by Pippa Roscoe
‘My father was cremated,’ she said, her eyes ahead on the horizon, but clearly seeing some distant past. ‘His ashes were scattered in the Solent but Mum wanted me to have somewhere that I could go to, that I could visit if I wanted to. Somewhere just for me and him. She saved a little bit of his ashes for me, so that when I was old enough I could decide where that would be. I...’ She trailed off, as if searching for the words. ‘It was hard to decide. I didn’t know him, I could barely remember him and I felt this...pressure to get it right, like I was being tested somehow on some instinctive connection I should have with the father I had never known.
‘And then I realised that it wasn’t about him, or Mum, or what people expected. This was for me.’ She pressed a hand against her heart and his palm itched as if he felt the beat of her heart there. ‘There’s a forest near to where we live, and I spent days searching for the oldest tree. It’s this beautiful old gnarled oak that’s been there for hundreds of years. Mum, Skye and Summer came with me and we lit candles and I buried the little vial of ash in its roots so that he’d always be a part of the wood we both loved so much.’
Khalif remembered that she’d said her father was a carpenter and thought that it was perfect. It must have been a beautiful moment for her. For them. And he was struck by a spark of jealousy. Jealous of the privacy and intimacy of the moment.
‘It’s not that easy,’ he said, his voice shockingly hoarse.
‘Easy?’ she asked, the tone to her voice making him realise how that had come out.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that this memorial is not just for me, my nieces, my family, my country, but Samira’s family, her country... It’s...’
‘Big.’
‘Yes.’
She nodded. ‘So all the more reason to find the one that feels right?’
He looked at her for a second longer than he needed to, causing the arousal he felt to sneak beneath his defences and grip him low and hard.
‘So, tell me about this family residence,’ she said, breaking the moment, a brightness to her tone that hadn’t been there moments before. And if it felt just a little forced, he could understand why.
He sighed and cast his mind back through the family history and legends of the old fortress. ‘It’s been there almost as long, if not longer than the city. It was originally a fortress between our land and the neighbouring countries, but it hasn’t been used by the military since the fourteenth century. It was barely even used in the last few hundred years, but my father liked it and started to hold family gatherings there, especially since his friendship with His Majesty Sheikh Abbad.’
‘Your sister-in-law’s father? His country borders yours?’
‘Yes. But, before my father, it was mainly known for being used for...’
He trailed off, as if not wanting to finish the sentence.
‘For what?’ she prodded.
‘For the Sheikh’s mistresses.’
‘How fitting,’ she replied drily.
‘You are not a mistress,’ he announced.
‘No, I suppose being a mistress would require more than one night.’
Silence filled the Jeep as they both descended into a mix of memories and fantasies of what had been and what could be. Star wanted to bite her tongue and Khalif clenched the steering wheel.
They rounded the curve of a road that would have been invisible if he hadn’t known where to look, and his pulse started to beat a little harder just as Star gasped in astonishment at the incredible medieval structure that was more beautiful to him than the city palace. The ochre stonework stood proudly against the bright blue sky, beside the rich forest-green slash of the palace gardens.
Despite its military exterior, inside smooth functionality gave way to intricate and ornate carved stone and corridors with rooms that opened up like Russian dolls, and mentally Khalif traced a path towards quarters almost as familiar to him as his own.
‘Star, before we get to the residence—’
‘That’s not a residence, Kal. That’s a palace.’
‘Yes. Sorry, were you expecting—’
‘Something smaller, perhaps? As implied by the word residence,’ she teased. ‘Sorry, you were saying...’
Khalif’s stomach tightened, hating himself already for what he was about to say. ‘Because of the situation, because we can’t risk any word getting out, I have to request that you stay in your room for one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening.’ She stared at him, those oceanic-blue eyes levelling him with their eerie calm. ‘It is so that the staff can get what they need to do done, without seeing you. It’s safer for you and them. No matter what happens, I don’t want any hint of impropriety linked to either of our futures, no matter what they are.’
‘Okay.’
‘If you need anything at all, you can just leave a note in your room and they will provide it for you.’
‘Okay,’ she said again, forcing the word to her lips. Because the sharp sting of rejection was too familiar. Too tainted already with the feelings of shame and being unwanted. And right then she promised herself that if she was pregnant, her child would never feel the hurt of that.
* * *
He hadn’t missed how quiet she’d been since his declaration. Yes, he trusted his staff implicitly and yes, they were all discreet. But he would never put them in a position that would leave them open to questions from the press, or worse—his father. It was vital that he kept them and Star apart. She would understand. One day.
He had shown her the gardens first because they truly were breathtaking. Thanks to the aquifer that fed both the nearby oasis and the palace, there was enough water for the lush greenery that filled the palace gardens and to allow the natural life in the surrounding areas to thrive.
It seemed to have a similar effect on Star as a rosy blush was brought back to features turned stark by the restrictions he had placed on her. He would have wanted to show her more, but he needed to get Star settled so that he could call his father and explain his sudden departure. He drew her back towards the interior of the palace the family affectionately called Alhafa, escaping the searing heat of the desert sun the moment they passed through the doors. The thick outer walls of the palace, deep corridors and open courtyards worked to keep the internal temperature cool and manageable.
‘This entire wing has the family suites,’ he explained as he led her down the left-hand side of the palace.
‘I don’t want to take someone’s room,’ Star announced. It might have been the first thing she’d said since they’d left the Jeep.
‘It’s just us here.’
She nodded, keeping her head down.
‘Thankfully, my father listened to my mother and had the suites fitted with en suite bathrooms when my nieces were born. She refused to have her granddaughters spending time in a military fortress with no decent plumbing.’
As he’d hoped, it drew a gentle laugh from Star and the sound tripped down his back.
‘It didn’t matter for you and your brother?’
‘We were boys. It was different. It was good to toughen us up a little.’
Star looked towards a corridor shrouded in darkness. ‘What’s down there?’
‘Nothing,’ he said as icy fingers gripped his heart.
‘But—’
‘That area is off-limits.’
She turned back without a word and continued in the direction they’d been heading. His gaze was glued to her back because if he looked anywhere else he was terrified of the ghosts he’d see.
By the time they reached the room he’d had prepared for her, Khalif wanted to leave. To return to Burami. He should never have brought her here, where around every corner was a memory of his brother, of Samira. This was where he had first met her...and where he had last seen her. This was where he struggled the most to fit his fee
lings into a box called grief.
But it was the only place where he and Star would not be seen. And no one could find out about this. If she was pregnant, they’d deal with how and when the news of their engagement was delivered. If not...then they would go their separate ways and never see each other again.
No royal marries for love.
The words echoed in his mind as he watched her take in the room that would be hers for the next ten nights. She went straight to the balcony. The wooden screens had been pulled back to reveal the majesty of the desert. The bed was freshly made, the scent of jasmine hanging on the air from the beautiful blooms of fresh flowers in vases he’d not seen before. Her fingers trailed over her small suitcase as if in surprise and she turned to him, her hair swept over one shoulder, making him long to touch it.
‘Your fairies have been at work.’
‘I’m not sure how the staff would feel to be called that.’
‘Well, they’re invisible and do your bidding and don’t you dare say you don’t believe in fairies,’ she warned, a slight tease to a tone that must cast spells over the children she taught.
‘So that would make me Peter Pan?’ he asked.
‘And me Wendy,’ she said, the teasing gone.
And suddenly he couldn’t explain it, but his heart hurt at the thought of her returning home while he stayed in Neverland.
They both started when the sound of his phone cut through the moment.
‘You can go anywhere you like—apart from that wing. I’ll meet you here at seven and we can go for dinner.’
‘Oh, taking me to the best restaurant in town?’ she joked, as if his father’s call wasn’t important.
‘It’s the place to be,’ he assured her with a quirk of his lips. And as he closed the door behind him, his smile flattened into a grim line and he flexed his hand from fist to open three times before retrieving the phone from his pocket.
This was not going to be fun.
* * *
Two hours later and the tension that had built across his shoulders and up his neck was as solid as concrete. The conversation with his father had gone about as well as any interaction they’d had in the last three years—terribly.
Have you forgotten your promise to Nadya and Nayla? You were supposed to spend the evening with them.
He had. He’d completely forgotten—but he couldn’t reveal to his father why. Bitterly disappointed in himself, guilt and grief swirling thickly in his stomach, he promised his father he’d make it up to them.
But the words were over-familiar to them both. They had been a constant refrain in the weeks, months and first few years following his brother’s death. Khalif had returned to Duratra and, even before the earth had settled on the coffins of his brother and sister-in-law, he had thrown himself into his duty. He’d sat up for nearly three straight nights, consuming every single piece of information needed. He’d made state calls, international calls, presenting himself as the first in line to the Duratrian throne. He’d handed over the running of an internationally successful business, stopped drinking, womanising, misbehaving and he’d worked. Hard. But he’d also hidden in that work. Hidden from his father, from his mother and most especially from Nadya and Nayla, who had been distraught not only at the loss of their parents, but also their uncle.
He couldn’t face them. Any of them. It hurt too much. To see his own grief reflected in their eyes. He hadn’t found solace with them, he’d found judgement, he’d found himself wanting.
Raza had intervened. They’d argued and fought until both were a little beaten and bruised, but Khalif had seen the truth of it. In the last year he’d been better, but he knew deep down he’d just been going through the motions.
Until a woman standing before a painting, with flame red hair, had caught his eye.
He almost growled as he stalked along the hallway towards the steam room in the lower level of the palace. His towel low on his hips and his bare feet slapping against the cool stone, diminishing some of the ire-fuelled heat that sparked across his skin.
He’d wanted one night. Just one. With a beautiful woman who made the weight of the crown lighter because it had been invisible to her. He’d wanted the taste of freedom she was unaware she had...and instead he’d quite possibly bound her to him for ever. Trapped her.
He banged the meaty side of his fist against the stone wall as he rounded the corner, welcoming the wet heat that was reaching out to him from the room beyond. He sent a prayer of thanks that Masoud knew him well enough to ensure the steam room was ready for his stay.
He pushed through the door and was hit by a bank of wet white air. He breathed in deeply, welcoming the mandarin and bergamot scented steam into his body, willing the heat to soak into his skin and relieve the stresses of an almost diabolical day.
He grounded himself, mentally drawing power up from deep beneath the ground, letting it fill his feet, his calf muscles, the base of his spine and up his back. He rolled out his powerful shoulders and flexed his neck from side to side. He just needed a moment. One to himself. He inhaled deeply again when he felt something brush past him.
Adrenaline and shock sliced through him as he reached out his hand and his fingers curled around a slender bicep.
‘Star?’ he asked, surprised and confused.
‘Yes. It’s me.’ She sounded almost guilty. ‘I don’t want to intrude.’
He willed his heart to recover from the surprise of there being someone else in here, but his pulse didn’t slow. Instead, his sight blocked by the steam, his other senses were heightened. He registered the silky sheen to her skin, his thumb smoothing away a drop of moisture, and found himself pulling her towards him. As he drew her closer and closer, she came through the thick vapour into soft focus. His eyes dropped to her chest, straining against a white towel pulled tight beneath her arms, rising and falling with the quickening of her breath and making him want to lose himself in the exquisite pleasure of her all over again and damn the consequences.
With one hand still wrapped around her slender bicep, he raised the other to cup her jaw. She leaned into his touch as if she craved it as much as he did. His thumb traced down her neck and tripped over a gold chain. He followed the loops of precious metal to the pendant that lay beneath her collarbone and stopped.
He took the pendant in his hand, holding it up to his inspection and clenched it in his palm, rocked by fury, shock and a grief as swift and as powerful as the harshest of desert storms.
‘Where the hell did you get this?’ he demanded.
CHAPTER SIX
THE MOMENT STAR winced as the necklace pulled against her skin, Khalif dropped his hold on the pendant and stepped away from her as if he’d been burned.
‘It’s mine,’ she said past the pulse pounding in her throat.
‘I don’t believe you.’
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted.
‘You recognise it?’ she asked, shocked. While she had known that Hātem had kept the other necklace, she had never imagined that Khalif would be familiar with it.
‘That necklace belongs to my family and has been with my family for over one hundred and fifty years,’ he all but growled.
Despite his obvious anger, Star’s heart soared. If Khalif recognised it, he knew it. And if he knew it, then perhaps she finally could hope to retrieve it.
‘Not this one. Your family have protected its sister necklace, but this one has been with my family for over one hundred and fifty years.’
He frowned, searching first her face and then the pendant as if it could reveal the truth of her words. He reached for the pendant again, but drew his hand back, a guilty red slash across his cheekbones.
Star held the pendant between them for him to inspect.
‘There’s a slight difference,’ he said, turning the embellished gold design from side to side. ‘As if it’s the e
xact opposite.’ There was something like wonder in his voice, until something dawned on him. ‘I thought it was just a story,’ he said, his eyes gazing over her shoulder on some distant memory.
Star placed her hand over his and brought the necklace back to her. ‘I think we have much to talk about,’ she said.
‘Starting with why you came to Duratra.’ His eyes were now firmly fixed on her, assessing her with an almost hostile gleam.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head.
‘We should both be fully dressed for this conversation.’
* * *
All trace of the heavy sensuality that had built between them was now gone and in its wake was the horrible feeling that perhaps Star had an ulterior motive for being in Duratra. Perhaps even there had been some kind of plan behind their night together, a seduction maybe? But as Khalif gestured for her to leave the steam room before him, he knew that this was nothing more than paranoia and confusion.
It was simply the shock of seeing the necklace for the first time in three years. In line with their family’s tradition, Samira had inherited the necklace on her marriage to Faizan. It had been on her that he’d last seen it. And where once dark skin had embraced and heated the gold, Star’s pale skin and red hair brought the gold to life.
Star cast a look at him before she turned down the corridor that would take her to her room. He could barely look at her, the delicate shoulders, the trailing streams of red hair, the way that the thick white towel wrapped around her slender frame made her look vulnerable now. He pulled his gaze from her before he could once again catch sight of the necklace.
He had never wanted a drink more. But he hadn’t touched a drop since Faizan died and he wasn’t planning to start now. The last time he’d given into temptation...
* * *
Star had taken a quick shower, scrubbing the slick citrus-scented steam from her body as if it could rid her of both her unwanted desire for a man she might never again have and the discomfort she felt every time he saw the necklace.