The Sultan Demands His Heir. Maya Blake

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       CHAPTER TWO

      ZAID AL-AMEEN RESTED his head against the back seat of the tinted-windowed SUV transporting him from the courthouse. Only for a moment. Because a moment was all he had. His caseload was staggering. A dozen cases waited in the briefcase on the seat next to him, with dozens more waiting in the wings.

      But even that was secondary to the colossal weight of his responsibilities as ruler of Ja’ahr. A weight that made each day feel like a year as he battled to right the wrongs of his uncle, the previous King.

      A fair number of his ruling council had been shocked by his intention to carry on with his chosen profession when he’d returned from exile to take the throne eighteen months ago.

      Some had cited a possible conflict of interest, questioning his ability to be both an able ruler and a dedicated prosecutor. Zaid had quashed every objection by doing what he did best—following the letter of the law and winning where it counted. Meting out swift justice had been the quickest way to begin uprooting the rank corruption that had permeated Ja’ahr’s society. From the oil fields in the north to the shipping port in the south, no corporate entity had been left untouched by his public investigative team. Inevitably, that had made him enemies. Khalid Al-Ameen’s twenty-year corrupt rule had birthed and fed fat cats who’d fought to hold onto their power.

      But in the last six months things had finally started to change. The majority of factions that had strenuously opposed and doubted him—after all, he was an Al-Ameen like his late uncle—had begun to ally with him. But those unused to his zero tolerance approach still incited protestors against him.

      His bitterness that his uncle had escaped Zaid’s personal justice by falling dead from a heart attack had dissipated with time. It was an outcome he couldn’t change. What he could change was the abject misery that his people had been forced to endure by Khalid.

      Zaid had first-hand, albeit deadly experience of the misery crime and the greedy grasp for power could wreak. That he’d lived through the experience was a miracle in itself. Or so the whispers went. Only Zaid knew what had happened that fateful night his parents had perished. And it was no miracle but a simple act of self-preservation.

      One that had triggered equal amounts of guilt, anger and bitterness over the years. It was what had driven him to practise law and pursue justice with unyielding fervour.

      It was what would bring his people out of the darkness they’d been thrust into.

      Lost in the jagged memories of his past, it took the slowing of the lead vehicle in his motorcade to alert him to his surroundings.

      A large group of protestors was gathered in a nearby park normally used to host summer plays and concerts. Some had spilled into the street in front of his motorcade. Protests weren’t uncommon, and, although regretful, it was part of the democratic process.

      Zaid glanced around him as a handful of his personal security began to push back the crowd.

      Ja’ahr City was particularly magnificent in early April, new blooms and moderate weather bathing the city in sparkling beauty. Giant sculptures and stunning monuments, surrounded by verdant gardens containing exotic flowers, lined the ten-mile-long central highway that led from the courthouse to the palace.

      Except, as with everything else, this particular display of Ja’ahr’s wealth had been carefully cultivated to fool the world. One only had to stray along a few streets on either side of the highway to be met with the true state of affairs.

      The grim reminder of the wide chasm dividing the social classes in his kingdom forced his attention back to the crowd and the giant screen showing a reporter surrounded by a handful of protestors.

      ‘Can you tell us why you’re here today?’ the female journalist asked, thrusting her microphone forward.