Their private jet turned out to be a 747, and their VIP status let them avoid the lines at passport control. An armada of SUVs and half a dozen cargo vans for luggage waited for them. When the retinue emerged, only the servants were in traditional Islamic dress. The female royals—at least a dozen of them, ranging from teens to late middle age—wore the latest designer fashions. Diamonds glittered, spindly Louboutins clicked on the asphalt, Hermès bags swung at their sides.

The Middle East’s most pampered princesses had come to town.

7

Piper opened the back door of the SUV for a beautiful woman in her forties with big designer sunglasses propped on top of a mane of luxurious dark hair. She wore a vibrant purple Chanel jacket, a short black leather skirt, and stilettos that looked like surface-to-air missiles.

They’d barely pulled away before the woman took out her cell and began an intense conversation in Arabic. Piper had a hundred questions she wanted to ask, but she’d been instructed not to address any of the royals, which was a major bummer. The woman didn’t once look at her—not that she projected hostility. Piper was simply invisible.

By the time the motorcade arrived at the Peninsula, Piper’s jaw ached from the effort of keeping her mouth closed. She’d been given the sixth position in the line of limos, an indication that her passenger wasn’t the ranking princess. The woman exited without acknowledging her, but as she disappeared into the hotel, one of the Realm’s grim-faced officials ordered Piper to wait.

She waited. Half an hour passed. An hour. The guard barked at her like a dog when she finally got out to run inside and use the hotel restroom. “I ordered you to wait!”

“Be right back.” As she bolted through the lobby, she remembered that slavery hadn’t been abolished in the Realm until 1962.

When she came out, a servant girl was sitting in the backseat. She was young, with a round face and soulful dark eyes. Unlike the royals, she was traditionally dressed in a plain gray abaya and navy hijab. Piper apologized for keeping her waiting, something that seemed to startle the girl. “Is not a problem.”

Piper was happy to hear her speak English, and since she hadn’t been given orders not to address the servants, she introduced herself. “I’m Piper.”

“I am Faiza,” the girl said shyly. “Her Highness, Princess Kefaya, has sent me to get these shoes.” She held up a page torn from a glossy French fashion magazine that pictured a pair of T-strap leather stiletto sandals. “You will take me to get them, please.”

“Sure. Where do we go?”

“Where they have these shoes.”

“Do you know the name of the store?”

“Her Highness did not tell me.”

“Can you call her and ask?”