Amber’s hand lifted to her mouth. Lost in her own fog of grief, she’d had no idea things were so bad. ‘They will kill Lord Harun?’
He nodded. ‘And Alim, too, while he’s still so weak. It’s a good thing nobody knows exactly where he went. All it would take is one corrupt doctor or nurse and a dose of poison into his IV bag, and the el-Shabbats will rule Abbas al-Din once more—a nation with far greater wealth and stability than they ever knew while they were in power.’
‘I see,’ she said quietly.
‘And we need this alliance, my dear daughter. You were but one of twenty well-born girls offered to Fadi—and to Harun—in the past few years. We are the far poorer, less stable nation, and yet they chose alliance with our family and nation. It’s a blessing to our nation I hardly expected; it’s given our people hope. And I must say, in my dealings with all three brothers, Harun is the man I’d have chosen for you if I’d had the choice.’
His voice softened on the last sentence, but Amber barely noticed. ‘So the contract has been signed,’ she said dully. ‘I have no choice in this at all.’ Her only decision was to go down fighting, or accept her future with grace.
‘No, my dear, you don’t.’ The words were gentle, but inflexible. ‘It has been inevitable from the moment the Lord Harun was made aware of his duty towards you.’
She pressed her lips together hard, fighting unseemly tears. Perhaps she should be grateful that the Lord Harun wasn’t leaving her to face her public shame—but another man willing to marry her from duty alone left her stomach churning. At least she’d known and liked Fadi. ‘But he doesn’t even look at me. He never talks to me. I never know what he’s thinking or feeling about anything.’ Including me. ‘How am I to face this—this total stranger in the marriage bed, Father? Can you answer me that?’
‘It’s what many women have done for thousands of years, including your mother and my grandmother Kahlidah, the nation’s heroine you’ve always admired so much. She was only seventeen when she wed my grandfather—another stranger—and within a year, eighteen, pregnant and a new widow, she stopped the invasion of Araba Numara, ruling the nation with strength and wisdom until my father was old enough to take over. Do as she had to, and grow a backbone, child! What is your fear for one night, compared to what Harun faces, and alone?’ her father shot back.
Never had her father spoken to her with such contempt and coldness. She drew another breath and released it as she willed strength into her heart. ‘I’ll do my duty, of course, Father, and do my best to support Lord Harun in all he faces. Perhaps we can find mutual friendship in our loss and our need.’
Father smiled at her, and patted her hand. ‘That’s more like my strong Amber. Harun is a truly good man, for all his quiet ways. I know—’ he clearly hesitated, and Amber writhed inside, waiting for what she’d give anything for him not to say ‘—I know you … admired Lord Alim. What young woman wouldn’t admire the Racing Sheikh, with his dashing ways, his wins on the racing circuit worldwide, and the power and wealth he’s brought to this region?’
‘Please stop,’ she murmured in anguish. ‘Please, Father, no more.’
But he went on remorselessly. ‘Amber, my child, you are so young—too young to understand that the men who change history are not always the Alexanders, or even the Alims,’ he added, with a strained smile. ‘The real heroes are usually unsung, making their contributions in silence. I believe Lord Harun is one of them. My advice is for you to look at the man I’ve chosen for you, and ask yourself why I brought this offer to him, not even wanting to wait for Alim’s recovery. I think that, if you give Harun a chance, you’ll find you and he are very well suited. You can have a good life together, if you will put your heart and soul behind your vows.’
‘Yes, Father,’ Amber said, feeling dull and spiritless at the thought of being well suited and having a good life, when she’d had a moment’s dream of marrying the man she—well, she thought she could have loved, given time …
At that moment, a movement behind the door caught her eye. Damn the officious staffers and inquisitive servants, always listening in, looking for more gossip to spread far and wide! She lifted her chin and sent her most icy stare to the unknown entity at the door. She felt the presence move back a step, and another.
Good. She hoped they’d run far away. If she must deal with these intrusive servants, they’d best know the calibre of the woman who was to be their future mistress—and mistress she’d be.
‘If you wouldn’t mind, Father, I’d like to—to have a little time alone,’ she said quietly.
‘You still grieve for Fadi. You’re a good girl.’ Her father patted her hand, and left the room by the private exit between their rooms.
The moment the connecting door closed, Amber said coldly, ‘If I discover any of you are listening in or I hear gossip repeated about this conversation, I will ensure the lot of you are dismissed without a reference. Is that clear?’
It was only when she heard the soft shuffling of feet moving away that Amber at last fell to her bed and cried. Cried again for the loss of a gentle-hearted friend, cried for the end of an unspoken dream—and she cried for the nightmare facing her.
Frozen two steps back from the partially open door to the rooms of state allotted to the Princess Amber, the man who was the subject of his guests’ recent discussion had long since dropped the hand he’d held up to knock. Harun el-Kanar’s upbringing hadn’t included eavesdropping on intimate conversations—and had he not frozen in horror, he wouldn’t have heard Amber so desperately trying to get out of marrying him. He wouldn’t have seen that repellent look, like a shard of ice piercing his skin.
So now he knew his future wife’s opinion of him … and it was little short of pure revulsion. Why did it even surprise him?
Turning sharply away, he strode towards the sanctuary of his rooms. He needed peace, a few minutes to think—
‘Lord Harun, there is a call from the Prince al-Hassan of Saudi regarding the deal with Emirates Oil. He is most anxious to speak with you about the Lord Alim’s recent find of oil.’
‘Of course, I will come now,’ he answered quietly, and walked with his personal assistant back to his office.
When the call was done, his minister of state came in. ‘My Lord, in the absence of the Lord Alim, we need your immediate presence in the House for a swearing-in ceremony. For the stability of the country, this must be done as soon as possible. I know you will understand the anxiety of your people to have this reassurance that you are committed to the ongoing welfare of Abbas al-Din.’
His assistant raced in with his robes of state, helping Harun into them before he could make a reply.
During the next five hours, as he sat and stood and bowed and made a speech of acceptance of his new role, none of those hereditary leaders sensed how deeply their new sheikh grieved for a brother nine years older. Fadi had been more like a father to him.
Could any of them see how utterly alone he was now, since Alim’s disappearance? He hid it behind the face of years of training, calm and regal. They needed the perfect sheikh, and they’d have one for as long as it was needed. Members of the ruling family were trained almost from birth—they must display no need beyond the privilege of serving their people. But during the ceremony, in moments when he didn’t have complete control of his mind, Harun had unbidden visions: of eyes as warm as melted honey, and skin to match; a mouth with a smile she’d smother behind her hand when someone was being pompous or ridiculous, hiding her dimples; her flowing dark hair, and her walk, like a hidden dance.
Every time he pushed it—her—away.