Moments later, several pairs of feet appeared in front of her, and she felt a warm, gentle finger under her chin. Her skin tingled from his touch. As she raised her eyes, his hand moved away. Her gaze took in his navy blue pants, and then a white shirt with small, navy stripes. Higher still revealed a handsome, chiseled face. Familiar chocolate-brown eyes greeted hers.
The prince inhaled, the shock evident on his face. She dropped her head, startled at his unanticipated reaction.
The man in the market was the prince!
She had bumped into the prince.
What would he do?
She shuddered as fright filled her. What punishment might she have to endure if he had been offended at her clumsy words?
His fingers touched her chin again. “Look at me.” His velvety voice carried with it a hint of command and of amusement.
Cahri’s whole being stirred from his slight touch. She lifted her face.
He didn't look angry. The shock was gone, replaced by a quiet intensity.
She blinked several times to hide the tears.
His gaze plunged deep into the inner recesses of her heart. A shudder coursed through her body, but not from fear. From anticipation.
He scanned the room. “Anaya!” His voice sounded like stone, hard and unyielding.
“Yes, my prince,” she replied from behind several of the other men who had followed the prince. A collective gasp echoed down the line of women at the revelation of his identity.
Cahri refocused her gaze toward her shifting feet as heat crept into her cheeks. She didn't want to be a spectacle. That would be worse than the shock on his face.
He spoke to Anaya in a dialect Cahri didn’t know but longed to understand. A few words resembled a similar language she had learned long ago. Perhaps one of the words was eyes.
She flinched. Figures. No man in Belikara liked her eyes. They wanted dark-eyed women guaranteeing dark-eyed sons.
“The prince would like to know why there were tears in your eyes the second time he looked at you.” Anaya’s formality confused Cahri until the statement penetrated her mind.
He cared about the tears? Didn’t he care that she didn’t have brown eyes like the others? And why didn’t he just ask her instead of asking Anaya?
Admitting to having bumped into the prince in the middle of the market was not an option, nor could she express the fear of having offended him then. Cahri didn't want to offend the prince now either, but for some unexplained reason his reaction hurt.
Still looking at her feet, she replied, “Many times as a child, I was teased because I wasn’t like everyone else, but it has been years since anyone has been so outright shocked by the color of my eyes.” The memories of how often she’d been harassed as a child brought fresh tears.
Fiddlesticks! Stupid emotions. Why couldn’t she stop the waterworks?
The prince must have noticed her surprise at his identity. He must have been just as surprised. Could that explain his reaction?
She’d bought chocolate ice cream because it reminded her of his eyes. Kind eyes.
“Look up please, Cahri.”
Blinking back her tears, Cahri lifted her head at the quiet intensity in Anaya’s voice. One drop slipped past Cahri’s eyelashes and slid down her cheek.
“Why do you continue to cry?” Anaya’s voice stayed low, so others would not hear their conversation.
“I do not wish to offend the prince, and I fear I have.” More than once.
Prince Josiah pulled Anaya a few steps away and spoke to her again, then handed her something, and walked away without looking in Cahri’s direction.
She had offended him. Now what?
When the men left, Anaya approached Cahri and handed her a handkerchief. “The prince wishes you to know he is sorry he hurt your feelings, and that you did not offend him. I am also sorry. I should have warned him your eyes are not like the others. I wanted him to see for himself, but I did not consider your feelings in the matter. Please forgive me.”
Cahri nodded then wiped her eyes with the handkerchief. A tantalizing scent teased her nose. She sniffed. It smelled like him — the fragrance she remembered from the market.
A moment later, she remembered why she liked it. Her father had used this same woodsy scent. Ironic since it was called Royal. After wiping her eyes, she held the handkerchief out for Anaya, so it could be returned to the prince.
“Prince Josiah wishes you to keep it.” Anaya whispered so none of the others could hear.
Cahri nodded. “Am I allowed to leave now?”
Anaya’s troubled gaze settled on her. “Yes.”
Reaching for Anaya, Cahri gave her servant a quick hug. “All is well.”
Anaya shoulder’s slumped with an unknown weight, and she exited out the same door as the prince, toward a section of the palace forbidden to the chosen ones.
The others had scattered into little groups to talk. Giggles came from the corner by the TV. Thirty-five or forty women remained. Ten or fifteen had been removed. The younger woman, to whom the prince had spoken before reaching Cahri, sat in a chair across the room, petting Stormy. Cahri was glad Stormy had found a friend, and he enjoyed all the extra attention.
Cahri wandered to her room and lay on her bed without removing her hat. Holding the handkerchief to her nose, she inhaled.
Memories of her father — rocking her after she’d fallen out of the tree, hugging her when mean words about her eyes made her cry, kissing her every night before bed — assaulted her brain one by one. Her dad had been her hero. She missed him so much. The qualities he’d demonstrated — integrity, kindness, gentleness, and devotion to God — were what she deemed important in a future husband. Her distrust of God aside, having a Christian husband topped her list.
She scrunched the cloth in her hand and caught another whiff. It wouldn’t be too hard to love a man who smelled like her father. A man who cared enough for a stranger to leave her his handkerchief. Not to mention how incredibly handsome he was. His dark eyes told her what she needed to know. Even with such a short look. Intense, yet gentle and kind.
Enough daydreaming for tonight. She refused to allow herself to hope because being chosen still remained improbable. Their differences were too great. Besides, his interest focused on the young one, as it should. She was more suitable for the wife of the future king. Sorrow engulfed her as she thought of leaving Belikara when she was eliminated.
Should she pray? No. God didn’t listen to her prayers anyway.
Cahri removed her hat and glanced around for her jeans. Ugh. She'd left them in Anaya's room. Oh, well. They weren't super important anyway. She laid today’s beautiful black outfit on the chest, fingering the silver embroidery once more.
What color would they choose tomorrow?
Beneath the covers, she held the handkerchief under her pillow as she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Nine
“How could you not tell me?” Josiah yelled.
Anaya stepped back. A tear rolled down her face.
He moved toward her, sorrow squeezing his heart. He hated when his temper overwhelmed his good senses.
“I'm sorry, sister. I didn't mean to yell.” He wiped away the tear and pulled her into his arms. “This whole thing has put me on edge. Forgive me?”
“You know I do. Will you forgive me for not telling you? I thought it would be best for you to find out on your own, but I did not take her feelings into account. I've already asked her forgiveness. I'm sorry, Josiah. I didn't mean for it to happen this way.”
She stepped out of his arms and swiveled away. He watched her shoulders sag.
“I know you meant well. You did what you thought was right. It wasn't your fault. I was just so surprised to see those bright green eyes again. So trusting. So innocent. It was my reaction which hurt her feelings. It was my fault. You needn't ask for forgiveness.”
Anaya swung back around. “Again?”
“Remember the one I bumped into at the market
last week?”
“Her?”
“Yes.”
He stepped to the door overlooking the garden. He longed to walk there and think things through. There were many other gardens, but this one was his favorite.
Those green eyes dominated his thoughts. The tears made them sparkle and didn’t detract from their beauty. She had gazed at him with hesitation and uncertainty at first, but then with a boldness he hadn't seen in any of the others. The others viewed him with disdain, not knowing he was the prince, except Cahri and the other one — the young one. He sighed.
Now he knew why Anaya had chosen this one. Cahri was beautiful. Different, but beautiful, inside and out. After his mistake, she’d been worried about offending him. A little of her concern may have stemmed from last week's encounter, as well.
This one was his choice for a bride. The force of the notion shocked him. How could he want to make this woman his wife, when he’d seen her only twice? He didn’t even know anything about her.
No matter. He felt the peace about her in his spirit, but he would have to continue with this charade of a Bridal March to please his father. The next six months stretched out before him and would require a great deal of patience.
A different sort of patience than he thought he would need a few hours ago. Excitement coursed through him at the thought of getting to know her better.
****
Cahri woke before the sun made its appearance, though a hint of color tinted the horizon. She changed and redid her hair into the style Anaya had shown her. She tucked the handkerchief into her pocket, picked up her notebook, and a book Anaya had loaned her, “Sharpshooter in Petticoats,” and walked to the common room.
Today when she opened the door to the garden, no one stopped her. She found a bench surrounded by gladioli. She sniffed the purple one closest to her and held her breath, enjoying the fragrance.
Lifting her head, she gazed at the rising sun. The horizon flamed orange. She sighed and sat on the bench. Sunrise was her favorite time of day — peace reigned, spider webs glistened, birds chirped, and a few flowers bloomed, even this early in the year.
After reading about Mandy’s troubles in the novel, her situation seemed trivial. She removed the handkerchief from its hiding spot and smelled it again. The fragrance was so, so… well, the right word escaped her. So masculine, maybe, but even then it didn't seem to fit quite right. Intoxicating. Sensual. Rugged. All of those things and more.
The hairs on the nape of her neck prickled. She rubbed her skin, but the tingling sensation remained. Was someone watching? She scanned the windows on the first floor. Nothing. Shrugging it off, she opened her notebook and began writing.
Day 4—
Yesterday Anaya had a servant come and she trimmed my hair. Then Anaya taught me a new way to fix it in preparation for last night's inspection. Several women went home, including the obnoxious one. I'm still here. I fear I have offended the prince, who happened to be the man I ran into at the food market last week.
Who knew? Well, I guess he did.J
He's so handsome. I almost drooled. Dark hair with a slight curl at the ends, which begs to have my fingers run through it, and eyes to die for — the color of milk chocolate. He is slim, but not scrawny. His arms and shoulders filled out his shirt. Those eyes… I could have stared into them for hours and forgotten everything around me. His touch was gentle when he lifted my chin to look at him. A spark of something worked its way down my spine at his touch. Same as in the market. What is it about this man that sends my insides into knots and mush at the same time? No one else has ever caught my interest like he has and I've only seen him twice.
Wow!
The sensation of someone watching returned. She glanced at the second floor. A curtain fell back into place. Someone was up there. She put the handkerchief back in its hiding spot. Having someone watching her made her uneasy.
Was she as safe here as she’d supposed?
Of course she was.
A servant, maybe, peeped out the window at the garden.
She returned her gaze to her open notebook and read what she'd written. She wrote more as she described the garden and the smells. Over an hour passed as she read her book and wrote or doodled in her journal. She rose from her spot and stretched.
How would she exercise while here? She used to walk everywhere for exercise — to work, to the market, to church, and home again.
The hair on her neck stood on edge again, but she didn't look around this time. She thought to ignore it, but the feeling persisted. Wanting to see who watched her, she touched her toes to stretch her leg muscles. She glanced sideways toward the second story window at the same time. Returning her gaze to her feet, she smirked. The prince had a bird's eye view of the garden. He didn't know she'd seen him, so she stretched a little more, and then decided to walk around the garden for a little while.
No one stirred on the first floor except the servants, who remained inside. She walked as far as permitted and stood looking out over the rest of what she could see — desert for the most part — outside of the hedges surrounding the pool. A few indiscernible buildings stood in the distance.
Stormy decided to grace her with his presence and rubbed himself on her legs. Picking him up, she scratched him behind the ears.
“You like it here, don't you, big boy?”
“Meow.”
She continued to scratch him and he purred.
“You know what? I think I could like it here too. The prince was gracious last night. He smells super good, too.” Her confession went unheard except by her mute confidante. He would keep her secret.
Chapter Ten
Day 45—
Day after day, it’s the same thing — get up before the others to spend time in the garden reading and writing, more classes, and then after lunch, spa treatments or recreation time. I prefer to wander the halls if Anaya doesn’t come for me.
I find the mornings relaxing as I watch the sun rise and listen to the birds chirp. Yesterday I saw a funny looking bird flitting through the garden. It was early in the morning. The sun hadn’t even peaked beyond the horizon. The bird had yellow eyes and a yellow and black beak. Its feathers would blend well with the desert sand. I researched it later and found out it was a Stone Curlew.
The labyrinth of shrubs in the English garden reminded me of the pictures Paul sent of his trip to Versailles all those years ago. The gardener must be quite talented to shape the topiaries into all sorts of animals — ducks, giraffes, and there’s even an elephant. It feels like a zoo with green animals.
This morning, an Eastern Bath White caught my attention as it flitted along the pathway. The creamy yellow of its wings made it almost invisible against the sandstone. Had it not moved, I would never have noticed it.
The prince continues to watch me, though not every day. I’ve seen the curtain flutter from the corner of my eye, but I haven’t attempted to catch him spying on me. I just wish we could meet again.
Mom and Dad’s teaching resurfaced at unexpected moments, reminding Cahri God made nature for her to enjoy, and she should give thanks. She didn't want to thank God for anything, so she pushed the thoughts to the side. She wasn’t ready to face Him. Not yet.
She surveyed an off-limits area down the stairs. A wide swath of dull gray cement bordered a large rectangular pool. Several neon yellow-and-orange-colored lounge chairs and patio tables with umbrellas that matched the chair cushions graced the area, making it perfect for entertaining.
In the distance, she heard horses, so knew a stable existed out there somewhere. Some mornings, when the wind blew from that direction, she could smell the hay and manure. A scent which reminded her of times spent with her parents in remote villages.
Splash! She glanced back at the pool and saw a white blob move across the water. Stormy. Unlike most felines, Turkish Vans loved to swim, and Stormy more than most. When she'd lived in the apartment, any night she'd decided to take a bath, she'd expected him to jump in with
her. He loved water. Cahri laughed as he made his way around the edge of the pool.
She wandered back to the bench. Her thoughts revisited the classes she’d attended so far. Most of them were about caring for a husband and a house, entertaining nobles and the like. Cahri found them so boring she got lost in memories of her mom’s teachings on proper etiquette or, more often, daydreams about being a princess. She would decorate her room in shades of blue and gold. The furnishings would be a dark wood, mahogany maybe. A combination of traditional and contemporary.
****
A few weeks later, Cahri returned to the gallery she’d found interesting during their tour. A man sat upon a bench staring at one of the portraits. He lifted his head when she entered. The prince.
“I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was here.” She backed toward the door.
“No,” he said. “It's okay. Come. Talk to me.” He scooted over on the wide cushioned bench, giving her room to sit. Goosebumps prickled her arms at the sound of his velvety voice.
She swiped her palms down her thighs as she crossed the room. She sat but said nothing. What could she say? An uncomfortable silence fell.
Unable to stand the quiet she spoke. “I’m sorry about bumping into you at the market.” She swallowed. “And for the misunderstanding. I… I was talking to myself.”
“It’s okay. I could tell you were. Your comment just surprised me. Though, I must say it shocked me more to see you here.”
Cahri bit back the sarcastic reply which rose to her lips. “It was a shock to find out I had bumped into you.” She glanced up and found him assessing her with his chocolate-brown eyes. Heat suffused her face as she forced her eyes away.
“When you arrived, you brought an animal. What was it?”
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