Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 201 The King in the IF Line
Shuangzhi, a private island in the Persian Gulf.

As the wind and waves stirred up by the helicopter rotors gradually subsided, King Mohammed stepped onto this private island located on the coast of the Persian Gulf.

The coconut palms sway gently in the breeze, and the white sand glistens in the sunlight. This place seems like a completely different world from the rolling yellow sands back home.

The island is guarded by special agents 24 hours a day, with a level of security comparable to that of the Royal Palace in Riyadh.

King Muhammad walked toward the island’s only residence, where attendants at the gate bowed silently and opened the gates for the new king.

As soon as Muhammad stepped inside, a fragrant aroma of roasted nuts, honey, and coffee wafted towards him.

His gaze swept across the foyer, where pistachio shells were scattered on the expensive Persian carpet, and on a low table inlaid with mother-of-pearl were several silver platters filled with candies and dates, next to which was a half-finished cup of Arabic coffee.

In the distance, the huge floor-to-ceiling windows offer a view of the boundless blue sea, while inside, a record player is playing classic melodies by Umm Kulesum.

My gaze finally settled on the large sofa chair by the window.

A slightly overweight figure was nestled inside, a thin blanket casually covering him, his round belly rising and falling with his steady breathing, emitting soft snoring.

Muhammad's lips twitched involuntarily as he removed the needle from the record, and the room fell silent, with only the faint sound of waves outside the window remaining.

The figure on the sofa mumbled something, then slowly opened its eyes.

Upon recognizing the person standing before him, Shams paused for a moment, then sat up straight and exclaimed with a smile, "Oh! My dear brother!"

As he spoke, he swept the crumbs of snacks under the sofa.

“Brother,” Muhammad sat down on the soft stool opposite him, glanced at the refreshments, and sighed, “it seems you are quite comfortable here.”

No matter what you say, I'm not going back!

Shams leisurely picked up a small cup of coffee and sipped it slowly, his eyes narrowing in satisfaction. "The area I can move around in is smaller, but I no longer have to deal with those annoying political affairs. It's much more comfortable than when I was in the palace!"

Seeing his younger brother's helpless expression, he coughed lightly, a little embarrassed, and said, "Tell me, how's it going outside?"

Muhammad found a clean spot to sit down, but as soon as he picked up his coffee, he found it was already cold, so he gently put it down. "The conservatives have already given in to us." "Hmm."

"Regarding the situation at the front, Amir has already led the Allied forces to capture Haifa and will soon be at the gates of Tel Aviv."

"Ah."

"The progressive reforms are also progressing steadily. We have built many railways and highways across the country, more than ten times the number of previous ones, as well as hundreds of hospitals and schools. The public is becoming more and more accepting of new things, and even the church is gradually softening its stance."

Shams spread his hands upon hearing this: "Isn't everything fine? Shuangzhi is thriving just the same without me."

Muhammad gazed into his brother's eyes: "Aren't you filled with regret? These achievements should have belonged to you."

"I've already handed over the throne to you, what is there to regret?"

Shams leaned back in his chair, gazing out the window. "I just sometimes feel like I was born a bit too early. If I were a few decades later, I would have seen so many more new and interesting things by the time I retire."

His eyes shone with longing.

Muhammad looked at the light in his brother's eyes and smiled knowingly.

"Alright," Shams yawned, waved his hand and started to shoo people away, "I need to rest, you should go back now, there's so much waiting for you in Riyadh."

Muhammad stood up, straightened his robes, and turned to leave the mansion.

At that moment, Shams suddenly spoke from behind:

"Keep up the good work, Your Majesty."

Muhammad paused slightly, but without turning around, he said softly before closing the door:
Good night, Your Majesty.

(End of this chapter)