Rafiq frowned, tapping his fingers against the gold buckle of his belt. ‘The work of the stud will be suspended.’
Bloody Jasim! ‘But you won’t lose any more stock,’ Stephanie said through gritted teeth, ‘unless another stallion is infected.’ She sighed, pushing her hair back from her face. ‘It is a lot to ask. To suspend your breeding programme, to have different storage for foods, to keep so many different paddocks operating in isolation, but it means you can enter the Sabr, Rafiq, which is surely more important than anything else, including Jasim’s wounded pride.’
‘But there is no evidence. If I had proof...’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ she exclaimed, finally giving way to her frustration. ‘Even if I could give you incontrovertible proof, Jasim would still not co-operate. It will be just exactly as it was before. You will take his side again, in the end.’
‘What exactly do you mean by that?’
That soft whisper. That icy tone. Stephanie took an involuntary step back, but then she collected herself, crossed her arms, and held her ground. ‘He told me that you sided with him over Princess Elmira. He meant it as a warning. I thought you trusted me, but it seems he was right and I was wrong.’
She turned away, but Rafiq caught her. ‘Wait.’ The blaze of anger in his face took her aback, but it quickly dissipated. ‘My Master of the Horse will not have his way this time. Implement your measures. I will speak to Jasim, tell him to hand over the stables temporarily to Fadil, while he remains at the training grounds. That way he will not interfere with your work. You understand the risk I am taking by placing my trust in you? I can ill afford to lose Jasim before the Sabr.’
Stephanie threw her shoulders back, standing ramrod straight, as if she were on parade. ‘I understand perfectly, Your Highness.’
Rafiq gave a curt nod, and turned on his heel. Stephanie remained where she was until she was sure her emotions were under control. He took my side, in the end, Jasim had said. And he very nearly had, again. Jasim must have had one of his many spies alert him to Rafiq’s return. She could imagine, all too easily, how he would have slanted his case against her.
Why hadn’t Rafiq sought her out? Why hadn’t he listened to her side? But he had. Stephanie uncurled her fists and her toes. He had sought her out, he had listened. He had taken her side. In the end. It might feel like a defeat, but it was a victory. And a very real reminder too, that Rafiq was a prince first, foremost and last. She rolled back her shoulders and made her way back into the stables, because she was a veterinarian first, foremost and last, with a job to do.
Alone in her private dining room the next evening, Stephanie picked half-heartedly at the fragrant array of dishes set out in front of her and wished she could escape the somewhat oppressive atmosphere of the harem for a while. But unless she wished to pay another visit to the stables, she had nowhere to go. The huge palace was effectively out of bounds to her, without Rafiq’s express permission, and she wasn’t foolish enough to imagine that she could go for a walk alone in the desert after dark. Though that, she thought, wandering listlessly into the courtyard and gazing up at the stars, is what she would like to do.
Though she had not seen Rafiq since yesterday, he had obviously had words with Jasim. The Master of the Horse had taken himself off to the training grounds, and his absence had considerably eased the tension in the stables. Fadil had been apologetically co-operative, asking her quietly if she believed the measures would allow the Bharym horses to compete in the Sabr. Her answer in the affirmative had certainly expedited the implementation of her orders.
She was sitting on the edge of the fountain, gazing distractedly down into the darkened basin when Aida arrived, bringing with her the summons. Assuming that Rafiq wished her to report on progress, Stephanie picked up her notebook and was about to head for the door when the Mistress of the Harem stopped her. ‘Madam, you will surely wish to change first, prior to an audience with the Prince,’ she said, looking shocked.
* * *
Stephanie had changed, after a swift bath, into a clean tunic of mint-green, her hair tied back in a matching silk scarf. She had brown slippers on her feet. Aida was holding up the silk robe, the one in shades of pink that Stephanie had never worn, though she had tried it on privately one sleepless night, wandering around the courtyard, enjoying the caress of fine silk against her skin. It was a beautiful robe, and it was a very flattering one, but it was not a gown to be worn by a Royal Horse Surgeon, and she presumed it was in that capacity which Rafiq wished to speak to her. So she shook her head, told Aida not to wait up for her, knowing that her wishes would have no effect on the Mistress of the Harem, and followed obediently in the wake of the waiting guard.
She was not surprised to be taken to the Hall of Campaign, but she was very surprised to find it empty, and to be ushered through the door at the back of the chamber which led to the bathing pool. ‘Are you sure this was where you were to bring me?’
The guard nodded silently, and the door closed behind her. Alone, she made her way through the connecting corridor. Flambeaux had been lit around the pool in tall scones, the reflection of the flames dancing on the still waters. Rafiq had been sitting in his favourite spot, but he got to his feet when she arrived. He was dressed simply, in a white tunic. His hair was sleeked back, still damp from his bath.
Stephanie stopped just short of the covered terrace, opened her notebook and cleared her throat. ‘I am pleased to be able to report...’
‘I summoned you here in order to apologise.’
She stared at him blankly, her mind still on her report. ‘Whatever you said to Jasim has certainly paid dividends, he...’
‘...is a man one step from being summarily dismissed. While some of my sentiments were entirely justified,’ Rafiq said, ‘I should not have vented my anger and frustration on you.’
‘No, but it was a pertinent reminder—not that I needed one—that you are the Prince of Bharym, and that ultimately your word is law.’
‘You make me sound like a despot.’
‘You once told me you found my honesty refreshing.’
‘Refreshing, in the sense of a dowsing with ice-cold water from a mountain stream, on occasion,’ Rafiq said ruefully. ‘It is rather dishearteningly difficult for me to confess that I was wrong.’
‘You were not,’ Stephanie said, touching his arm. ‘As I said, you...’
‘No!’ He caught her hand, clasping it tightly. ‘No, I am sorry. And amidst all the fuss and commotion which Jasim created, amidst my quite unjustified fury at your putting an end to the daily business of the stud, I overlooked the single, most important point. Do you truly think that we can risk the race without infecting any of the other runners, Stephanie?’
She longed to promise him, but she could not bring herself to lie. ‘I cannot guarantee it, Rafiq.’
He laughed softly. ‘Of course you can’t. There is no accounting for the vagaries of nature.’
‘Exactly. But I do think there is hope. I think that the measures we have implemented stand a good chance of keeping the Sabr horses free from infection and therefore