Sultana Read Online Free

statement. His mind swirled with myriad thoughts. Foremost, he must ensure his uncle’s plans would not threaten his own survival or interests. He was not about to become anyone’s pawn again, not even that of the Sultan.
     

Chapter 2
    The Ways of Men
     
    Princess Fatima
     
    Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Muharram 664 AH (Granada, Andalusia: October AD 1265)
     
    Fatima trembled, a sharp breath paining her side. Princess Aisha’s lips were pressed tightly together, nearly bloodless. Something in her eyes seemed sad, before she waved away the man at her arm.
    He touched her shoulder, his hand almost like a caress, leaving Fatima uneasy and repulsed. She shuddered at the sight of the deep scars from the pox that marred his otherwise handsome features. His hair was darker than Aisha’s locks but otherwise he possessed the same olive skin she did, with her dark brows and lashes, aquiline nose and small mouth. Although Aisha had called him her brother, his boldness was unexpected, especially when Fatima had never heard of or seen him before.
    He said, “Do not be too harsh with her, sister. She doesn’t know what she is saying.”
    Aisha shook her head. “My daughter is the image of her father in many things. Like him, she has learned how to wound with words.”
    Fatima swallowed loudly and looked away, the nervousness bubbling inside her stomach. When the man glanced at her and shook his head, her chin jutted forward.
    “I shall go to her now, Aisha. Summon me if you need me.”
    She waved him away. Fatima’s stare followed him from the room.
    Aisha smoothed her thin hands across the skirt of the silken robe. She gestured toward the wooden stool at the window. “Please sit.”
    Fatima shuffled on the tiles, the white marble like a gleaming sheen of ice beneath her feet. Still, she stuck out her chin further and remained rooted to the spot. “I want my father.”
    Aisha turned to the sole window. “I am unused to your disobedience, but stand if you prefer.”
    Fatima glanced at the stool before she noticed Aisha eyeing her over her shoulder.
    “Where is my father?” 
    A strong gust of wind whipped through the lattice, carrying away Aisha’s sigh. She pushed aside the damask curtain. Her fingers traced circles on the plasterwork wall, her eyes fixed on some point in the darkness. When a dog howled, she trembled and rubbed her arms.
    “Do you know why your grandfather married you off to your cousin, Prince Faraj?”
    “Father told me to marry him.”
    “You are so obedient that you do anything your father tells you?”
    “Father says children must listen to their parents.”
    Aisha turned to her. “Would you do so now? I shall tell you the truth your grandfather and father have concealed, about why they made you marry Prince Faraj.”
    Fatima looked away, avoiding the plea shining in Aisha’s dark eyes. She wanted something from her, though Fatima did not know what it could be. Whatever it was, she swore she would not submit easily.
    “Father says you are a great liar. He said I must never believe anything you say.”
    A soft gasp escaped Aisha, who suddenly faced the window again, with her head bowed. Her shoulders shook and she did not speak.
    Fatima swallowed past the heavy lump wedged in her throat. Something about what she had said had disturbed her mother…no, she must not think of her in that way.
    From her earliest memories, the palace servants had told her never to call Aisha ‘ Ummi ’ or speak with her unless the princess spoke first. She had never forgotten the warning. Still, her words had clearly upset Aisha and that bothered her. Was Aisha right? Had she told the truth because she knew it would hurt? Was it possible to hurt a woman who never showed her feelings? Did she even have any feelings?
    Fatima hugged her arms as a sudden breeze tore through the folds of her silk tunic. Despite the brazier and Aisha’s presence at the window, she felt cold and alone. Were other women as unkind and uncaring