‘You are okay?’ Emir checked as she joined him at his side, and his hand found hers.
She was touched at the gesture, for he had told her that today was duty, that feelings would not be on display—for in Alzan love usually came later.
Not today.
‘Nervous,’ Amy admitted, which was perhaps the understatement of the century.
The magnitude of what was about to take place had hit her again as she’d walked through the fragrant gardens and seen the crowd, and she had thought she might pass out again. There was Hassan, the reprobate brother, standing tall and silent by his brother’s side. King Rakhal and Natasha were there too, regal and splendid, but she’d barely glanced at them. First she had looked to the twins, dressed in pale lemon and sitting on the grass holding flowers, but though she’d melted at the sight of them today it was Emir who won her heart a thousand times over.
His robe was pale gold too, as was the kafeya on his head, and she was overwhelmed by such male beauty, by the curve of his lips that barely smiled as they greeted her but that would caress her mouth tonight. She ached for tonight, to be in the desert with him, but of course there were formalities first.
For a country so steeped in tradition, the wedding was surprisingly simple.
‘He asks,’ Emir translated, ‘if you agree to this union.’
‘Yes,’ Amy said, and then remembered and answered for the judge. ‘Na’am.’
He saw the slight pursing of her lips, for they had discussed this a few times.
She pressed her thumb into his palm, to remind him of the million subclauses to her agreement, and then she answered, ‘Na’am.’
‘He asks will you nurture the fruits of our union?’ Emir saw the tears fill her eyes and he wanted to hold her, but all he could do was press his own thumb to her palm to remind her that this was right.
She could not look beyond his shoulder to where King Rakhal stood, and beside him Natasha, so she looked to her soon to be husband and answered him. The press of his thumb was a reminder of just how much this man loved her. ‘Na’am.’
The judge spoke for a few moments and she waited, then Emir’s hand was in the small of her back, telling her to turn around.
‘What happens now?’ Amy asked.
‘We go back to the palace.’
‘Back?’ Amy asked. ‘But the wedding …?’
‘We are married,’ Emir said, and then he broke with tradition.
Even if it was brief she felt his arms around her, and the soft warmth of his mouth as Emir kissed his bride. It was not the cough of the elders that halted them but the two little girls who protested at the lack of attention.
Back to the palace they walked, holding one twin each, and she watched as Emir glanced up to the sky. She knew he was telling Hannah she could rest now, that the girls would be looked after as she had wanted.
And they would be.
Amy wanted to be alone with him, wanted their night in the desert, but first came more formalities—a sumptuous meal and endless speeches. Finally it was Rakhal’s turn to speak, and Amy felt her hand tighten on the glass she was holding. She wondered what barb was about to be delivered—not that she would know it when it came, for the speeches were in Arabic. Emir would translate for her.
She took a deep breath as Rakhal addressed the room, realised her fingers were suddenly tight around Emir’s for he squeezed her hand back.
‘My wife predicted this.’ Rakhal spoke in English and Amy’s head jerked up. ‘She said she knew on the day she met you,’ he said. ‘It was the day of my father’s passing.’
Amy blinked, because that was a long time ago—long before she had had feelings for Emir. Or had she? She remembered that time. Emir had gone to offer his farewell and she had spoken briefly with Natasha. She had been so confused and bitter then, so angry with Emir for the distance he put between himself and his daughters.
‘I said she was wrong.’ Rakhal looked at the new Queen of Alzan. ‘And I said she was wrong again at my son’s naming ceremony. But this is one prediction that has been proved right.’ Rakhal looked to Emir. ‘Your Highness, I congratulate you on your wedding.’ He spoke in Arabic, some words she recognised—long life, good health—and then again he spoke in English. ‘The Kingdom of Alzirz celebrates with you today.’
How hard it was to smile as he raised a glass to them.
Hard too, to make small talk with Natasha a while later, for she was so determined to be friendly.
‘You look wonderful.’ Natasha smiled, but Amy could not help but be cool in her responses—could not so easily manage the feigned politeness between the rivals. ‘Rakhal tells me you are honeymooning in London?’
‘That’s right.’
‘With the girls?’
‘Of course,’ Amy said through gritted teeth.
‘When you return we must get the children together, Clemira is so taken with Tariq, and …’
‘We’ll see.’ Amy gave a tight smile. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me …’
She turned straight into the chest of Emir and he rescued her with a dance. ‘You will be polite,’ Emir warned her. ‘You will be pleasant.’
‘I am being.’
‘No.’ He had seen the ice behind her smile as she spoke with Queen Natasha. ‘When a queen speaks to you …’
‘I’m a queen now too.’
He smiled down at her angry eyes. ‘I will speak with you later. For now I will tell you to be polite.’
‘I don’t get it, Emir,’ she bristled.
It annoyed her how well Emir and Rakhal were getting on tonight—oh, she knew it was all for show, but still it riled her. She put it aside, for it seemed impossible to hold a grudge on this night. The whole palace was alive with celebration, there were parties in the streets outside, and though she ached to be alone in the desert with Emir, to be with her new husband, it was the best night of her life.
Amy allowed herself simply to enjoy it right up to the end, when she accepted a kiss to her hand from Rakhal and, as instructed, smiled and chatted briefly to Natasha as they prepared to leave for the desert. Then it was time to say goodbye to the twins.
God, but she loved them. Nakia was now literally following in her big sister’s footsteps, toddling too, and both loved calling out ‘Ummi’. They would always know about their real mother, but it was bliss not to correct them, just to scoop them into her arms. She did it now, kissed their little faces and told them she would see them tomorrow.
She feared the wedding night in the desert more than a little—always felt as if the desert knew something she didn’t, as if somehow it was a step ahead of them.
‘It’s dark.’
The last time she had been there the sands had been lit by a huge moon, and there had been stars, but tonight the desert was clouded—not that Emir seemed concerned.
‘There will be rain, which is good,’ he said. ‘After rain comes new growth.’
The rain met them as they landed—a driving rain that had the helicopter flounder for a moment, a pelting rain that soaked through her gown. As she stepped into the tent maidens were waiting, wrapping her in shawls, and a feast was laid out for them. There were a thousand