Chapter 10 The Veiled Gambit

Tarkan sat at his great cedar desk, the torchlight glinting off the golden eyes of the Klbasian falcons embroidered on the crimson tapestries behind him. The folder of university graduates lay open, but he saw only one name, the crisp black ink of Mia Ritchard searing itself into his vision. His bronze skin was taut with concentration, his deep brown eyes burning with dangerous resolve. He was a prince navigating a kingdom on the brink of transition, the specter of his father's wheelchair-bound frailty and urgent desire to delegate power looming over every decision.

King Ozzan's plea-secure Klbas before I rest-was a constant echo, a demand for duty. Yet Mia's memory, her sapphire eyes, her hair spun gold in a crimson gown, drove a plan that was equal parts reckless and strategic.

He leaned back, the leather chair creaking. He saw her porcelain face in the ballroom, her fragile defiance on her mother's doorstep. His father's fading health demanded a stable heir, a prince bound to the politically perfect Lady Lamar. But Tarkan's heart, a rebel in a gilded cage, saw Mia as his only true anchor. This wasn't just a job offer; it was a chess move, a veiled gambit to bring her close, defying duty under the unimpeachable guise of merit.

Ramzi entered, a fresh report in hand, but he froze, his gaze following Tarkan's to the name on the page. His lean frame tense. "Your Highness," he began, his voice low and cautious, "I must strongly advise against this course of action. Bringing Miss Ritchard into the palace ecosystem, even in a professional capacity, is... hazardous. The Queen will see it as a provocation."

Tarkan's eyes flicked up, as hard as Klbasian flint. "It would be hazardous to hire her without unimpeachable due process," he countered, his voice smooth and cool, the voice of a prince playing chess, not a man driven by longing. "Which is why you will arrange interviews for all ten candidates. And I have decided the workload requires two analysts, not one. We will select the two most qualified. The process will be thorough, transparent, and beyond reproach."

Ramzi paled slightly, his gaze sharpening. "Two positions, your Highness? The budget....."

"The workload demands it," Tarkan interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "When my mother inevitably makes inquiries, she will find that we have hired the top graduate, a Miss Kaya Sharma, alongside another stellar candidate who performed exceptionally well. She will see fairness, not favoritism."

Ramzi stepped closer, his loyalty emboldening him to speak the truth no one else would dare. "And you believe Her Majesty will be so easily placated? Your history with Miss Ritchard is no secret to the Queen. She will see through this gambit, Your Highness. And she will not be pleased."

Tarkan rose, his dark eyes narrowing, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "If my mother is dissatisfied, I will handle it. I am proving to my father and to the council that I am capable of leading. That my judgment is sound. A king's primary duty is to secure the best assets for his kingdom, is it not?" He held Ramzi's gaze. "This is about Klbas's future, not personal whims."

Ramzi saw the unshakeable resolve. He saw the lie, but he also saw the command. He bowed. "As you wish, sir. I will ensure the interviews are arranged."

As Ramzi left, Tarkan's heart hammered against his ribs. Mia's name on that page was a beacon of hope, a spark of beautiful chaos in his carefully ordered, duty-bound world.

Two days later, an email bearing the royal crest landed in Mia's inbox. The Office of the Crown Prince invites you to an interview for the position of Junior Diplomatic Analyst & Translator. Her blood ran cold. She stared at the screen, her blond hair falling over her shoulders, her sapphire eyes wide with panic. The modest dorm room, her sanctuary, suddenly felt like a cage. She snatched her phone and dialed the university's career office, her voice trembling. "I received the royal summons. I would like to formally decline the interview."

The administrator on the other end sounded brittle with his own panic. "Miss Ritchard, with all due respect, this is not a casual invitation. It is a royal summon. To refuse would be a grave insult to the Crown Prince's office. It would jeopardize our university's relationship with the palace and, frankly, it could seriously impact your academic future here. You must attend."

Mia hung up, the walls of the room closing in. She was trapped.

The interviews were held in the Royal Administrative Complex, a sleek glass-and-steel structure a mile from the palace's opulent stone walls, a world away from its ancient intrigues. Or so she hoped. In the waiting area, Mia sat in a crisp but plain navy suit, her blond hair pinned severely, her blue eyes scanning the nine other candidates. Their polished, easy confidence made her feel small.

"Mia, can you believe this?" Kaya Sharma plopped into the seat beside her, her dark braid swinging with excitement. "A job in the prince's office! They say there's only one position, though. The competition is fierce!"

Mia forced a smile. "You'll shine, Kaya. You're at the top of the list for a reason."

"You look terrified," Kaya observed, her head tilted. "What's wrong? With your looks, you could charm the entire panel. Is it just nerves?"

Mia's fingers twisted in her lap. "It's... complicated. I grew up in the palace, Kaya. My mother was a nanny. This is too close to a world I fought to escape. I don't belong there."

"You are more than a nanny's daughter," Kaya said softly, her loyalty fierce. "You're brilliant. And you look like a princess. Own it. You've got this."

When Mia's name was called last, she entered the conference room, and a wave of relief washed over her: Tarkan wasn't there. The panel consisted of Ramzi, his face a stern, unreadable mask, and two severe-looking older palace officials. The interview was grueling, a rapid-fire test of translation, political analysis, and diplomatic nuance. But here, in her element, Mia's intellect took over, a shield against her fear. Her answers were precise and insightful.

"Thank you, Miss Ritchard," Ramzi said, his expression giving nothing away. "We will be in touch."

She left with a mixture of pride in her performance and a profound dread, desperately hoping Kaya's brilliance would spare her from a job she felt she had to take.

Two days later, her phone rang with an unknown number. "Miss Ritchard," Ramzi's professional, measured voice said. "I am calling on behalf of the Crown Prince's office to formally offer you the position of Junior Analyst."

Her heart sank. "Thank you, Mr. Ramzi, but I ....."

"We have also offered a position to Miss Kaya Sharma," Ramzi continued smoothly, his tone never wavering. "His Highness reviewed the workload and approved funding for two roles."

Mia's breath caught. "I... I don't think I can accept," she stammered. "A job so near the palace... it is not for me."

Ramzi paused, allowing the weight of his next words to land with calculated precision. "I understand your hesitation, Miss Ritchard. Allow me to clarify. The role is based entirely here, in the Administrative Complex, not the main palace. You will report directly to my office, with no requirement to interact with His Highness." He let another beat of silence pass. "The prince is, as you know, consumed with his official duties and his impending marriage to Lady Lamar. He is looking ahead." Ramzi's voice softened, the final, perfect bait being laid. "This position also offers a generous salary and pension. Enough, I would imagine, for your mother to retire very comfortably, should she choose to."

The words were a masterful tapestry of reassurance and pressure: a job safely away from Tarkan, the companionship of her friend, proof of his engagement, and security for her mother. She was torn between her fear and the irresistible temptation of that last promise.

That evening, she sat with Sofia in their cozy living room, a pot of chamomile tea steaming between them. "Mama," Mia began, her sapphire eyes earnest, "they offered me a job in the Prince's office. It isn't in the palace itself, and Ramzi assured me I would not see Tarkan. He is engaged now, Mama, and moving on. The salary... you could retire. You could stop working so hard."

Sofia's lined face tightened. "It is a fine offer, Mia. But the palace casts a long shadow. When I was a nanny, a young scribe took a similar job, thinking it was safe. But the Queen's eyes find everyone. The girl lost everything over a single, harmless glance at a visiting noble because the king had taken an interest in her; the Queen knew and made sure she would never be seen nearby again. Tarkan's engagement changes little: your beauty, those eyes, that hair, they still draw him. "I know, Mama. But this is a chance to help you. I would be invisible."

Sofia sighed, her gaze softening with a mother's love. "If you are certain, you can keep yourself safe, then it is a chance few are ever given. But guard your heart, Mia. Promise me you will guard your heart."

"I promise," Mia whispered.

She dialed Ramzi's number, her voice steady despite her racing heart. "Mr. Ramzi, this is Mia Ritchard. I formally accept the offer."

In the palace, Tarkan shared his victory with Myar in her salon. "You're hiring Mia?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock. "Tarkan, after everything, Mother's fury, your engagement to Lamar? It's absolute madness!"

That night, Mia stood by her dorm window, watching the distant lights of Klbas City twinkle. Her beauty felt like a double-edged sword, luring her back to a world that threatened her peace. Accepting the job was a lifeline for her mother, but it was also a tether to the palace, to the prince whose dark eyes waited. Fear and hope warred within her, two powerful forces pulling her toward a new chapter in Klbas's gilded cage.