‘As you rightly say, you exceed your responsibilities.’ Zak’s tone remained icy but his dark gaze softened slightly as they rested on the older man. His adviser was one of the few people whom he would trust with his life. ‘Do not waste your emotions, Sharif. It is my choice to be alone but I’m well aware that my single status is becoming a thorn in my father’s side.’
And he was going to have to address the issue.
But not by marrying the woman that his father had in mind.
When the time came—and he was grimly aware that the time was upon him—he would select his own bride and his choice would be made totally without sentiment.
His hard mouth tightened. ‘Returning to the subject of Miss Kingston—’
Sharif shook his head regretfully. ‘I’m sure the Englishman believes that you would never hurt a woman.’
Zak gave a slow smile, but there was no trace of amusement in his handsome features and when he spoke, his voice was dangerously soft. ‘There is more than one type of pain, Sharif.’ There was the pain of love. And there was the white-hot agony of betrayal. ‘We both know that any woman connected to Peter Kingston is hardly likely to be coated in virtue. If he chooses to send a woman into battle, hoping that I won’t have the stomach for a fight, then he’s going to be disappointed.’
He turned his head and his gaze rested on the ceremonial sword that lay across his desk. Reaching out a hand, he lifted it, his long fingers closing over the ornate handle, the weight of the weapon both comforting and familiar in the palm of his hand.
His eyes traced the length of the deadly blade and a violent rush of emotions threatened to disturb his usually iron self-control.
Betrayal.
With a swift, athletic movement of his wrist he moved and the deadly blade sliced through the air with lethal accuracy.
Sharif took a hasty step backwards.
Like everyone else in the state of Kazban, he knew the extent of the prince’s skill with that particular weapon. His Highness was an expert swordsman.
The woman had better be strong, Sharif thought, feeling an inexplicable sympathy for her as he watched the prince carefully replace the weapon on the desk, his handsome face hard and unforgiving. If Peter Kingston had wanted to cross someone, then he had made a very poor choice with Crown Prince Sheikh Zakour al-Farisi.
A very poor choice indeed.
CHAPTER ONE
‘HIS HIGHNESS will see you now, Miss Kingston. You will remain standing at all times and speak only when you are spoken to.’ Stern-faced and unsmiling, the man in robes bowed his head slightly, his eyes suddenly wary. ‘I should warn you that His Highness is a busy man. There are many demands on him and he bears much responsibility. For your own sake I advise you not to waste his time.’
Emily swallowed hard, suddenly questioning the impulse that had made her volunteer to take her brother’s place.
She’d wanted to help.
To do something for him, for a change, instead of always being in the role of little sister.
Peter had done so much for her—
And she’d thought that a few days in Kazban would be exciting. An adventure in her otherwise boring, overprotected existence. But she was beginning to doubt her abilities to carry out the task in hand.
She was beginning to wonder whether her presence might make things worse for him.
Whichever way you looked at it, Crown Prince Zakour al-Farisi was not going to like what she had to say.
Her brother owed him money. That was why the prince had ordered this meeting.
And the way things stood at the moment, Peter wasn’t in a position to pay.
‘If I go, Em, I’ll be thrown into jail.’
At the time she’d thought that her brother was exaggerating. Surely the state of Kazban couldn’t be that brutal in its laws? Coming on behalf of her brother to beg for more time had seemed a perfectly reasonable and straightforward action when she’d been in England.
But now she was here, she wasn’t so sure—
And the severe expression on the face of the prince’s adviser wasn’t doing anything for her confidence.
Forcing herself to stay calm, she rose to her feet, trying to forget the little she’d heard about the next ruler of the state of Kazban. So what if the man had a brilliant mind, amused himself with scores of women and was reputed to have a block of ice where his heart was supposed to be? None of it was of any relevance to her. She really didn’t care that half the women in the world were supposedly in love with the man.
All she had to do was deliver her brother’s message and then leave.
But what if she said the wrong thing?
It was all very well dreaming about adventure but the truth was that she taught five year olds to read and write and play nicely in the playground. She had no idea how to talk to a man who negotiated billion dollar deals before breakfast. Her brother must have been mad to allow her to come.
Or desperate.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that Peter was in some sort of trouble. When she’d tried to question him about the debt, he’d assured her that he just had a slight cash-flow problem that would soon be sorted out and that there was nothing for her to worry about.
But hadn’t he always protected her?
Remembering just how tense her brother had seemed the last time they’d met, she suddenly wished she’d questioned him more.
Her heart thudding painfully in her chest, she followed the man down what seemed like miles of marble corridor, trying not to feel intimidated by the glittering, exotic interior of the Golden Palace of Kazban. At any other time her inquisitive teacher’s mind would have been buzzing with questions relating to the history of this ancient building but the sight of armed guards in almost every doorway squashed her natural curiosity.
Telling herself that the guards were there because this was the home of the royal family, she averted her eyes from the guns and swords. They were just part of the uniform. And she had no reason to feel uneasy. No reason at all.
She was simply the messenger.
So why did part of her suddenly want to turn and run?
Run back through the dusty streets of Kazban, back through the mysterious, sun-baked desert that she’d been driven through on the way from the airport, back home to the tiny English village where she lived.
Back to loneliness—
She pushed the thought away quickly. She had a job to do. For the first time in her life, her brother needed her and she wasn’t going to let him down. Not after everything he’d done for her since their parents had died.
Emily struggled to keep pace with the man who had collected her from the entrance to the palace. ‘Could you slow down a bit, please? I only brought one pair of shoes with me and they’re not suitable for sprinting on marble floors,’ she muttered, wondering where they were going. ‘I don’t want to see the prince with a broken ankle.’
In fact she’d just decided that she didn’t actually want to see the prince at all—
The man glanced at her with something that looked like pity in his eyes and Emily felt sicker and sicker.
All her instincts were telling her that this had been a bad, bad decision.
Why was everyone so afraid of Zak al-Farisi?
Was he really as heartless and ruthless as his reputation suggested?
Reminding herself firmly that there was good in