Blushing, Amber turned her head, looking at the ground to the left of her feet. Such a beautiful rug, she thought inconsequentially; but no matter what she looked at, it didn’t block out the memory of where Fadi had gone whenever he had spare time—to his mistress. And always he’d come back with Rafa’s smell on his skin, some mumbled apologies and yet another promise he’d never see Rafa again when they were married: a promise given with heartbreak in his eyes.
Amber felt the shadows of the past envelop her. She alone knew where the fault lay with Fadi’s death. Sweet, kind, gentle Fadi had always done the right thing, including agreeing to marry another ruler’s daughter for political gain, when he was deeply in love with an unsuitable commoner, a former housemaid … and Amber, too, had feelings for another, if only from afar. And nobody knew it but the three people whose lives were being torn apart.
She knew Fadi would never wish her harm, but if it had been Amber who’d died suddenly, it would have set him free to be with Rafa—at least for a little while, until the next arranged political marriage.
She truly grieved for the loss of the gentle-hearted ruler, as she would grieve for any friend lost. Fadi had understood her feelings and sympathised with her, was like the moon’s sweet light in her darkness. So—was it awful of her to feel this sudden little thrill that her wayward heart’s feelings were no longer forbidden?
Fadi, I did care for you. I’m so sorry, but you’re the only one who’d understand …
‘I’m still in deep mourning, and you expect me to marry his brother while he’s still in hospital with second- and third-degree burns? Won’t that look—well, rather desperate on our part?’ she mumbled, wishing she had something better to say, wishing she didn’t feel quite so excited. Hoping to heaven her father wouldn’t see it on her face. ‘Can’t you ask Alim if he’d be willing to wait a few months for the wedding—?’
‘You will not be marrying Alim,’ her father interrupted her bluntly.
Amber’s head shot up. ‘What?’
‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ her father said quietly. ‘Alim disappeared from the hospital last night, unequivocally refusing both Fadi’s position and Fadi’s bride. I doubt he’ll return for a long time, if ever.’
Amber almost snarled—almost. Women of her station didn’t snarl, not even when the man she—she liked had just run out on her; but she managed to hang onto her self-control. ‘Where did he go? How did he manage it?’
‘Within hours of waking, Alim used his private jet and his medical team from the racing circuit to help him transfer to a private facility—we think he went somewhere in Switzerland. He still needs a lot of graft work on his burns, but he made it obvious that he won’t return here when it’s done.’
‘He must have been desperate to escape from me, leaving hospital when he’s at death’s door,’ she muttered, fighting off a sudden jolt of queasiness in her stomach.
‘I doubt it was a personal rejection, my dear. He hardly knew you. I think it was perhaps more of—ah, a matter of principle, or a reaction made in grief.’ Her father slanted her a look of semi-apology; so he was capable of embarrassment, at least. ‘I find it hard to blame him, after the part he played in Fadi’s death … imagine him waking up to find Fadi’s skin on his body. He must have felt he’d taken enough from his brother—life, skin … it must be horrifying enough, but wedding and bedding Fadi’s bride on top of all that must have felt as if he’d done it all on purpose.’
‘Indeed,’ she agreed, but with a trace of bitterness. Surely this day couldn’t get any worse?
‘Since you won’t ask, I’ll tell you. The youngest brother Harun has taken up the position as Hereditary Sheikh, and has agreed also to become your husband.’
The swirling winds of change had come right from the sun, scorching her to her core. ‘Of course he has!’ Amber didn’t know she spoke aloud, the fury of rejection boiling over. ‘So having been rejected by brothers one and two, I’m expected to—to wed and bed brother number three with a smile? There are limits to the amount of humiliation I must accept, surely, Father?’
‘You will accept whatever I arrange for you, Amber.’ His voice now was pure ice. ‘And you should be grateful that I have given such thought to your marriage.’
‘Oh, such thought indeed, Father! Why not send me to the princess pound? Because that’s what I’ve become to you, isn’t it—a dog, a piece of property returned for you to find a good home and husband elsewhere? Find another owner for Amber because we don’t want her back.’
‘Stop it,’ her father said sharply. ‘You’re a beautiful woman. Many men have wanted to marry you, but I chose the el-Kanar brothers because they are truly good men.’
‘Oh, yes, I know that well,’ she mocked, knowing Father would punish her for this unprecedented outburst later, but not caring. ‘Unfortunately for me, it seems they’re good men who’d do anything to avoid me.’ She spoke as coldly as she could—anything to hide the tears stinging her eyes and the huge lump in her throat. Alim, the wild and dashing Racing Sheikh, had risked his recovery, his very life to get away from her. As far as insults went, it outranked Fadi’s by a million miles. ‘Am I so repulsive, Father? What’s wrong with me?’
‘I see you are in need of relieving your, ah, feelings,’ her father said with a strong streak of cold disapproval that she had feelings to vent. ‘But we are not home, Amber. Royal women do not scream or make emotional outbursts.’
‘I can’t believe the last remaining brother in the dynasty is willing to risk it,’ she pushed in the stinging acid of grief and humiliation without relief. ‘Perhaps you should offer him one of my sisters instead, because it seems the el-Kanar men are allergic to me.’
‘The Lord Harun has expressed complete willingness to marry you, Amber,’ her father said in quiet rebuke.
‘Oh, how noble is Brother Number Three, to take the unwanted responsibilities of his older brothers, nation and wife alike, when the other just can’t face it!’
‘Amber,’ her father said sharply. ‘That’s enough. Your future husband has a name. You will not shame him, or our family, in this manner. He’s lost enough!’
She knew what was expected of her. ‘I’m sorry, Father. I will behave,’ she said dully. She dragged a breath in and out, willing calm, some form of decorum. ‘That was uncalled for. I have nothing against the Lord—um, Harun, and I apologise, Father.’
‘You should apologise.’ Her father’s voice was cold with disapproval. ‘Harun was only eight when his father died in the plane crash, and his mother died three months later. For the past six weeks he’s been grieving for a brother who had been more like a father to him, and he couldn’t stop working long enough to stay at the hospital while the only brother he has left, his only close living relative, was fighting for his life. With so many high-ranking families wanting to take over the sudden wealth in Abbas al-Din, Harun had to assume the sheikh’s position and run the country in Alim’s name, not knowing if Alim would live or die. Now Harun’s been left completely alone with the responsibility of running the nation and marrying you, and all this while he’s in deepest mourning. He’s lost his entire family. Is it so much to ask that you could stop mocking him, be a woman and help him in his time of greatest need?’
Amber felt the flush of shame cover her face. Whatever she’d lost, Harun had by far the worst suffering of them all. ‘No, it isn’t. I’m truly sorry, Father. It’s just that—well, he’s so quiet,’ she tried to explain, feeling the inadequacy of her words. ‘He never says anything to me apart from good morning or goodnight. He barely even looks at me. He’s a stranger, a complete stranger, and now I must marry him in a month’s time? Can’t we have a little time to know each other first—just a few months?’
‘It must be now,’ her father said, his voice