At her own request, she ate breakfast alone in her room and lunch in the harem garden. But if he had invited her to share one of those meals with him, she would have been happy to do so.
Liyah wasn’t surprised at the neglect. She’d seen Sayed’s war within himself on the day of her arrival. She thought he might be the one person of her acquaintance less willing to give in to emotions than she was.
Adjusting the hijab, she pulled the door open and found a familiar face on the other side. “Abdullah-Hasiba! Come in.”
Liyah stepped back to let the older woman into her suite, but Hasiba shook her head.
Her expression did not reflect Liyah’s delight in their renewed acquaintance. “My melecha has requested your presence.”
“Yes, of course,” Liyah replied.
Hasiba spun on her heel, walking away without another word and Liyah’s happiness deflated as quickly as it had come.
She followed the longtime family retainer in silence, saddened by the clear end to a friendship with a woman she admired.
Hasiba stopped outside a familiar set of double doors, one of many in the palace complex she’d discovered. “My melecha awaits you inside.”
Liyah nodded, unable to speak. Why she should react so strongly to this small rejection when she’d faced much worse ones, she didn’t know, but the loss of Hasiba’s regard hurt.
Hasiba huffed, like she was annoyed, which she probably was.
Liyah reached for the door handle but the older woman’s hand beat hers, covering the brass knob. “You took advantage of my emir.”
“I didn’t.” Liyah had no defense but the truth.
“He was an engaged man.”
“No. Tahira eloped.”
“You could not have known.”
Suddenly Liyah understood the root of Hasiba’s disappointment in her. “I did know. I overheard the emir talking about it with Yusuf on the elevator.”
“My emir would never show such a lack of discretion.”
“They weren’t conversing in English, but honestly? I don’t think either of them realized I was there. You must realize how blindsided he was by Tahira’s actions.”
Hasiba’s expression turned even darker. “So, you thought you’d trap yourself a sheikh now that he was single?”
Liyah opened her mouth to reply, anger overcoming her sadness, but a masculine voice beat her to it.
“I assure you, Abdullah-Hasiba, Miss Amari has in no way attempted to trap me,” Sayed said, distaste for the idea ringing in his tone. “She could certainly have taken advantage, but did not and has done everything she could to diminish the consequences of my folly.”
Liyah should have asserted claim to her part in their joint debacle, but she was too busy drinking in the sight of Sayed after a two-day drought.
“I apologize, my emir,” Hasiba said with apparent sincerity. “I made assumptions I should not have.” Then she proved her earnestness by turning to Liyah. “I am truly sorry, Liyah.”
Liyah nodded. “Your reaction is understandable.” Mostly. Liyah wouldn’t lie to herself and pretend the assumption of such things about her character didn’t hurt.
She hated the fact that because some people would take advantage of a man in Sayed’s situation, anyone would just assume Liyah would, too.
“I do not agree,” Sayed said, his tone icy.
Hasiba flinched, clearly upset she’d angered her emir.
Liyah gave the older woman a small smile. “Don’t worry about it, really.” She frowned up at Sayed. “Don’t be cranky. Hasiba’s heartfelt loyalty is a gift you should not take for granted much less criticize her for.”
“Obviously you two are friends―does she not owe you loyalty, as well?”
“Over her dedication to your family? Not even. Be reasonable, Sayed.”
Hasiba gasped at Liyah’s familiarity with her sheikh, but she did not comment on it. Thankfully.
“I am always reasonable. My emotions do not rule me.”
Liyah got the additional layer of message in his words and took it to heart, feeling inexplicably buoyed by the idea he felt something toward her, even if he did not intend to act on it. She was in the same frame of mind, wasn’t she?
“Her Highness has requested Miss Amari’s presence.” Hasiba dropped her hand from the door and stepped back. “I will leave you to escort her inside.”
Sayed frowned. “You called her Liyah just a moment ago.”
“Yes, and in private consultation with your mother, I have leave to call her ‘my lady,’ but it would not be proper to refer to her with such familiarity in the company of others.”
Looking unconvinced, Sayed nevertheless nodded and dismissed Hasiba. “Why did she call you Liyah?”
“That is what everyone calls me.”
“You never gave me leave to do so.” He made no move to enter his mother’s private reception rooms.
“I like it when you use my full name.”
“Oh, yes?” Again, he didn’t appear completely convinced.
Liyah sighed and admitted, “Only my mother ever called me Aaliyah. It was special to me.”
His handsome face filled with satisfaction. “Then I am honored to be in her company.”
* * *
Sayed was grateful for the looser conventions in his country than many surrounding Zeena Sahra when Liyah laid her hand on his arm at his invitation.
Just that much connection helped soothe the ever-growing need to touch her, though what he really wanted was to kiss her senseless.
He opened the door to his mother’s private reception room and led Liyah inside.
“Good, you have both arrived.” His mother’s pleased expression made him immediately nervous.
“Good afternoon, Queen Durrah.” Aaliyah smiled at his mother, but did not step away from Sayed’s side.
And with unfamiliar weakness, he was glad.
“Good afternoon, dear. I thought you might enjoy a tour of the capital today.” His mother gave him a look of censure. “You have not yet left the palace.”
“I thought it was for the best.” Aaliyah’s reply told him nothing of how she felt about that.
And though she was undoubtedly right, he did not like the fact she felt constrained to remain in the palace.
“You are not our prisoner, as I have stated before.” His mother turned an expectant expression on Sayed. “Is that not right, my son?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. You can accompany Aaliyah. Who better to share the history and points of interest of our beloved city?” she asked, unconsciously echoing his unacted-upon invitation to Aaliyah.
“But I have—”
“Nothing on your calendar for this afternoon,” his mother interrupted him with uncharacteristic lack of tact.
If his schedule was clear, this was the first he’d heard of it. Which meant his mother had arranged the break from meetings.
She was committed to this course of action.
Even