Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 251(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 251(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Only when they had already parted and the sheikh and Harper resumed their duties as hosts that the sheikh’s earlier words returned to her—-
Don’t do it for me.
Damn. She had forgotten to ask him about that, and after matching a local artist with a diplomat for a waltz, she moved to the sides, ostensibly to watch the guests dance but really she just wanted a moment or two to think about the sheikh’s words some more.
Her omnipresent AFK immediately closed ranks around her, and her lips twitched, thinking that they’ve certainly come far, considering how they used to disapprove of her unfeminine ways. Now, her guards were resigned to it, and their disapproval had evolved into protectiveness.
It is not the queen’s fault she was naturally unfeminine, was the AFK’s official stance.
Not exactly complimentary, she thought humorously, but it would do.
She was about to tell the AFK to take a break when the sound of laughter interrupted her, and Harper frowned. That was one snide laugh. She started to turn to see who it was when the woman who laughed went on to say, “Oh God, it’s the height of summer, and you’re really wearing that?”
Even with her back turned, Harper – thanks to the rigorous who’s who lessons she had received from her court tutor – immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Jennifer Patrick, a self-proclaimed feminist who made a living off TV guesting.
“I guess you don’t mind the heat since you live in the desert, but don’t you find it restricting for a dance? That – umm, what do you call it again? Abacus?” Jennifer immediately laughed at her joke, and so did several people.
Harper’s eyebrows shot up, and she stared at her guards incredulously. Seriously? Did these people seriously find that funny?
“Do not interfere,” Amir warned under his breath.
“Pick your battles,” Farid advised.
“Remember what you came here to do,” Kamil reminded her.
Harper took deep breaths. They were completely right, but—-
“I don’t feel restricted at all,” she heard a soft voice answer, and Harper scowled. She had no trouble recognizing this voice as well. It was none other than Kyria, the young, shy ward of Altair and Malik’s mother, and Harper’s dislike towards the so-called feminist increased. Was Jennifer Patrick actually trying to bully a teenage girl over an abaya?
“I knew you’d say that,” Jennifer was saying, the words followed with another snide laugh. “And it’s okay, really. I mean, compared to other Arab nations, Ramil’s pretty modern. But be honest – do you honestly believe wearing that will prevent things like rape? And I’m just asking here, I’m not being judgmental or anything, but don’t you think it’s stupid that a woman’s modesty is determined by her choice of clothing?”
“I don’t see anything wrong with a woman wearing what she deems proper to wear for herself,” Harper heard Kyria answer in her usual soft, melodic voice.
Bravo, Kyria, Harper thought and by way of the murmurs of assent she heard, the other guests appeared to agree with the young girl.
Unfortunately, it didn’t sit well with the older woman at all, causing Jennifer to sneer, “How very safe. Spoken like a pampered princess who doesn’t know how to think for herself.”
A hush fell over the small crowd at the cruel words, and Harper’s bodyguards shook their heads at her in unison.
Don’t. Get. Involved.
And she shouldn’t. She mustn’t. A proper queen wouldn’t involve herself. Right?
The sheikh’s words returned to her.
Don’t do this for me.
Her teeth gnawed on her lip. If she got herself involved, she wouldn’t exactly be scoring brownie points with the sheikh, but she would at least be proud of herself, that she stood for what was right. Maybe that was what the sheikh had indirectly asked her to do. Don’t do this for me. Do it for yourself. Maybe that was what he wanted her to realize?
Behind her, Jennifer was going on and on about the detrimental effects of the abaya on the overall culture of feminism, and Harper started grinding her teeth.
Don’t do this for me. Don’t get involved. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
Ah, God, this was so confusing.
She thought about the sheikh. Thought about herself. Thought about Kyria.
The next thing she knew, she had already whirled around and was marching determinedly towards the group of women. The guests in her way immediately scooted back at the militant look on the queen’s face, and both Kyria and Jennifer appear startled when Harper suddenly joined them.
“Your Majesty.”
All of the women except for Jennifer bowed in her presence.
“It’s my personal belief that we’re all created equally,” the other woman said with a smile, “so I hope you don’t mind if I don’t bow and scrape.” Like others do.
Everyone heard the unspoken implication, yet another example of the woman’s unbelievable tendency to be microagressive, but this only made Harper even more determined. Smiling back, she said easily, “I don’t mind at all. I think it’s important we don’t impose our own beliefs on others, especially if such beliefs do no harm. You agree with this, too, don’t you?”