Hajar's Hidden Legacy

by Maisey Yates

  She blew out a breath. The celebration was tomorrow. She had no idea what Zahir was thinking, how he was feeling. She hadn’t realized, when Rafiq had said the square, just what he’d meant. Not right away. And then, listening to talk between the staff, she’d figured it out.

  That they would be taking a car right through the part of Kadim where the attack had occurred. That made this more than a showing of love for his people, but a showing of strength. To show that they were not defeated by that tragedy.

  She was certain that for Zahir, it was torment.

  “He isn’t going to come to you and share his feelings,” she said into her empty room.

  No. If there was going to be any feeling sharing done, she was going to be the one doing it.

  She stood from the bed at the same time the door to her room opened. There was Zahir, shirt unbuttoned, hair out of order, his feet bare. “Katharine, tomorrow … I have to be strong tomorrow.”

  “You will be.” Her throat tightened.

  “If I am not?”

  “I have never seen you be anything less. You have been asked to endure too much in your life.”

  “But it has been asked of me, so I must go on. And I must do this.”

  She stepped to him, put her hand on his face, over his scars. She moved her fingers over the parts of his skin that were most affected, the corner of his lip that was tugged down by thick, healed tissue.

  Her heart was in her throat, threatening to bring on a monsoon of tears that might never stop. “You will do this, because you are the man who was meant to be here. You are the man who was called to this.” She closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his ravaged cheek.

  She felt him shudder beneath her mouth and she kissed him again, at the corner of his lips, his jaw, his rough neck.

  “Don’t, Katharine.”

  She raised her head. “Don’t you want me?”

  He huffed out a laugh, a tortured sound that twisted her heart, made it feel as though someone had wrung all the blood from it. “How can you want me?”

  “Why? Because I’m beautiful? My father sees that as my one credit. He was certain you would marry me because of my beauty. Now, you tell me, is that a credit? Should I feel superior in some way because I was born with good looks? I don’t.”

  “I was born with them, too,” he said.

  “You still are, you know. Sexy.” She put her hand on his chest, pushed his open shirt from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

  He pulled away from her.

  “You are,” she said. “Looking at you … it makes me tremble inside. And it’s not fear. It’s … electric. It’s … desire. Need. So deep that I feel like I’ll never reach the bottom of it.”

  She put her hand on his chest again, more firmly this time. Zahir was tempted to pull away again in part. But he wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t deny the need that coursed through him.

  He took hold of her wrist and pulled her into his body, capturing her mouth with his, the groan that rumbled in his chest speaking of ecstasy and agony.

  Because that’s what it was. This driving, intense need for her. It was the greatest pleasure and deepest pain. It forced his heart and soul from behind the protective stone wall that had been forged around them. He felt exposed, and raw. Bleeding. And yet simply too desperate for a taste of her to turn away.

  He had to leave the stone walls behind. It was a double-edged sword. If he remained protected, he wouldn’t have the pain, but he wouldn’t have the full force of pleasure, either. And he burned to experience the pleasure. He couldn’t worry about what might happen.

  He kissed her with all the desperation of a man who had just found water in the midst of a desert. He was that man. In so many ways, he was that man. He had wandered for years, feeling nothing, thinking he had no need of anything. That he was beyond help.

  Until he stumbled upon an oasis. Katharine. His oasis. His hope.

  “I need you,” he said roughly. He had never spoken words that held more truth.

  “I need you, too,” she said.

  He couldn’t fathom it was so. She meant sexually, perhaps. But his words had pertained to something much deeper. Something he couldn’t name or understand.

  He tugged at the zipper of her dress, but it only moved a fraction of an inch. He tugged again and it remained stubborn. With a feral growl, he gripped the fabric on either side of the zipper and tugged it opposite ways, forcing it open, tearing the fabric in the process.

  He let the dress fall to the ground, his body tightening painfully when he saw what was beneath. No bra, and only the tiniest pair of silken panties. Her nipples were pert, ripe, perfect.

  He put his hand on her back and pulled her to him, lowering his head so that his lips hovered over one of the rosy peaks. “It seems you bring the Beast out in me,” he said, drawing the tip of his tongue around the tightened bud.

  She gasped and arched her back, pressing her breast closer to his mouth. “I’m not complaining,” she said. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

  “A deal.” He drew her nipple into his mouth and reveled in the raw sound that escaped her lips. “So long as you hold nothing back from me.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t.”

  “Lie down on the bed.” She complied, backing up to the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving his. He walked over to the far wall and flicked the lights off.

  “No,” she said. “Lights on.”

  He hesitated for a moment before switching them back on.

  She smiled like a very well-satisfied cat who knew she’d got her way. “Better,” she practically purred.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and slid her panties down her legs. And now he was very glad he’d left the lights on. He pushed his pants and underwear to the floor and made a move to the bed.

  “Wait,” she said. Her skin was flushed, the color spreading from her full breasts up into her cheeks. “I just want to look at you.”

  He could only look at her, at her perfect body, his heart thundering in his chest, an answering pulse beating in his rock-hard erection.

  She pushed back so that she was lying on the bed, reclining against the massive amounts of pillows that were placed against the headboard, her eyes still locked on his. When her hand moved between her thighs his heart nearly stopped.

  She bit her lip, a small sound escaping her mouth. “Just looking at you, Zahir … it’s enough to …” She drew in a sharp breath.

  Reflexively, his hand moved to his shaft, squeezing himself, trying to get to do something to quell the heavy ache that was taking over his body.

  “That’s even better,” she said.

  He watched, held captive, as she moved her fingers over her own body, her eyes never leaving him. She was breathing heavy, her nipples tight, her stomach expanding and contracting sharply with each breath.

  She raised a hand to cup her breast and his heart nearly stopped before roaring on at twice its normal rate.

  He squeezed himself again, this time in an effort to slow things down, to keep himself from ending things before he even got to touch her, as she was touching herself.

  “Are you going to come over here?” she asked, her voice breathless, speaking of her arousal.

  “You don’t have to ask twice.” He moved quickly to the bed, placing his hand over hers, on her breast and at the apex of her thighs.

  She smiled and removed her hands, letting him pick up where she’d left off. He took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and tugged slightly, finding his reward in her tiny gasp.

  He moved his fingers between her delicate feminine folds, finding them slick with her arousal. He moved his hand over her there, in time with his movements on her breast.

  She gripped his forearm, her head falling back, the flush in her skin deepening. Not embarrassment, like he’d originally assumed. From desire.

  “Zahir, now. Please.”

  He changed positions so that he was on his knees befo
re her and hooked her thigh over his hip, thrusting into her as he pulled her against him. His growl of pleasure was met with an emphatic sound from Katharine. She rocked against him, knowing the right rhythm to please them both.

  He flexed his hips and took himself deep and she arched back into the motion, gripping his forearms. He held on to her tight bottom, holding her steady, making sure every thrust counted.

  He felt her internal muscles tightening and releasing around him, knew she was ready to go over the summit, and he felt an answering wave of sensation wash through his body. He quickened his pace.

  He looked down at her, her lips parted slightly, her eyes clouded with pleasure, watching him, looking at him with such … trust.

  His heart seized tight along with the rest of his body and as his orgasm crashed through him he felt his heart open up, spilling emotion into his chest as he lost himself in her.

  It was as though everything—ecstasy, despair, darkness and light—had all descended on him at once. Crowding in on him. Threatening to overwhelm him.

  So he looked at her face and rode out the storm with her, not looking away until the fire in him had ebbed to a slow burn.

  Even in the aftermath, he kept one hand on her cheek, her cool, smooth skin his anchor. Because everything else in him had changed in a monumental way. And he didn’t know what it meant. If it meant anything.

  The only certain thing was that tonight he was sleeping with Katharine in his arms. Where she belonged.

  Where he belonged.

  He smoothed her hair back, kissing her forehead. “It is true that you are beautiful,” he said softly. “But it is not your beauty I need. It is you.”

  He opened his eyes again when the morning light was shining through the windows. He had slept. And he remembered nothing of it. No images. No dreams. Nothing but sleep.

  He looked at Katharine, curled up next to him. Last night had been … he didn’t know. But something had changed.

  Today was the wedding celebration. And he wasn’t filled with dread. He felt new. He didn’t feel the old claws digging into his back, reminding him that he might fail. He would succeed. He would do it for Hajar. For Katharine.

  He just would.

  Today, failure was not an option. And he suddenly realized that hiding in his palace, avoiding failure, too afraid to face the unknown, had been failure in its own right. He hadn’t seen it that way, and now it was so clear he couldn’t understand how he’d missed it.

  He wanted to wake Katharine up. Just to tell her. Because only she would understand. He touched her shoulder and she shuddered beneath his hand.

  “Zahir,” she whispered. “No!” She rolled over and sat up, her breath coming in deep, gasping sobs, her frame shaking.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, putting one hand on each of her shoulders, bracing her.

  “I’m … oh … I had a horrible dream. Like you said. All the people … darkness. It was …” She put her hand on her chest, her fingers trembling. “You’re safe, though.” She swallowed. “That’s good.”

  He took his hands off her. Guilt tugged at him, twisted his stomach into a knot. What had he done to her? What had he put inside her head? He had slept, and she had endured his torment.

  He swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat.

  “Get dressed. We have a long day ahead of us.” He looked at her face, her lovely green eyes, always so expressive, clouded by fear.

  He tightened his hands into fists and stepped away from the bed, reaching down to collect his pants from the floor. “I’ll see you later,” he said.

  She nodded, drawing the sheet up to her chest. He turned and left her there, his heart raw and wounded in his chest.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “DON’T worry, I put on lots of sunscreen.”

  Zahir turned and saw Katharine walk into the palace entryway. One pale shoulder was revealed in its entirety, the other covered with a gauzy swath of beaded fabric in a deep green that complemented her ivory skin and pale, strawberry hair.

  Her arms had been inked with pale, rust-colored henna, her hands and palms too, decorated with winding vines and flowers, traditional for a Hajari bride. It looked so exotic on her, even to him. Even when he had seen it done on many women before her, on her it seemed unique, special.

  “I hope you did,” he said. With her arms and shoulders on display she would need protection against the hot sun. “I hope you had it on that day at the Oasis.”

  She blushed slightly and, for a moment, he was amused that she could still blush. “I did. If I hadn’t, you would have known, because I would have resembled a radish by day’s end.”

  He looked at her for a moment, awed by her effortless beauty. She might not imagine it to be a great asset, but he was certainly captivated by it. Although, that was not everything.

  “You are beautiful, Katharine. But it wasn’t your beauty that made me say yes to the marriage. It was your argument. The fact that you knew what you wanted, what you needed, and set out to get it. I respect that.”

  Katharine felt tears building in her eyes. She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  “It is the truth.” He shrugged and turned away, his manner stiff.

  He’d been acting strangely since that morning. But then, the last time they’d made love there had been no morning after at all, so this, at least, was better than days of nothing.

  “Well, I appreciate hearing it.” She studied his profile, the straight set of his shoulders. “You’re okay.” It wasn’t really a question. She could see that he was.

  “This is a celebration.” He turned to face her, the cold light in his dark eyes making her stomach tighten. “Let’s go celebrate.”

  The limo drove up through the crowded center of the square. The crowd of people was firmly behind the barricades, and security was out in the front and back of the car. Everything was safe and secure. Still, Katharine watched Zahir for signs of tension, her heart racing, her palms damp with sweat brought on by intense nerves.

  Nothing could be more terrifying for him than this. Nothing would ask more of him. And every fiber of her being was rooting for him. Because he could do it. He was the strongest man she’d ever known.

  “What happens now?” she asked as the limo eased into a vacant spot behind a massive stage area that had been set up near the back of the square.

  “I’m giving a speech.”

  “In front of everyone?”

  He offered a halfhearted grin. “The hazards of political living.”

  “And you’re doing it now. Living politically, I mean.”

  “It’s what I’m meant to do.”

  Her throat tightened and she offered him a smile, the best she could manage with tears threatening to form. She nodded. Because there was nothing she could say. She was too filled with pride, overwhelming emotion, to speak.

  The driver came around to the side of the car and opened the door and Zahir slid out then turned, extending his hand to her. “Come with me?”

  She took his hand and allowed him to help her from the car. She squeezed his hand, and he led her up to the stage. The roar of the crowd was like a hive of bees on a grand scale, and it made Katharine feel dizzy. Celebrating in Hajar was louder than it was in Austrich. She liked it. So much unrestrained joy, and all directed at Zahir.

  “You go,” she said, when they got to the foot of the stairs.

  He looked at her and released her hand, continuing to the stage on his own. Katharine watched, everything in her feeling tight, making it hard to breathe.

  As soon as Zahir ascended to the podium, the crowd went silent, all eyes trained upon the Beast of Hajar.

  Zahir spoke in Arabic, and Katharine called on all that she’d learned of his language, both during her engagement to Malik and her stay with Zahir.

  “For too long, there has been a dark cloud over our country. Some might say, I was the dark cloud. But it is no more. We are a strong country, a strong people. We all lost much on that da
y, when our liberty, our happiness, was attacked. But we have emerged stronger. Yes, we have wounds to show for it.” A small cheer erupted at that and Zahir pressed on. “But we are stronger for them. And we will move into the future, never forgetting those who were lost, but never forgetting to live. For we have been given a gift. We live on. And the important thing now is what we do with that life. That is something I learned from your new Sheikha, my wife, Katharine Rauch.”

  Katharine was wiping tears from her cheeks when Zahir gestured for her to come up onto the stage with him. She blinked and tried to swallow the aching lump in her throat as she ascended the stairs, waving at the crowd of cheering people. Her people.

  Zahir took her hand in a display of solidarity and the crowd grew louder. And Zahir stood strong. A man ready to rule his people in a new way.

  He had walked up onto that stage as the Beast and he was leaving their king.

  The entire vibe of the Hajari wedding festival was different from the pomp and circumstance that their Austrichan ceremony had possessed.

  She had really enjoyed the spa-style preparations. A bath with scented, spiced oils and floating jasmine blossoms, hot wax on her hands and feet to make them soft. And then the women had spent hours working on the detailed henna artwork that decorated her arms and hands.

  They were gorgeous, but her favorite designs were the ones they had added to her feet, spiraling up her legs. For the Sheikh, one of the women had said with a very knowing smile.

  Katharine had a feeling the Sheikh would like very much.

  The buffet was being served, more food than Katharine had ever seen, and people were eating and laughing. So many people had come. It was a healing for the nation, and for the nation’s ruler.

  And her heart felt like it would burst with happiness.

  Entertainers came and performed for them. A band and a belly dancer. The woman was like a siren, long dark hair swirling over her barely covered breasts, her hips moving in sensual time with the music. It was almost as though she was directing the band. As though her body commanded them.