‘A place called Belshazzah on the coast,’ Zoltan said without shifting his gaze from the road. The tracks of her nails, thankfully, were fading on his cheek. He stared at the road ahead, dodging patches of sand where the dunes crept over the road on their inexorable travels. A man in control, she thought, looking at him behind the wheel. A man used to taking charge, she guessed, unable to let someone else drive for him, so that the necessary bodyguards were forced to squeeze into the supply vehicles that trailed behind them. He looked good, his dark hands on the wheel, the folded-back sleeves of his white shirt contrasting with his corded forearms and that damned scent everywhere.
‘How far is it?’
‘Not far from the Blue Palace. No more than two hours away.’
Aisha buzzed down her window a few inches and sniffed.
‘Are you cold?’ he said, immediately moving to adjust the temperature.
‘Not really,’ she said, gazing out behind her dark glasses at a horizon bubbling under the desert sun. Not at all. When he’d turned up at her door this morning and asked if she’d like to accompany him to the beach encampment, she’d remembered the things he’d said to her last night and how close he’d come to forcing himself upon her and she’d almost told him where he could shove his beach encampment.
But something had stopped her. Whether it was the look in his eyes, that this unexpected invitation was costing him something, or whether it was just because for the first time he was actually asking if she would accompany him rather than telling her and riding roughshod over her opinions and views as was his usual tactic—whatever it was—she’d said yes.
‘And remind me again why we’re going there?’
He shrugged. ‘The palace is too big, filled with too many people, too many advisers. I thought you might appreciate somewhere a little quieter.’ He turned to her then. ‘So we could get to know each other a little more.’
Even from behind his sunglasses she could feel the sizzle his eyes sent her all the way down to her toes.
‘You mean so you can finally get what you expected you would get last night?’
He didn’t look at her, but she caught his smile behind the wheel. ‘Do you really think I need go to so much trouble when the palace is full of dark corners and secret places? Not exactly the kind of places you want to hang around and hold a meaningful conversation, but perfectly adequate for other, more carnal pleasures.’
Her window hummed even lower. She did not want to hear about dark places and carnal pleasures. Not when it made her body buzz with an electricity that felt uncannily like anticipation.
Impossible.
‘It’s not going to happen, you know,’ she said, as much for her benefit as his.
‘What?’
‘I’m not going to sleep with you.’
‘So you said.’
‘I hate you.’
‘You said that too. You made that more than plain last night.’
‘Good. So long as we understand each other.’
‘Oh,’ he said, taking his eyes off the road to throw her a lazy smile, ‘we may not know each other, but I think we understand each other perfectly.’
Dissatisfied with the way that conversation had ended, she fell silent for a while, looking out at the desert dunes, disappearing into the distance in all directions. She shuddered when she remembered another desert camp. ‘How do you know Mustafa’s not out here somewhere, waiting for you to make a mistake so he can steal me away and take the crown before you? Aren’t you worried about him?’
‘Are you scared, Princess? Are you worried now you should have consummated this marriage last night when you had the chance?’
She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her gaze pointedly out the window again. ‘Definitely not.’
‘Then you are braver than I thought. But you have nothing to fear. My sources say he’s moved out of Al-Jirad for now.’
‘So he knows he’s beaten and given up?’
‘Possibly.’
‘And he won’t be at the coronation?’
His jaw clenched, his hands tightening on the wheel. ‘He wouldn’t dare show his face.’
She hoped he was right. If she never saw the ugly slug again, it would be too soon. She looked around, wondering at the words he had spoken, about the punch his words had held. She wondered why he was so certain, and she guessed it was not all to do with her kidnapping.
‘What did he do to you?’
There was a pause before he spoke. ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘You clearly hate him very much. He must have done something to deserve it.’
He snorted in response to that. ‘You could say that. I grew up with him. I got to see how his twisted mind works first-hand.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Are you sure you want to hear this, Princess?’
‘Is it so bad?’
‘It is not pretty. He is not a nice person.’
She swallowed. ‘I’m a big girl. I can handle it, surely.’
He nodded. ‘As you say.’ He looked back at the road for a moment before he began. ‘There was a blind man in the village where we grew up, a man called Saleem,’ he started. ‘He was old and frail and everyone in the village looked out for him, brought him meals or firewood. He had a dog, a mutt he’d found somewhere that was his eyes. We used to pass Saleem’s house on our way to school where Saleem was usually sitting outside, greeting everyone who passed. Mustafa never said anything, he just baited the dog every chance he got, teasing it, sometimes kicking it. One day he went too far and it bit him. I was with him that day, and I swear it was nothing more than a scratch, but Mustafa swore he would get even. Even when the old man told him that it was his fault—that even though he was blind he was not stupid. He knew Mustafa had been taunting his dog mercilessly all along.
‘One day not long after, the dog went missing. The whole village looked for it. Until someone found it—or, rather, what was left of it.’
She held her breath. ‘What happened to it?’
‘The dog had been tortured to within an inch of its life before something more horrible happened—something that said the killer had a grudge against not only the dog, but against its owner.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The dog had been blinded. So, even if it had somehow managed to survive the torture, it would have been useless to Saleem.’
She shuddered, feeling sick. ‘How could anyone do such a thing to an animal, a valued pet?’
‘That one could.’
‘You believe it was Mustafa?’
‘I know it was him. I overheard him boasting to a schoolfriend in graphic detail about what he had done. He had always been a bully. He was proud of what he had done to a helpless animal.’
‘Did you tell anyone?’
Her question brought the full pain and the injustice of the past crashing back. He remembered the fury of his father when he had told him what he had heard; fury directed not at Mustafa