“One day, the witch went out to the market to buy some bread and left the princess all alone in her tower.”
“And a prince came along!” Parsia still lisped her words slightly.
“How did you know that?” Aliyah pretended to be shocked.
“Cuz that’s what princes do. They rescue people.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe he just came to put ribbons in her hair.”
“Or pull on it hard,” said Nasri with a grin.
“Exactly!” Aliyah stroked Nasri’s own long hair. She wanted to protect her daughters from the world for as long as she could. She’d been happy until the day destiny plucked her from her ordinary life and brought her here. There were far worse places, to be sure, and she knew better than to take this life of comfort for granted. “Princesses have to be careful. It can be hard to tell what a prince is really up to.”
Her children asleep, Aliyah arranged her veil over her hair and headed for the door. The cool air smelled of night-blooming flowers. The trickle of the fountain usually soothed her, but not tonight. Ears pricked for the sound of voices, she opened the leopards’ cage and slipped a chain onto Megu’s collar. The young male was excited by the attention, and she scolded him gently for jumping up at her. Leading Megu, she headed for the fountain, where the falling water muffled a conversation in progress.
Punched metal lanterns cast patterned light that made it hard to see, but as her eyes adjusted she made out two men talking. Osman and Gibran. She kept her distance, steering Megu through the shadows along the walls and around the date palms, enjoying the masculine outline of their visitor in the flickering light.
When she got as close as she dared, she paused and stroked Megu, scratching inside his ears the way he loved. After a while, the two men strode back inside, still talking. Perhaps they were coming to an agreement about the work to be done, and Gibran would come stay at the palace for weeks or even months?
Smiling in the darkness, she walked along the inside of the garden wall with Megu brushing against her calves. She was lucky to take pleasure in small things and to be spared the constant struggle for survival of many outside the palace walls. One of her friends was widowed by a car accident and—without any family and desperate to feed her four children—resorted to prostitution. Another worked long hours before hot ovens baking bread from before dawn until after dusk. Aliyah knew some people saw her as a kind of prostitute, doing her work in the king’s bed, but she was at peace with that now it had ended.
“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch.” A rough male voice right in her ear made her jump and shriek at the same time. Gibran. Standing so close behind her that his chest bumped against her shoulder. “I saw you lurking in the shadows.”
“I’m not lurking. I’m walking my cat.” She was glad the darkness hid her hot blush of embarrassment.
He lifted a brow. “Walking a cat? You were listening. I think you’re the one I should be watching.”
“I would never do anything to hurt the royal family.”
“No? Perhaps you’re bitter that your husband’s sons inherit everything and you and your children get nothing.”
“Royal heirs must be male. We’re lucky to live here.”
“As the outsiders, the poor relations, tolerated out of pity. Is that any life for a young girl?”
“I’m not as immature as you think.”
“You’re at the age where most girls are just starting their lives.” His eyes blazed in the darkness, reflecting the flame of a nearby lantern. “Falling in love and making big plans for the future. Instead you’re content to live here in the shadows like an elderly dowager?”
“I am. I really am.”
“No, you’re not.” Then he proved it, taking her mouth with his.
CHAPTER THREE
Aliyah’s gasp of shock was swallowed by a kiss that absorbed every ounce of her energy. Heat flashed through her, and her knees almost gave out, but his strong arms held her up. She felt them around her, biceps thick against her own arms, powerful hands pressing into her back.
She kissed him, too. She didn’t intend to—didn’t want to—but her mouth did it anyway, her tongue darting out to make sparks with his. Even her hands betrayed her, wandering under the jacket of his suit and pressing themselves into the fine cotton of his shirt.
Then he pulled back. “See?”
She blinked, lips stinging, the darkness suddenly blinding. On instinct she turned to run and almost tripped over Megu, who she’d completely forgotten. But Gibran’s strong hand around her forearm stopped her in her tracks. “Don’t think you can run away from me.”
“Let me go.” Her whisper pierced the air and she glanced around, hoping no one could hear. This was her fault somehow. She’d dressed up and perfumed herself like a lover when she had no business leaving her quarters after dusk.
He loosened his grip slightly. “My intention is not to hurt you but to challenge you.” His other thumb stroked her chin, then traced the curve of her lower lip. He held her gaze until the last gasps of breath fled her lungs. Her whole body was shaking, hot and cold and confused. She wanted to run, she wanted to scream or beat him with her fists. But she couldn’t because he’d anticipated her desire and now held both her wrists in his hands, so she could barely keep hold of Megu’s chain. The cat rubbed around her legs like always, showing no awareness that she was under attack by this wild beast of a man.
His dark eyes seemed to stare right past her quiet and unassuming façade and see into the darkest reaches of her soul. Into the cold, lonely places where she hid when her late husband took his pleasure with her. Into the cobwebbed corners where she’d stashed the inconvenient needs and desires that had no place in her life.
Then he kissed her again. This time she kissed him back harder. Her arms, sprung free, wrapped around his neck and she heard Megu’s chain drop to the ground, but she didn’t care. Gibran’s lips welcomed hers and heat flared between them, lighting a fire that spread to her belly and limbs. Knees shaking, she clung to him, feeling the masculine shape of his arms and back, letting her fingers grope into his thick hair, drawing in the masculine scent of his skin. She kissed him with every ounce of hope and desire that she’d shoved deep down inside her, letting them bubble up in a mad and crazy explosion of passion.
She didn’t want to stop, but tears came to her eyes as a sob rose in her throat. She shouldn’t do this—couldn’t do this!—she was losing her mind and would ruin everything.
With great effort she tugged her lips from his and pulled back enough to see him. Tears blurred her vision. “Why do you want to destroy me?”
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Destroy you? I have plenty of experience with destruction, and trust me, it doesn’t look anything like this.”
Hot tears blazed a trail over her cheeks. “I’m a respectable woman.” She muttered it, thinking even as she said the words that almost anyone could argue the opposite.
But instead of a barbed retort, he responded with a soft thumb that wiped away her tears. “I know you are, princess.”
She wanted to argue that she was the queen, but that wasn’t true any more. What did you become when the king died and you had no further role in the kingdom? It hadn’t been discussed. Her children were princesses, but her? She was just their mother. “I’m not a princess.”
“I don’t care if you are or not. You’re a beautiful, passionate woman who’s hidden in the shadows for too long.”
“I have no choice.” The sobs had ebbed, leaving sadness in their wake.
“Says who? You don’t have to curl up and die.”
She raised herself up. “I don’t intend to die. I have a full life raising my children. And I don’t want to throw it away for a man.”
“Of course you don’t.” She watched him stiffen and grow taller. “Your gravy train is far too precious to risk over something as trivial as feelings.”
“It’s my duty to hide my feelings.”
“An
d you do a magnificent job of it.” His dark eyes narrowed slightly and his expression hardened. “Though it is gratifying to know that you still have some feelings hidden beneath your regal garments.” He bent down and she braced, having no idea what he was going to do. He picked up Megu’s gold chain and handed it to her. “Your cat is too trusting. You certainly can’t count on him to protect you from anything.” He stroked Megu’s head and the traitorous beast rubbed itself against his broad palm with pleasure and closed eyes. Then he stood to his full height again. “And now I know everything I need to know about you.”
Bitterness glinted in his eyes, where passion had flared less than a minute ago. He’d taken what he wanted, proved his point, and now he mocked her. She’d been weak, falling into his kiss like an idiot.
“I suspect my brother brought me here with half a mind to kill me.” His gaze pinned her as he tilted his head slightly. “If you screamed right now they’d have their excuse.”
“Kill you?” She took the opportunity to step back, gulping the night air. Was this another test? “I thought they brought you here to protect us.”
“They’re certainly interested in saving their own hides, but I doubt mine or yours matter much to them in the grand scheme of things. They summoned me here to see if I can be useful or of I’m more of a threat than a helping hand.”
“They’re good men.” Better than you, she wanted to shout. But she’d learned to hold her tongue and keep her own counsel. “You should trust them.”
“And you should be more wary of everyone.” He slipped back into the shadows so fast she almost suspected him of being a djinn. He must have learned stealth in his trade, along with his callous and ruthless attitude toward others.
She shrunk into the shadows herself, half afraid he was still watching her, still judging her. At least he didn’t seem to seriously suspect her of being involved in the conspiracy. Her heart beat like festival drums, threatening to break out of her rib cage. She couldn’t believe she’d kissed him. The first time she could say he’d stolen the kiss by force, but the second time…that was her doing.
And she would have to suffer the consequences, whatever they would turn out to be.
“I don’t trust Gibran.” Amahd paced across Osman’s dimly lit private library. Incense burning in a brazier filled the air with fragrant smoke. “Where is he, anyway? For all we know he’s spying on us right now. The amount of covert experience he has is downright creepy.”
“He’s one of the good guys,” said Osman, who sat with his arm around Samantha. “Though I agree he has an edge to him.”
“Cut him some slack,” said Samantha, leaning into him affectionately. “This must be a very emotional time for him. He hasn’t been back to the palace in more than twenty years. He’s really meeting you for the first time as brothers. Did you even know you were related when you were kids?”
Osman shook his head, Zadir shrugged, and Amahd let out a long sigh before speaking. “No one said anything to us. Probably not to each other, either. Father was an intimidating man.”
“Gibran knew, though,” said Osman, after a long pause. “His mother must have told him.”
“I bet she took a lot of flak for being a single mom in such a traditional culture,” said Samantha.
“I’m sure she did.” Osman cracked his knuckles. “When she gave birth we were told some story about a husband killed in war. We were too dumb to realize there wasn’t a war going on back then.”
“Poor woman. Still, Gibran has provided a nice life for her now,” said Samantha. “The house he built her sounds lovely. Maybe we should all go visit and pay our respects?”
“I suspect that would scare the life out of her,” said Osman. “But I’ll bear it in mind.”
“You must be happy to see him again.” Sam frowned. “Are you?”
“I don’t know yet.” Osman stared at the pattern of light cast on the ceiling by a hanging lantern. “They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, and I’m still not sure which one he is.”
“Then why did you show him all of our security systems?” Zadir rose from the sofa where he’d been sitting with his wife, Veronica. He’d been very quiet so far. “Now he knows all our weaknesses and could exploit them.”
“I wanted to let him in. Right into our midst.” Osman stretched the tense muscles of his neck and back. “So he can reveal himself, one way or the other.”
From the deep shadows outside the unglazed lattice window, Gibran kept his breathing still and steady. Of course, they were right about him. Spying on them, not sure himself if he was friend or foe. Watching them in this private enclave, Osman and Zadir affectionately entangled with their beautiful wives, living their perfect lives, and looking for a solution to the one problem they hadn’t already solved.
But did they really think he’d take the knowledge they’d shared and use it against them? That hurt. He was a man of honor before all else and never betrayed a trust.
He had no business being here in the bosom of a family that saw him first as a secret shame and now as an imminent threat. He knew he’d never be let fully into their inner circle, and the bitterness at being the outsider would dog him every moment he stayed here. And his rash impulse to kiss the lovely Aliyah had stirred feelings that surprised him into lashing out at her. She didn’t deserve that. He needed to leave—now.
Ducking beneath the cast light of a nearby brazier, he headed for the garden where he’d taken that sweet kiss from Aliyah. No one saw him or heard him as he zigzagged between the date palms and the flowering bushes, footsteps covered by the sound of the fountain. All those blazing torches did him the favor of making each shadow darker in the places where their light didn’t reach.
He’d be gone in the morning, and they’d wonder what happened. He’d call and beg another commitment. And he’d do it from a safe distance where he didn’t feel the painful tug of brotherhood and nationality that surprised and disturbed him.
Growing up in the back passages of the palace’s servants’ quarters, he knew every hidden staircase and secret tunnel. One in particular led right into the palace wall and to the outside. As long as the tunnel hadn’t been filled in or the door barricaded, he could leave the palace without alerting a soul.
The cool night air would speed his hike to Nabattur, and from there he could find a ride to the airport. Experience had taught him to pack for abandonment, so he’d leave his bag behind since there was a guard in the hallway near his room. He couldn’t stand to exchange one more word with these people who’d unearthed a crypt of feelings he thought were dead and buried. He wanted to get the hell out of here before any more unexpected and unwelcome emotions exploded inside him.
He quickened his pace as he rounded the curved stone wall of Aliyah’s quarters. The thought of her lush body in there, turning under the soft sheets, drove him half mad. This whole trip had unmanned him in a way he could never have anticipated, and it would take time and distance to get Aliyah and Ubar out from under his skin.
He altered his route slightly to avoid the sight line of one of the palace’s useless security guards, who stood staring at her window. Irritation flared in his chest that this dolt should feast his eyes on the lovely Aliyah while he banished himself back into exile.
Idiot. You should never have come here. Pride had been his downfall. He couldn’t resist an invitation from the regal “brothers” who’d never even known he existed.
A familiar instinctive prickle along his spine slowed Gibran’s steps. Why was the guard staring directly into the window of Aliyah’s apartment? Was he charged to stand there every night guarding her virtue?
Or was he somehow a danger to it?
He’d learned the hard way never to ignore his gut reaction. Shrinking back against a nearby wall, he watched the guard. Adrenaline flooded his system when the man looked both ways, decided he was alone, and then opened the wooden shutters covering the unglazed window.
Gibran clenched his hands into fi
sts. Curse these windowless buildings where anyone could listen or enter without warning once they were inside the palace walls. He watched with growing alarm as the man hoisted up his robe, tucked his gun into his sash, and climbed through the window.
In a flash Gibran snuck under the window himself. A peek over the sill revealed the intruder creeping across the floor toward the curtained bed. With practiced skill, Gibran exploded through the window and tackled the guard before he had a chance to figure out what was happening. Within seconds the man lay pinned face down on the floor, immobilized beneath Gibran with his hands pulled tightly behind his back.
A shriek sliced straight to his heart, and he glanced up to see a child’s face staring at him from the bed, eyes round with terror.
CHAPTER FOUR
Gibran hesitated. The child was more likely to trust the familiar guard than a strange man.
“Help!” cried the guard, who probably had the same revelation.
“Go get your mother,” he said, softly as he could. “Tell her someone broke in.”
“You’re the intruder.” The man writhed under him.
“Shut it,” Gibran growled. He didn’t want the whole palace rushing in here until he figured out what this clown was up to. He pulled his arms a little harder, until the man stiffened with pain. “What are you doing in this room?” he asked in the local dialect.
“Checking on the children,” rasped the man.
Gibran looked down at his captive. “You’re a lying sack of dung. Were you hoping to climb into Princess Aliyah’s bed?” One of the children began to sob. Tact was never his strong suit.
“Never!”
“What’s going on in here?” Aliyah’s voice trembled with terror as she rushed to her children. Her legitimate fear only stirred Gibran’s rage.
He tightened his grip on the guard and crushed his face against the hard stone floor with one knee. “Where I learned my trade, we were taught to kill first and ask questions later. Do you wish to die today?”
Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6 Page 48