.”

“I do want the best for you. But I also want what’s best for our homeland.”

Zayn hated himself for it, but his emotions got the best of him. “This makes no sense!” he shouted, carelessly tossing the glass to the side as he sprang to his feet, the sound of it shattering making no difference to his mood. “I don’t understand why you would do something so ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” Mohammed repeated, brow raising. “Are you sure that’s the word you want to use?”

“Absolutely!”

“And why do you think my decision is so ridiculous?”

“Because—” Zayn stammered, still trying to get a grip on the emotions coursing through him. “Because I’m not cut out for this! I don’t want to be crown prince; I never have. I don’t want to be king!”

Mohammed lifted a hand to rest over his heart, a motion of sincerity. “God willing, you won’t have to worry about ruling for at least a few more years.”

“A few more years? Father—”

But his father motioned for him to cease. “Enough. This is not up for discussion.”

“You can’t decide things like this for me,” Zayn seethed, fists balling at his sides. “This is my life.”

“And this is your country!”

Zayn flinched at the king’s outburst, dropping his eyes to the floor in shame. It wasn’t often his father raised his voice or spoke in anger, but when he did, it was enough to make the world stop.

“You are an al-Haydar,” King Mohammed continued, softly now but still firm. “This is our duty.”

“I know, you’re right.” Zayn drew in a deep breath to ease his nerves, to calm the fury against his father. “It’s our duty. Our family’s duty. Not mine alone. You should have picked someone else.”

The king scoffed. “Who else would I have picked, Zayn? Majid?”

Zayn’s cheeks warmed, knowing he should have expected the conversation to turn in this direction. “Well, he is the eldest son after all,” he said but wanted to cringe at the thought of it.

“Just because he’s the first of my sons does not mean he’s wise. You know this.”

Zayn certainly did. However, resolute pride kept him from admitting as much. “If not Majid, then what about your brother? Isn’t Uncle Hakim technically next in line for the throne anyway?”

Though it was just for a moment, Zayn could’ve sworn something close to disgust briefly clouded his father’s face, but it was quick to fade to something more pained.

“I suppose it’s time I told you the truth of our family’s history.” King Mohammed sighed, walking around his desk to sit in his own tall-backed chair. “There are a few things you don’t know.”

Zayn shook his head, more than a little confused. “What are you talking about?”

“What I’m talking about,” King Mohammed began, and Zayn noticed in that moment just how tired his father seemed, “is a secret I’ve kept from you. From everyone.”

“Everyone? As in—”

“The entire country.”

Zayn frowned. “But what does this have to do with Uncle Hakim?”

“Everything.” He drew in a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he was about to reveal. “Twenty years ago, a week before your birth, I was almost overthrown in a bloodless coup d’état.”

“Are you saying…” Zayn trailed off, trying to get a grip on what he’d just heard. “Are you saying Uncle Hakim tried to depose you?”

King Mohammed nodded solemnly. “Obviously, since I’m sitting here today, he didn’t succeed, but sometimes I wonder whether that was a good thing or not.”

Still stunned but too curious for his own good, Zayn pushed on. “How did that even happen? Why would he try that? Who would even support him? That’s an act of treason!”

The king allowed himself a small smile. “It is. I suppose Hakim wanted what I had—he was always jealous of me, even as children—but the funny part of it was that I would have willingly given it all to him. I never wanted to rule. If he had simply asked… Well, let’s just say things would have been different.”

“But he didn’t,” Zayn snapped, suddenly furious with his uncle, upset that his father’s life and livelihood had ever been threatened. He didn’t care that it had all happened before he was born; the idea of anyone, especially his own uncle, betraying his father’s trust was an instant way to infuriate Zayn. “You’re king. It’s your duty and your right. Who is he to question that?”

King Mohammed offered a shrug. “You would have to ask him.”

Scowling, Zayn slouched back into his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, resigned to hear the rest of the story. “So how did he do it?”

“Hakim is the highest ranking general in the Malikbahri army,” King Mohammed noted. “He has held that position since I appointed him decades ago when I first became king. He was —and still is—my most trusted advisor on everything related to the military and the security of our country. Honestly, it should have come as no surprise that he managed to procure partial military support for his coup, but there were just enough people still backing me to make him reconsider. Still, the threat was valid.”

“Why didn’t you have him imprisoned?” Zayn asked exasperatedly. “Or executed? And why would you still trust him to advise you after that?”

“He may have once turned against me, but he learned his lesson to never try again.” Mohammed shook his head, a deep sadness behind his eyes. “And he is still my brother. I could not do that to him.”

“But he betrayed you.”

“Brothers betray brothers every day. That does not mean they deserve to be shunned and murdered.”

Zayn remained silent for a few moments, still attempting to digest this deluge of information. “So you still trust him to lead our military…but you don’t trust him to rule Malikbahr?”

“He’s a skilled general, but no, I don’t trust him to rule,” he agreed, clearly knowing where Zayn was attempting to take the conversation.

“But you trust me?” Zayn let out a humorless laugh. “There has to be a better option. I haven’t even finished university.”

“You may not have finished your formal education yet, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t intelligent, Zayn.” The king rose from his chair, coming to his son’s side. “Your soul is strong. Capable. I’ve known it since the day you were born. And I think I’ve also known, deep down, that you were the only one who could ever take my place.”

But I’m not worthy of it, Zayn thought, the words caught in his throat.

King Mohammed reached out to press a hand to his son’s cheek, and Zayn let his eyes slide shut, exhausted.

“I trust you,” Zayn said quietly. “And I’ll do as you ask, as any subject to their king would. But I— I still don’t understand why it has to be me.”

Zayn reopened his eyes when his father’s hand pulled back a moment later.

“I hope one day you will.” With those words, King Mohammed started slowly toward the doors to the office. “Come, your friend is waiting for you out in the hall. He was concerned about you.”

“Khalid.” Zayn sighed, running a hand down his face. “He’s probably just as shocked by all of this as I am.”

Mohammed laughed softly. “He’s very kind. You’ve chosen your friends wisely.”

“You’ve talked?”

“Briefly. But I knew his father many years ago—his biological father, mind you, not Amir. Khalid is just like him.”

“And that’s a good thing, I hope.”

“Very.” Mohammed turned away, putting his hand to the doorknob but not turning it. “Khalid has asked you to go to America with him, has he not?”

Zayn chuckled, but there was little humor behind it. Right then, travel was the last thing on his mind. “Many times.”

“So accept his offer. For your first official trip as Crown Prince of Malikbahr, I want you to visit the US.” He took a moment to glance over his shoulder, an ill-disguised shimmer of mirth in his gaze. “The West extends much further than the UK, and I believe it’s time you saw that for yourself.”

Too exhausted to truly protest, Zayn merely asked, “Do I have any say in this?”

This time, his father smiled warmly. “Consider it yet another direct order from your king.”

With those parting words, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, disappearing from sight and leaving Zayn momentarily alone with his thoughts.

“Dude,” someone breathed out from the doorway a few seconds later. “I was not expecting any of this when I said I’d give you a ride home. This is some next level shit.”

Despite the weight of everything that had just been dropped on his shoulders, Zayn couldn’t help but crack a grin. “Tell me about it,” he agreed, pushing himself out of the chair and onto shaky legs. “I think I’m still in shock.”

“I mean, I’d be pretty surprised too if my dad named me crown prince out of nowhere.” Khalid took a few steps closer to stand at Zayn’s side, clearly there for more than just moral support. “And not that I was eavesdropping or anything, but did your father say something about you coming to America?”

Zayn nodded slowly. “Yeah. And I think you were the one to convince him to send me.”

Khalid had the nerve to look sheepish. “My bad,” he said, clapping Zayn gently on the shoulder. “But come on, it’s going to be great. It’s not every day you get to have me as a tour guide.”

“I don’t know about this…”

“It’ll be fine. Do you need me to say it in your crazy khaleeji dialect too?” Khalid looked momentarily pensive. “I mean, if I could actually figure out how to say it.”

But for once, his friend’s humor wasn’t helping his mood. “Great, neither one of you are giving me a choice in this.”

“I would have given you a choice, but I don’t think your king did.”

Zayn sighed but was beginning to resign himself to two different fates: that he was now officially the crown prince of Malikbahr…and that he was going to spend the rest of his summer break in the last place in the world he ever thought he’d end up.

“Fine,” Zayn said. “I guess we’re going to America.”