“Why? All I want is to be near Kalem.”
“And all I want is to possess your body, just as I wanted to then.”
Evie stared at him, torn in two by shock and pleasure.
“We agreed last night, we can’t talk like that,” she said finally, when she was capable of forming the words.
“Why not? Does that compassion you feel for our nephew not extend to me? Do you not want to comfort me? Your husband obviously has no desire to comfort you.”
Oh, how those words bubbled through her, filling her with a sense of just how they could both forget their pain. How easy it would have been to surrender to the desire and attraction that gnawed through her gut. The seeds of lust he’d planted easily years earlier had only grown and grown over time.
“Forget I said that,” he growled angrily.
Easier said than done! Evie was breathless. She spun away from him, her pulse firing angrily through her body.
“I’m not leaving Kalem.”
“And I said I will think about this,” Malakhi responded sharply. “But you should remember that we are not equals. What I say is literally law. Treat it as such.”
She whirled around, her face furious.
“Go.” He forestalled her response. “Before I change my mind and have you sent away on the next flight.”
* * *
The day was waning. Soon, it would be dusk. That magical compromise between day and night, where the secrets of one gave freely to the other. Malakhi kicked back in his seat, his powerful legs extended in front of him as his eyes chased the last rays of the sun glimmering over the buildings in the distance.
He had servants who could have sorted through the funeral correspondence for him, flagging only the most important or personal for his attention. But there was a sadistic pleasure that came from attending to it himself. A macabre way of extending the funeral process which, in an odd way, made him somehow closer to his sister.
He fingered an envelope thoughtfully, his mind in the past. Years earlier, when Sabra had been a teenager and had first encountered David Adams. It had all happened so fast. They’d buried their father and Malakhi had been learning what it felt like to rule a country and a people. His sister, always so close to him, had slipped away and he hadn’t noticed.
He shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips as he remembered their first and only argument. It had been so devastating to both to quarrel that they had agreed never to do so again. It had been a fierce disagreement: her determination to leave Ishala and live with this swarthy Australian man despite her long-standing betrothal to a high-ranking military officer.
How she had dug her heels in and told him, in no uncertain terms, that she would never think of him again if he did not allow her to move away.
What choice did he have? Her happiness had become oddly important to him: for he had realised that night that it was not guaranteed. Her happiness was contingent on someone else, someone other than him, and all Malakhi could do was rubber stamp the union.
Of course he had done so.
If he’d stood firmer, would she still be alive? Or would the cruel twist of fate that brought their helicopter down over the Muthdėr dunes to the East have happened sooner? If he’d held his ground and insisted on her going through with the marriage their parents had, in Sabra’s infancy, arranged for her, he would certainly have never met Evelyn.
He groaned and turned his focus on the letter in hand. One more.
Perhaps he’d call Leilani and pick up where they’d been forced to leave off a couple of nights earlier. Though the thought offered little interest to him in that moment.
He slit the side of the envelope with a bejewelled blade and slid the letter from its sheath.
From the desk of Nicholas Manning.
Malakhi was very still suddenly. The guy didn’t so much as show his face by his wife’s side, but he’d sent a letter? He shook his head with angry disapproval but continued to read.
His Royal Highness Malakhi Al-Sitar,
My wife and I send our deepest condolences on the occasion of your loss. Sabra and David were beautiful people. We are all better for having known them and poorer for their loss.
With sincere condolences,
NM.
CHAPTER TWO
At dusk, the sky above Ishala seemed to throb with the weight of gold and glitter. Shades of peach and purple swirled together, sparkling knowingly at the people of this ancient land. Evie breathed in the magic, wondering if it was strong enough to fill the sadness that had coated her organs in misery and grief. If anywhere in the world was capable of helping, surely it was here, high above the sea, in the middle of an ancient city, surrounded by thousands of years of love and loss.
It had been days since she’d taken part in a fiery debate with the ruler of this land. Days in which she had begun to hope against hope that this was her new home. After all, how could she leave Kalem to that cold, heartless man?
A shiver ran down her spine.
Malakhi was cold and heartless; he was ruthless and a control-freak.
But he was also passionate and fiery, heat and flame.
Memories of that scorching kiss and almost-irresistible temptation flared through her, sending her pulse into overdrive. He had kissed her as she’d imagined he would make love. His tongue had clashed with hers, his hands had pulled through her hair, his firm, strong body had pressed to hers, making her ache for more, more, more. Until sanity had intervened and Evie had pulled away, her lips swollen, her body weak.
She had never told anyone about the kiss. What would the point have been in alerting Sabra? As for Dave, how he would have laughed at her stupidity and naivety in sparring with the ruler of this land?
Sweat trickled down Evie’s spine, pooling in the small of her back. Her nose had little beads of perspiration across it and she stared longingly at the ocean. What it would feel like to step into its shallows so that the gentle waves could caress her feverish skin?
“Na, na,” Kalem’s little fist pointed through the air and she drew her gaze down to her nephew. His sweet earnest face wasn’t sweaty like hers. Though he’d been raised in Australia, he seemed to have effortlessly adjusted to this foreign land.
It was in his blood, she supposed. His cell memory and DNA. He was very like his uncle, with his thick hair that was curling around his nape and enormous eyes so dark they were almost black. But his smile was Dave’s, and it was hers. Impish, with little dimples in his cheeks that showed mischief making to be afoot.
She followed the line of his finger, towards a pot plant in the corner of the terrace. It was filled with flowers Evie had never seen before. Round, white heads that, as she drew nearer, were made up of thousands of individual gossamer-like threads. They were beautiful and fragile, yet with a stoicism inherent to their nature. Long stalks waved them high off the soil, and their leaves were gentle and pale. Evie crouched down beside them, marvelling at their beauty.
They were no match though for Kalem’s chief form of inquiry: his determined fist crushed around one before Evie could stop him. He pulled it from the soil and lifted it into the air. His smile showed how greatly he admired the bloom, with no concept of the fact that he had killed it. The beauty in the flower would soon wither and die. Death. It was everywhere she looked.
“Leave the others, darling,” she murmured, stroking his head and pulling his hand away, acting as a shield between his interest and the strange, exotic blooms.
He lifted the round flower to his nose, sniffing it exaggeratedly. His eyes crinkled at the corners as a smile flicked over his lips. The contented expression brought relief to her heart. To see that he was able to feel happiness despite his great loss was a blessing, indeed. How pleased Sabra would have been to know her son was able to continue finding joy in life.
A lump formed in Evie’s throat and she looked away, angling her head to the craggy mountains that formed a natural border to this capital city. To the south, she knew, it was a vastly diff
erent landscape. The river that carried prosperity and livelihood to the northern villages didn’t make it far past the mountain ranges and the earth was dry and brown. Still beautiful, Sabra had stressed, but far more of a desert kingdom than the north, where the ancient shipping routes had brought wealth and power to a small country. The stories of Ishala had travelled far and wide too, and there had been centuries that were almost completely marked by wars. A brief Spanish occupation in the seventeenth century had resulted in the Moorish architecture and a dialect that had been heavily influenced by European language.
Now the mountains were bathed in the duskiness of evening, their harshly angled tops were leaden and seemed to whisper strange secrets into the dawning night.
Far above the terrace, in his private apartment, Malakhi’s gaze didn’t falter. He had been watching his nephew and Evelyn for almost ten minutes. Her petite frame was curled like a conch shell, her feet flat on the ground and her bottom poised inches above it, as her arms were curled around her legs to hold her balanced. She was graceful and neat, but when she’d turned away from Kalem to the El-Asyout ranges he saw the way her face momentarily contorted with dark emotions.
What must it be like to be able to express so freely the weight of one’s heart? To give free reign to whichever feeling tugged most sharply?
A movement to the edge of the terrace caught his eye. He was easily able to recognise the form of one of his most trusted aides. Fayaz had worked for the palace for over a decade, and his father before him.
“Oh,” Evie startled as the man she vaguely remembered from the wedding shifted into her line of sight. “I didn’t realise … I thought we were alone out here.”
“Na!” Kalem pointed towards the servant, his head tilted to one side as he undertook a detailed scrutiny of the invader.
Fayaz smiled kindly. “Hello. My name is Fayaz,” he said in a thick accent that was reminiscent of the Sheikh’s.
“Fayaz?” Evie nodded. “You were a friend of Sab’s.”
He nodded his head to hide the effect her words had on him. “Indeed.” It was a murmured agreement. “I knew her all our lives.”
“She spoke of you,” Evie said softly, standing and wiping her hands on the front of her dark dress.
“That is kind of you to say,” Fayaz acknowledged.
Evie put a hand down and Kalem faithfully added his to her palm. She walked slowly towards Fayaz; Malakhi watched, observing the elegance of her movements. “She said you can count to one hundred in one hundred languages.”
It was such an unexpected statement that he burst out laughing. “I had forgotten about that. We were children.” He shook his head from side to side, a smile still broad on his handsome face. “She dared me and I was never one to shy away from a challenge.”
“That’s quite a challenge.” When Evie smiled she had the same dimples as Kalem; they lit up her face now, changing her face from sophisticated sadness to something else entirely. Malakhi saw it at the same moment as Fayaz; both men appreciated the unique beauty of her features.
“Yes,” he laughed again. “Sabra loved to tease me.”
The pleasure of speaking of Sabra with someone else who had loved her! Evie lifted Kalem up to her hip, holding him close. “She loved to tease everyone,” Evie said with a smile. “I’ve never known someone so good at making you laugh at yourself.”
“For a princess she was a study in kindness,” Fayaz agreed.
“I remember the first time I met her, I thought my brother was kidding. He was very like her,” Evie said softly. “He loved to play practical jokes. I spent the whole night calling Sab ‘Your Highness’, imagining that I was simply playing along in the ruse.”
“When did you find out the truth?”
“When she gifted me a diamond necklace a week later,” Evie said with a shake of her head.
“Ah. Generous to a fault.”
“A little too generous at times,” Evie nodded.
“And this is her little man?”
She linked her fingers with Kalem’s and nodded. “Yes. This is His Tiny Highness.” Her eyes met his with apology. “It’s what we used to call him. Sab, Dave and I.”
Kalem lifted his hand in a pudgy wave, his intelligent eyes searching the man’s face. He lifted a hand and ran a finger along the man’s cheek bone, fascinated by the differences and similarities to his own face.
“I understand you have expressed a desire to remain in Ishala indefinitely?” Fayaz prompted, gesturing with his hand that they should move closer to the intricate wrought iron balustrade of the terrace.
She fell into step beside him, easing Kalem back to the ground once they were at the edge. His hands gripped the railings and he peered through, wondering at this new landscape. Did he remember the steep hills of Brisbane? The way he would call with delight as his pram was pushed down those hills and back up them again? Did he recall reaching his hands out to feel the air in his fingers? How he’d run sticks along the timber fences and pick tropical flowers?
“I’m here as long as Kal is,” she agreed, a hint of iron-like resolve in her voice.
“And are you settling in?” Fayaz side-stepped the apparently prickly response.
Evie nodded. “The heat is unbearable.”
“You get used to it.”
“I don’t know,” she shook her head. “My home is no slouch in the heat stakes. But it’s humid and tropical. This is so dry I feel like my eyes are being scorched out of their sockets.”
He grimaced. “Yes. That’s true. But here we have at least some breeze from the ocean.”
“Not enough.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry to complain. I’m being ornery, I know.”
“Not at all,” he assured her, putting a hand lightly on hers. It was completely inappropriate for Fayaz to touch her. They were not friends. He was a servant and she a guest of the Sheikh. And yet they had both loved and lost a dear friend in Sabra and a closeness seemed to swirl around them through her. Nonetheless, he pulled his hand away so quickly that Evie almost doubted the gesture had taken place. “There have been many changes for you since …”
“The accident,” she supplied when his sentence faded into nothingness.
“The accident,” he agreed. Together they stared out towards the sea, their minds unified in regret and bitterness. For a simple accident had robbed them of their friend, her brother, and Kalem of his parents.
“Did you know there’s a gymnasium with a swimming pool?”
“No,” she shook her head.
Fayaz rested an elbow on the railing so that he could turn to face her fully. “There are several pools in the palace, in fact. While the gymnasium boasts an Olympic length pool there is a diving pool, and a recreational pool that is filled with salt water.”
“I had no idea,” she mumbled, thinking that she’d barely explored beyond the wing of rooms to which she’d been assigned.
“I would be happy to show you how to find them,” Fayaz offered.
Evie nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I feel like a little marble in this huge, huge marble run. Kalem and I have been rattling around these last few days and it’s hard to know how to spend the time.”
“Of course,” he agreed softly. “You are used to working, no?”
She nodded.
“Your life is busy?”
“Yes.”
“And now it is not.”
“That’s exactly it,” she sighed with relief. “Kalem has nannies who leave me with huge swathes of free time and I’ve already read every book in my room.”
“I will speak to His Highness about furnishing you with greater occupation.”
“Oh!” She shook her head and put a hand up to Fayaz’s chest. It was a perfectly natural gesture to someone like Evie who’d been raised to think and act as she felt. But to Fayaz it was a gesture that would be seen as completely inappropriate if an outsider observed it. “Please don’t bother him with this. That’s the last thing I want.”
“He
considers you his guest. He would be displeased to think you are idle and bored.”
“I’m not,” she attempted to backtrack, dropping her hand and squirming her fingers together in front of her. “I’m fine. Really, please, just leave it.”
Fayaz studied her determined profile, then dropped his attention to the little boy. “On one condition,” he said thoughtfully.
“Yes?”
“When next Kalem’s nannies are on duty, I will show you where the swimming pools are.”
Evie nodded gratefully. “That’s a deal.”
* * *
“Madam?”
Evie spun around, a guilty expression on her face despite the fact she had been doing nothing wrong. She had only just got back to her room, having thanked Fayaz for his kindness in offering to help her settle in. She had expected to be left alone for the rest of the night, now.
“Amina.” She smiled, softening instantly. “I’ve been hoping to see you. I wanted to thank you for your help the other night.”
Amina’s eyes dropped. “Of course.”
There was something in her bearing that unsettled Evie. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course, madam.”
“Please, call me Evie.”
Amina shook her head. “That’s not possible. Madam, His Highness has sent for you.”
“Oh?” It was instant. The quickening of her heart, the racing of her pulse, the heat between her legs. She felt desire, unmistakable, lodge inside of her.
“Yes.” Amina nodded. “He is in his office.”
This could mean only one thing: he had made a decision. Having been waiting for the executioner’s axe to drop all day, she was now desperate to know her fate.
“Thank you.” She moved with quick determination but as she passed Amina she paused suddenly, extending a hand to Amina’s. “Did I get you in trouble?”
Amina’s eyes shifted uncomfortably. “Of course not, madam.”
Evie shook her head. “Are you being truthful?”
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