Surrounded by fussing tribeswomen presided over by the elderly Queen Ayshah, who sat in the corner, entirely dressed in black, barking out instructions, Zoe studied her reflection in the tall mirror. She was so heavily clothed in layers and jewellery that she was amazed she could move. A beaten gold headdress covered her brow, a veil covering most of her hair, weighty gold earrings dangling from her ears, hung there by thread. She had very narrowly sidestepped having her ear lobes pierced there and then and she had Farida to thank for tactfully suggesting thread be used to attach the earrings instead. More primitive gold necklaces clanked and shifted round her neck with every movement while rich and elaborate henna swirls adorned her hands and her feet. What remained of her was enveloped in a white kaftan covered in richly beaded and colourful embroidery. Below that were several gossamer-fine silk layers, all of which rejoiced in buttons running down the back. Getting undressed again promised to be a challenge, she thought ruefully.
She had insisted on doing her own make-up though, having run her eyes over her companions, already festooned in their glad rags and best jewellery for the wedding, their faces over-rouged, their eyelids bright blue. Only Farida had gone for the subtle approach. Zoe had used more cosmetics than she normally did and had gone heavy on the eye liner when urged to do so but at least there was nothing theatrical about the end result.
‘My wedding celebrations lasted a week,’ Farida told her.
‘A week?’ Zoe gasped.
‘But yours will only last the afternoon. The King does not wish to spend the night here. The state wedding celebration parties will go on longer, I expect,’ Omar’s wife chattered. ‘Everyone loves these events because they get to see family and friends, but this has been arranged so quickly that it is a very small and quiet wedding—but the jewellery Raj has given you is magnificent.’
‘What jewellery?’ Zoe whispered.
‘Everything you’re wearing comes from the royal house. Traditionally, the jewellery is your wedding gift.’
‘The King must’ve brought that with him as well,’ Zoe muttered.
‘Yes, you were getting married today whether you wanted to or not!’ Farida laughed. ‘But who could say no to Raj?’
Zoe could feel her face heat and was grateful when the sound of music outside the tent sent all the women to the doorway. She followed them and glanced out to see some sort of ceremonial dance being performed with much waving of swords and cracking of whips. Men leapt over the campfire, competing in feats of daring that made her flinch and at one point close her eyes. A moment later, she was ushered out in an excited procession into another larger tent filled with people. She was led up to the front where a venerable older man appeared to bestow some sort of blessing on her and gave a long speech before handing her a ring. Farida showed her which finger to put it on. In the middle of the speech, she finally glimpsed Raj, resplendent in a sapphire-blue silk tunic, tied with a sash, his lean, darkly handsome features very serious. She tried and failed to catch his eye.
Another, even older man spoke more briefly and then moved forward to flourish a pen over a long piece of parchment, which he duly signed. In fact, several people signed the parchment and then she in turn was urged forward to sign as well, before being led away again without a word or a look exchanged with Raj.
‘And now we party!’ Farida whispered teasingly in her ear.
‘You mean...that’s it done? We’re married now?’ Zoe exclaimed in wonderment.
‘As soon as you signed the marriage contract, it was done. I would’ve translated for you but I didn’t want to risk offending the King by speaking during the ceremony,’ the lithe brunette confided. ‘You are now the Crown Princess of Maraban.’
‘And I don’t feel the slightest bit different!’ Zoe confided with amusement, reckoning that her grandfather would be sorry to have missed the ceremony but she assumed he would be attending the state wedding, which was to follow. Her sisters would have to come as well and she smiled at the prospect as Farida guided her into yet another tent full of chattering women where music was starting up in the background.
Introduction after introduction was made and plate after plate of food was brought. There were no men present. Farida explained that the reception after the state wedding would not be segregated but that rural weddings were of a more conservative ilk. Zoe sipped mint tea and watched the festivities as the dancing began. Married, she kept on thinking; she couldn’t believe it. But she wasn’t really married, she reminded herself wryly, not truly married because she and Raj were not going to live together as a married couple. She wondered how he was feeling. Was he wishing she were his ex-love, who had let him down? Or did the significance of the actual marriage escape him because he was not in love with his bride? Or, more likely, was he simply happy that he was back in Maraban and accepted by his father again?
At one point, Zoe drifted off in spite of the noise and liveliness surrounding her and wakened only when Farida discreetly pressed her hand. She blinked in bemusement, for an instant not even knowing where she was. Darkness had fallen beyond the tent and it was quieter now, only a couple of women dancing, the rest gathered in chattering groups. Slowly her brain fell back into step and she suppressed a sigh, murmuring an apology to Farida for her drowsiness.
‘Your body is probably still working on ridding you of the sleeping drug you were given at the palace. Our doctor said it would be a couple of days before you fully recovered from that. I am so sorry that that happened to you,’ the other woman said sincerely.
‘You were involved in it against your will...not your responsibility,’ Zoe pointed out gently.
‘And sadly, the instigator will only be celebrating the reality that he has regained his son,’ Farida murmured ruefully.
The last piece of the puzzle fell into place for Zoe and her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she finally appreciated that only Raj’s father could have had her kidnapped and remained safe from punishment of any kind. That was why Raj had remained silent about the identity of the perpetrator; that was why he had seemed to feel partially responsible for her ordeal. Clearly the King had been determined to prevent his brother, Hakem, from marrying her.
‘It is time for you to retire,’ Farida told her, reacting to a signal from Queen Ayshah, who raised her hand and gave her a meaningful look.
That the old lady was still going strong while she felt weary embarrassed Zoe. She lumbered upright, feeling like an elephant in her cumbersome layers of clothing, hoping it was cooler outside than it was inside. But that was a false hope, she recognised when the humid air beyond the tent closed in around her and she was forced to trek across the sand in her wildly unsuitable shoes that dug in at every step. A camel was led in front of her and made to lie down. Farida instructed her to climb into the saddle, which, weighted down as she was by fabric and jewellery, was no easy task, but at last the deed was accomplished and the animal scrambled up again and swayed across the sands in the moonlight, accompanied by whoops from the women crowded round her and with the aid of the herdsman with his very modern torch.
‘It is symbolic,’ Farida explained. ‘Queen Ayshah stands in your mother’s place and she is sending you to your bridegroom.’
Zoe rather thought it was more as if she were a parcel to be delivered, although thank heaven, she reflected with a choked giggle, Raj wouldn’t be expecting to unwrap the parcel. She slid more than she dismounted from the camel and picked herself up off the sand, thinking fondly that she was having an even more exciting wedding day than either of her sisters had enjoyed while wondering when her mobile phone would be returned to her so that she could bring her siblings