Page 1 of Sheikh's Quarantine Triplet Baby Daughters

Diane

The tapestry dated back to the early 1600s, and the greens, the golds, the reds and the black swirled together to create a geometric wonder that took Diane Warner's breath away. She had been working with this single enormous weaving for more than two months, and even now, with her work in Alraed coming to a close, she thought she could work on it for years yet. In the geometric shapes and repeating motifs of Alraed’s historical art, sometimes she thought she could see something more than just the beauty, something that hinted at the very soul of the artist who had existed so many centuries ago.

"I really have been down here too long," Diane said to herself, shaking her head. "After this, a vacation, somewhere where I get to stretch on a beach and maybe do some dancing."

Despite that, she still had to take one last look at the tiny subterranean office space she had occupied for the last seven weeks. In a surprisingly short amount of time, it had become home, and she was going to miss it.

Look at that. I did the work I love to do, I came in under time and under budget, the palace will have a write-up on the history of an amazing piece, and I have a byline in the catalogs. All that, and I did it without ever running into—

She cut that thought off before it could go anywhere. She was getting pretty good about it, and now that she was leaving, Diane could admit that it wasn't just a love of textiles that had kept her either in the office or the small guest quarters that had been provided for her.

The royal palace of Alraed was enormous and expansive, a gorgeous place that served as a public museum, research center and point of cultural pride for the small Middle Eastern country. It also served as the official residence of the royal family, specifically Alraed's king, one Samyar Antoun, first of his name, eighth in line of descent from the originator of the ruling dynasty.

Diane thought that she could still recite most of Samyar's titles if she tried hard enough, and would probably get all of them if she had a glass of red wine. She had first learned them giggling and laughing over a bottle of truly awful red in her tiny apartment close to the Sorbonne.

I learned a lot there,Diane told herself, shaking her head and pulling her single suitcase behind her. Among other things, I learned not to dwell on what can't be.

She locked the office behind her, and walked down the hall towards the curators' offices. The palace itself was open and expansive, a wonder of light and glass, but the administrative wings were older and almost labyrinthine, lit with flickering fluorescent lights that probably dated back to the Cold War. Diane had worked in enough academic settings to know that things didn't get replaced until they needed to be, and sometimes not even then.

The light was adequate, but there was something creepy about the halls that day, something about how her footsteps echoed off the old walls and how one entirely dead light made the shadows much darker.

Diane's feeling of unease only increased when she tried the door to the curators' offices, only to find it locked tight. When she peered through the glass pane, a light left on revealed an empty receptionist’s desk and only darkness beyond.

"Where the heck is everyone?" she asked, and quickly wished she hadn't. Her soft voice echoed slightly, sending goosebumps up her arms. Diane shook her head.

This was ridiculous. There was probably some kind of office event or meeting. She was a foreign academic, and she wouldn't be invited. It sort of sucked that no one remembered it was her final day, but such was the fate of the non-tenured researcher. She slid her exit paperwork under the door, and if they needed more, they could email her.

Diane made her way up the stairs to the main part of the palace's museum wing, and had a moment of relief upon stepping out into the galleries. The afternoon sun shone through the windows, throwing the marble halls into gleaming light. Everything was fine.

Then she realized the halls were empty. There was no one manning the ticketing booth and the doors – enormous, ancient and more importantly, very strong – had been chained shut.

Disbelieving, Diane tugged at the doors without thinking, knowing they wouldn't be budged and at the same time sure that she could get out – couldn't she?

She couldn't, and finally she turned on her phone. The only thing she had been checking for weeks now was her work email, and now she was wondering what she had missed.

I just need to get the number for palace security, they can let me out, she thought, and the moment she opened web browser, she saw the headline

GLOBAL PANDEMIC STRIKES – ALRAED IN EXTREME LOCKDOWN.

* * *

"Look," she said to the head of security. "I know what's going on, and what I'm telling you is that I need to leave."

"As I told you before, Ms. Warner," the head of security said, "the notices to leave the palace were posted on Sunday, on Tuesday and again, yesterday. If you wanted to leave the palace and return to your residence, that was the time frame in which you needed to do it."

"And I told you that I had no notice at all," Diane said in exasperation. "I had food stocked up in my office, I was only checking my work email, I had no idea that any of this was happening!"

"That is regrettable," said the other woman. "You must have been missed during the briefings and notifications. Many of the museum staff were already at home when the order came down, and there was no reason for them to return to work."

"Thank you! You can see—"

"Of course you will be provided for," the head of security continued. "You still have your quarters and the kitchen will continue to function. You have the same freedom to access the gardens and the museum wing that you had before. You will be informed when the lockdown is over."

"No, that's— Listen. I can't be here. And I'm not going to do anything to spread whatever this is to your people, all right? It's not like I want to come into the country, I want to get out. I want to go back to France, all you need to do is—"

"All I need to do," the other woman said in dire tones, "is take care of one of a million things that comes with seeing to the security of a suddenly restricted compound. Ms. Warner, I'm sorry, but there is nothing I can do for you."

"I'm being held prisoner!" Diane protested, and the head of security rolled her eyes.

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