Chapter One
Crown Prince Rafiq thanked the chauffer then climbed the steps of his Belgravia residence, craving solitude.
He could see one of his security officers parked in the street, and even if it was his own people watching he remained solemn and dignified.
Rafiq never let his guard down, even amongst his own.
This visit to London had been filled to the brim with high-stakes meetings—navigating the political whirl, as well as ceremonial duties. And it had not been his usual success, not that he let it show. His features remained impassive until the large black door to his London home was safely closed.
‘La’nat,’ he sighed, leaning on the door.
Damn.
Tomorrow Rafiq would return to Al-Zahir empty-handed. He had arrived on the cusp of securing a landmark cultural exchange to showcase the island’s rare pearls and had intended to have it locked in. But as always, Al-Nawar, the neighbouring land, was proving to be the thorn in delicate negotiations.
All his life Al-Nawar had been the thorn.
Rafiq knew his dark mood had little to do with the poor progress on the cultural exchange though.
It felt as if his life was a succession of anniversaries.
Some were well-known and public facing, like the national day of mourning for Khalid, which would take place just over three months from now.
Others were more private and went unacknowledged.
A few days ago, it had been the anniversary of Khalid’s capture.
Today it was Rafiq’s.
The anniversaries did not end there.
Nine months from now, the people of Al-Zahir would celebrate the anniversary of Rafiq’s miraculous escape…
Rafiq, now surrounded by security and next in line to the throne, felt far from free.
Something alerted him and Rafiq’s grey eyes snapped open. The air was not still as the elder tribal warrior would describe…there was no noise, no scent, nothing to denote an intruder, but his senses sharpened and he stared down the elegant hallway.
There was someone here.
He glanced into the receiving room, but his eyes were more drawn to the stairs, and trusting his own instinct, he headed up to the private areas of the luxurious home.
Expecting an errant maid but prepared for anything, he pushed open the study’s heavy door and saw a woman standing by the window gazing down at the tree-lined street and the embassy cars below.
Princess Yara of Al-Nawar.
‘How did you get in?’ he demanded, his voice low, eyes narrowing at the intrusion, irritation simmering beneath his warrior-trained calm.
She turned, her gold orchid broach catching the light from the chandelier.
‘My security liaised with yours.’
Rafiq hissed in irritation that his security chief had not run this by him. ‘I am going to speak with Salar…’
‘And make him wonder why you don’t want to see me?’ Yara warned. ‘They think they are doing us a favour by sneaking me in.’
‘If word gets out that you are visiting me here our families will have us married within days…’
And that was something neither wanted.
‘True,’ Yara sighed. ‘Still, I had no choice but to take this chance. You do know that the kings are meeting today?’
‘Of course.’ Rafiq nodded, shrugging his coat off and throwing it onto a pale lemon sofa. ‘Hopefully your father is in a listening mood. For this exchange to go ahead Al-Nawar needs to—’
‘I did not come all this way to discuss the cultural exchange,’ Yara sharply interrupted. ‘I risked a meeting because there is something you need to know—I believe my father is going to raise the question of us marrying.’
‘It is not his place to do so,’ Rafiq said, picking up a crystal decanter and pouring a drink.
He held up a glass for Yara, who shook her head, but the motion exposed his scarred wrist, and he saw Yara’s glance and how she hurriedly looked away—unnecessarily guilty for all he had endured.
‘I am the one who calls for marriage—not your father.’
‘The thing is…’ She swallowed nervously. ‘My father…’ she explained, her voice quavering. ‘Oh, I really should not be telling you this…’ She shook her head, baulking at the final hurdle and made to go. ‘You’re right, I should not have risked things by coming here. I’ll leave now…’
‘Yara?’ Rafiq asked. ‘Given what I know, surely you can trust me?’
Closing her eyes briefly, Yara nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘So, what is it you came here to say?’
‘That my father is dying.’ Her breath shuddered before she continued, ‘He has a year, maybe two.’
Now Rafiq understood why she was here. ‘He wants to see us married?’
‘Yes.’
La’nat, la’nat—double damn. His day really wasn’t going well!
He didn’t cuss out loud though, no-one ever glimpsed his true thoughts. ‘Fine.’ He nodded. ‘I shall let my father know that I am calling for you to be…’
‘Rafiq, no.’ Her dark eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I know I said it was what I wanted, but that was a long time ago. I can’t go through with it. The thought of…’
‘Hey…’ Seeing her distress, he lost his stern tone and was kinder, back to the young man he’d been on the day Yara had told him her truth—that her heart did not turn to men. ‘We’ll never sleep together, Yara. We’ve been through all this…’
Admittedly they had been lesser royals when they’d made the pact. The stakes not so high. Now two countries were eagerly awaiting this union.
And growing impatient.
Rafiq had been in his final year at university, since his degree had taken longer as he was often competing, when Yara, aged eighteen and in her first year of study, had asked if they could speak.
She had looked upset and nervous and Rafiq assumed she wanted to discuss her uncle, the despot king.
Instead, she had told him her truth and how scared she was.
Rafiq had come up with an answer to her problem and together they had made a pact: when his father pushed for marriage, Rafiq would call for her to be his bride.
At the age of twenty-one he’d accepted that sooner rather than later he must marry.
Marriage wasn’t about love, not when you were royal, and the edicts were clear.
And as he’d told Yara—they could both take discreet lovers.
As for heirs?
‘Fertility issues.’ Rafiq had smiled.
He had smiled far more readily back then.
‘Not yet though,’ he’d said. ‘I want to focus on my running. You have your…’ He’d frowned. ‘What is it you are studying?’
‘Botany.’
‘Concentrate on your studies and career. We’ll put it off for as long as we can.’
Neither had a clue as to the troubles and dark times ahead.
Yara’s father would overthrow his brother and become the king. Al-Zahir had supported the uprising but had paid dearly. Khalid had been kidnapped and later killed, and for a while it had seemed that Rafiq would share his brother’s fate.
Nine months after his capture, somehow Rafiq had escaped.
With Yara’s father now King of Al-Nawar, the relationships between the two islands had improved. The two kings agreed—Rafiq and Yara’s marriage would serve as a means to further unite the countries and better place the troubled history behind them…
However, Rafiq, now thirty-five, still had not called for marriage and as the years had dragged on, relations between the two countries were becoming a little strained.
‘I don’t think I can go through with it, Rafiq. I just can’t do it to Jasmine.’
Rafiq knew she was in a serious relationship with her handmaiden.
‘I know that I already live a lie,’ Yara continued, ‘but to marry you, to go on royal tours, have babies…’
‘I get it,’ he said. ‘I shan’t call for marriage.’
Rafiq really was in no rush!
‘As if they’re going to accept that.’
‘They can’t force us.’
‘Of course they can. We’ve already kept them waiting long enough and now that my father is dying…’
‘What would you have me do here, Yara?’ He didn’t get what she wanted. ‘You don’t want to marry me, fine. You do want to marry me, that is fine too.’
‘There is another way.’ Yara gulped. ‘I have been giving it a lot of thought.’ Her black eyes met his. ‘What if there was a scandal?’
Rafiq frowned as Yara continued.
‘A scandal so big that all talk of marriage is delayed…’
Yara really had given this a lot of thought; she just hadn’t factored Rafiq or, more importantly, the Al-Zahir people, into her equations.
He gave a shake of his head as he declined her suggestion.
‘Those days are long since over.’ It wasn’t just his race times that had caused a stir at meets.
Rafiq had earned himself quite a reputation, but that had all been before… ‘My people deserve better.’
‘Rafiq, please…’ she begged, then grew angry. ‘Oh, how you’ve changed. You’re so cold now.’
Well, yes, he was tempted to say—the nine months of hell, afforded by her uncle, had rather put paid to his sunny side.
‘I can’t believe I confided in you.’
‘It’s good that you did. It’s better I know that your father is ill.’
‘Not about that.’ She stared at him. ‘You were prepared to marry just to help me, but now…’
‘Now I am crown prince,’ he snapped out.
‘Now my responsibility is first to my people, and they don’t need to see me embroiled in scandal.
’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not going to happen.
’ There was no way he would consider going back to those times.
In truth he couldn’t go back to those times.
Back then there had been some lightness and romance to go with sex.
Now it was all more clinical and certainly took place only behind closed doors or veils.
Now it was just…sex; he allowed no-one near his heart or mind. He shook his head.
‘Rafiq, please…’
‘No.’ While he understood the delicacy and difficulty of Yara’s situation, he would not be swayed. And when Rafiq said no, it was final. ‘I shall not call for marriage—you have my word on that. And I shall not bow to pressure. You know that.’
‘I do.’ Yara’s breath hitched. She, of all people, did know that, for he had kept her secret safe, even in the worst of times. ‘It was a year ago today that you were kidnapped, wasn’t it?’
Rafiq didn’t respond. He could not go there, or discuss it with another.
‘I hate what my uncle did to you.’