CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
D ESPITE THE LATE NIGHT , still Sahir rose early.
Ah, but so too had Violet.
He returned from his morning horse ride to the sight of Violet seated on a low couch, wearing a pale silver robe with her blonde hair worn loose. She was sorting some books and folders into piles.
‘You look...’ His voice tapered off, her eyes flashing him a warning that his opinion was not required. ‘I hope you slept well.’
Violet didn’t respond; instead she concentrated on the books she’d retrieved from the trunk.
Sahir took a seat at the low table where Bedra had set up breakfast. Violet was blushing, furious with herself for noticing how stunning he looked in a black robe, unshaven, and thinking of the body beneath...how she had watched his shadow...
She was confused that she wanted him still.
‘Come and eat,’ he said.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Violet...’
That was all he said—but, yes, she was starving, and also she wanted to know what was happening, so she stood and made her way over.
‘This bread is sweet.’ He showed her the selection, clearly remembering her preferences. ‘Do you want mint tea?’
‘No.’
He raised two gorgeous black eyebrows at her lack of manners, but she refused to play nice. She glanced at his cheek. Of course she hadn’t left so much as a mark.
Damn!
She peeled apart some of the bread and saw that there was a gorgeous gooey mix inside—dates, and nuts, and perhaps honey too—and, yes, it tasted delicious.
‘Are you sure you don’t want some tea?’ He lifted the silver pot.
Too proud, again she shook her head. ‘I prefer English Breakfast...’
‘I’ll ask Bedra if we have black tea.’
‘Please don’t,’ Violet said, uncomfortable with the women’s presence and wanting to talk to him alone. ‘My tastes are very specific.’
‘They weren’t the other morning,’ Sahir pointed out, slightly tongue in cheek.
‘I liked you then,’ Violet responded easily. ‘I could forgive you for not having my exact choice.’ She picked at the bread, and then filled the silence. ‘Usually, I take them with me. My own teabags.’
‘Really?’
She nodded.
‘Take them where?’
‘Work.’ She glanced up. ‘Or if I go away for a weekend or to a friend’s.’
‘I see.’ He seemed to ponder that for a moment. ‘You actually bring your own tea to work?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it very expensive?’
‘No.’ She told him the brand. ‘It’s strong.’
‘Well, this is delicate,’ he told her. ‘Baby mint leaves from the palace garden...spearmint leaves too. And I believe some green tea. And a little honey, from the palace bees... Perhaps not to your standards.’
‘Fine...’ She pushed forward a delicate glass and watched as the pale brew was poured. And, yes, it looked fresh, and gorgeous, and utterly perfect.
‘Shame it doesn’t come in teabags,’ she said.
It was her first smile. Fleeting, but he felt a heady relief that it had returned to her features.
‘Faisal is sorting out the dress,’ he told her.
‘I bet he can’t get it back—’
‘Violet,’ he broke in. ‘Consider it sorted.’
‘Did you arrange my transport?’
‘There is transport already scheduled in a few days.’ He put down his glass. ‘To use the phone for that would be...’ He didn’t know quite how to capture the word. ‘ Darar. A disservice...misuse.’
‘Of transport?’
‘Of the desert,’ he said. ‘The line to the palace is for the most serious emergency.’
‘Yet you sorted the dress.’
‘Because you told me that was urgent. Time here is considered valuable. Exceptionally so.’ He saw two straight lines form above her pretty nose. He smiled. ‘If I call for...say, your teabags, yes, there is a temporary solution, but at a cost.’
‘What cost?’
‘You don’t taste the fresh mint. More importantly, you don’t speak. Or, if I am here alone, I don’t get the space and the time to reflect.’
‘But I should never have been brought here.’
‘I agree, and I want to know all that has occurred.’
Violet frowned.
‘I came back to find you gone,’ he told her. ‘Faisal was perturbed.’
‘The butler?’
‘Major-domo,’ he corrected, but only so he could better explain. ‘Faisal is the head of my household in London. He is distressed—as is Pria.’
‘You had no right...’
‘Violet.’ He closed his eyes, about to remind her that this was not his doing, but she was his responsibility, and it was his own team that had done this, so he accepted her words. ‘Can I speak?’
‘No.’
‘Explain?’
‘No.’ Violet refused to hear him. ‘I want to go home.’
‘As you wish. I shall make the call and we will never have to discuss this again. You can hate me for the rest of your life.’
‘I don’t hate,’ she retorted, because that was an active choice she had made long ago. ‘And I don’t hate you.’
‘Then why not listen?’
She looked up, and though she knew she ought to demand again to leave, so much of her wanted to stay...to at least understand what had occurred. Deep down, she knew that this was her only chance to have time with him, that if she left now she would have to live with so many unanswered questions.
She sat for a second, wanting to talk, but refusing to give in. Wanting to leave, while preferring to stay.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ she said at last.
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘I don’t need an escort.’
‘Violet, you do. You should know there is wind, and there could be a sand storm.’
Bedra helped her strap on desert footwear and Violet was ticklish. Both women laughed.
All smiles faded, though, as she stepped with him into the desert. It was dazzling, and bright, and she was glad not to be out here alone—not that she’d admit that.
‘It’s like being a prisoner, walking with an escort.’
‘Violet, this is not a prison,’ he told her again. ‘If you want to leave—’
She interrupted him, because that hadn’t been what she meant. And she truly didn’t know if she wanted to leave without hearing all he had to say.
‘My father was in and out of prison when I was growing up,’ she said, and then she paused, knowing from experience the next question people asked, so just answered it. ‘Fighting, assault, theft, public disorder...’ There was quite a list. ‘I always had to have someone with me when I visited him. Even if we went for a walk.’
‘Where was your mother?’
‘Who knows?’ Violet shrugged.
As she walked, she could feel his eyes on her, but he made no shocked comment—his silence was his only enquiry.
‘She tended to run wild when my father was inside,’ she told him. ‘I’d generally be placed in foster care till he got out. Or if he partied too hard on his return.’ She didn’t quite know why she was telling him this, yet there was an odd sense of relief in telling him the truth. ‘I’m sure the palace staff would be horrified at you sleeping with such riff-raff.’
‘Violet, I did not say that and nor would I.’ He asked a question. ‘Where are they now?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted.
‘How long since you’ve seen them?’
‘I got my own place at sixteen.’ She shrugged. He could do the maths himself—it felt too awful to admit it had been nine years. ‘There have been a couple of phone calls. Normally when they want money.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I was just saying that this reminds me of that—walking with a stranger.’
‘I’m not a stranger.’
‘You are to me.’
Even so, being out in the desert was far less daunting with Sahir by her side—though she didn’t really want to admit that. Actually, everything—from weddings with angry mothers of the bride to highbrow receptions and, yes, even sex—was far less daunting with Sahir.
‘The desert abode is set so it cannot easily be seen. Good for enemies...not so much for English roses walking alone.’
‘I’m hardly an English rose...’
‘A violet.’
‘More like an overheated tulip,’ she said, and the return of his low laugh caught her by surprise.
She was starting to understand that his laughter was rare.
What they had found had been rare.
Yet it was all sullied now.
She followed him into the stables, but stood back as he checked on the animals.
‘This is Noghré.’
Violet stood back as he patted the stallion he’d ridden this morning.
‘Now, you have to see his foal.’
Violet followed him further into the stables, and closed her eyes at the shaded cool.
A stable hand let out a tiny foal. She was white, prancing, and she bounded to Violet with enthusiasm.
Violet took a step back.
‘You can stroke her...’
‘No, thank you.’ She declined the nudges from the foal. ‘I don’t want to get fond of her.’
Wow, she knew how to guard that heart, Sahir thought, and it hollowed him out, thinking of the trust she’d placed in him the other night and how badly she’d been let down since then.
As the stable hand took the foal back to her pen he glanced over at Violet, still refusing to look at it, and he walked over to another stall and gave a low whistle.
The sweetest head popped out.
‘Hey, Josie,’ he said. ‘You’ve been cheating on your diet, I hear.’
‘Don’t be mean,’ Violet said as she went over.
Then she giggled when she looked in—because, yes, Josie was rather the exception to the muscled horses she’d seen so far.
Nervously, she patted her lovely nose. ‘I’ve never stroked a horse before,’ she said, and smiled, feeling the hot air from the mare’s nostrils.
‘She’s gentle...nice to ride, if you want?’
‘No, I’m fine stroking her. I always wanted a pet.’
‘You’ve never kept an animal?’
‘No.’
‘What pet did you want?’
It was Violet who shook her head now.
She wasn’t going to be telling him her thoughts and her hopes.
There was something, though, that Violet knew she should tell him...
Bedra prepared her a bath before dinner. Violet tried to help her with the jugs of water, but she shooed her away, telling her to sit down.
Violet couldn’t, so she rinsed out her knickers and bra instead and felt so guilty. Everyone had been lovely. Well, apart from Aadil. But, given he’d told her that Sahir was to be married, perhaps it was a case of shooting the messenger?
She hadn’t been mistreated. Not in the scheme of things. And she didn’t want to get anyone into trouble.
‘Shukran,’ she said to Bedra. ‘Bye.’
Violet waved—because, honestly, she knew otherwise she’d sit on the stool and watch, or offer to wash her hair.
The bath was bliss, and she lay with her eyes closed, listening to the wind, wishing she’d stroked that little foal, that she’d dared to say yes to riding Josie. Because even if she should be snarling and angry, in truth...
She stopped right there and hauled herself out of the bath, dashing across the lounge, while Sahir was in his quarters as Amal set up for dinner.
She thought the robe selection must have been left over from harem days, or everyone in the harem had been slender, because they all clung ridiculously.
As well as that, she’d just washed her only set of underwear.
She settled for a nice, safe pinkish beige robe, that had long sleeves. They were a bit tight and...too long.
Far too long.
She found that out at dinner, as they sat in candlelight and she tried to roll up her sleeves in case they dragged in the gorgeous food.
‘Here.’ He picked up her hand and took the hem of one sleeve, hooked it over her middle finger.
‘Oh.’ She let him do the other one, looking at her fingers peeking out of the silky fabric. ‘I hope I don’t ruin it.’
She was close to ruining him , Sahir thought. He had sworn nothing would happen, and then she’d walked out. And in candlelight the dress was the shade of nude flesh, outlining her hips, her waist and breasts.
Violet was determined to remain cross, but as they ate in silence she looked at the candelabras, the food and the goblets, and then she looked at the man opposite her.
She put down a very fat date and said what she knew she had to.
‘Your staff were all kind. Well, there was one who was abrupt. But he was never rough or...’
‘How did he get you onto the plane?’
‘I was told there had been a security breach and that we needed to leave. I thought you were hurt or...’ She took a shaky breath. ‘Pria arrived as we were getting in the car. She seemed shocked. She was trying to call you, Faisal was too, but Aadil said it was on the King’s orders.’
Sahir gave one nod.
‘I thought you were on the plane.’
Violet had run up the steps, sure he would be there, but she didn’t tell him that part!
‘It took off. I went a bit crazy. It was then that Aadil told me to calm down. That he was trying to avoid a scandal because you were soon to marry.’
He closed his eyes, then opened them as she spoke on.
‘Pria was lovely. She told me not to be scared, that you would sort it out.’
‘What about the helicopter?’
‘It was waiting at the palace. Like I said, no one was dreadful. I just don’t get it.’
‘I don’t fully...’ His voice was both serious and thoughtful. ‘Your marriage age is thirty?’
Violet frowned.
‘You said you hoped to marry by thirty. I was aiming to get to forty. I think things were being moved along.’ He looked at her. ‘And then you were seen on the balcony.’
‘I’m hardly the first woman you’ve brought back home.’
‘No, but after I left you, I demanded to take some time off. My father told me about an important meeting and I said my younger brother could step up. I don’t usually. I just wanted...’
He met her eyes, and she could see the candlelight flickering in them, a dance of flames with dark corridors of desire behind them.
‘Time,’ he said.
‘How much time?’
‘A week.’
She swallowed, for his eyes told her that the week was to have been reserved for her.
‘I was going to discuss spending the week with you. That has never happened before.’
He was clearly being honest.
‘Oh.’
‘I don’t even know if you’d have wanted to spend more time with me.’
Violet averted her gaze because she had to. His eyes took her to a place where she was being made love to by him, and she refused to succumb, to nod, to say, Yes, Sahir, I’d have wanted to spend a week with you .
‘A final fling before your marriage?’ She took up her own goblet and drank the herby, syrupy brew.
‘I’ve told you I didn’t know it was about to happen.’
She swallowed, and saw his eyes were on her throat as she did so.
‘Look, I don’t expect you to understand, but here a marriage is not about love. Intimacy and conversation are separate.’
‘How?’
‘The King and Queen work together. For more trivial matters they can take a lover, or confidant.’
‘Trivial?’ Violet checked.
‘These are the laws—country first, everything else second.’
‘And you agree?’
‘I don’t make the rules. I’m not saying they have to take a lover. Just that they can.’
‘I don’t get it,’ Violet said again.
‘Of course you don’t. You’re not going to be a king or a queen.’
‘I meant...’ She could feel her skin hot under her robe. ‘I mean, presumably there would have to be heirs.’
‘Of course.’
‘So how?’ She looked at him. ‘How would they...?’
‘It’s sex, Violet, it doesn’t have to be about love.’
‘So, in this strictly business marriage, do they meet once a month, or...?’
‘The teller states when the time is right for an heir and then they come here.’
‘Oh.’ She blinked. ‘So, this “teller” decides the stars have aligned and off to the desert they go?’
‘It sounds clinical, but...’
‘No,’ Violet refuted. ‘It sounds rather lovely. Well, the stars aligning and the coming to the desert part does. It’s the long, lonely stretches in between that would get to me. I doubt I’d be in the mood if my husband was off taking care of “trivial” matters with someone else.’ She shrugged. ‘But what would I know?’
Sahir breathed through his nostrils.
Violet knew how to press certain buttons, how to voice the questions he asked himself at times, and yet she did it with a smile, in a vaguely dizzy voice, when she was anything but.
‘As I said, taking a lover is an option.’
He took a cleansing breath, watched as she helped herself to more dessert. Of course she could never understand. It felt important, though, to explain to her what had occurred.
‘I didn’t know anything until I returned to the house and you were gone,’ he told her. ‘I first thought you had been taken to the palace. Emotion is something we don’t allow, but I spoke angrily with my father.’
‘The King?’
Sahir nodded.
‘Don’t you get on?’
‘We are not close, but we’re not enemies. I have my own office, my team. I’m perplexed. I still cannot believe he sanctioned it. He seemed to think he was doing us a favour by giving us some discreet time.’
‘What did you say when you spoke to him?’
‘I told him to stay the hell out of my business.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘That the welfare of the country is my only business.’
Violet didn’t ask to be excused. Just removed herself from the table and went over to the trunk she’d dragged into the lounge area.
As her thoughts whirred she went through it.
She could see things from Sahir’s point of view a little more. Not just from what he’d said, but because she remembered the grey tinge to his complexion when he’d arrived last night. The relief in his eyes when he’d first seen her.
He came and lay on the sofa, staring at the roof of the tent as if still trying to work things out.
It was a nice silence. Not the tense one of before. Just a little pause as she sorted the books into piles and the wind sounded like music in the distance.
She rummaged in the trunk, looking at all the papers and treasures.
‘Bedra didn’t mean to offend you by bringing you that.’ He glanced over. ‘I think she was just trying to help.’
‘I know. It just felt like...’ She looked over to the one person she was really able to turn off her fake smile for and decided to tell him why it had upset her so. ‘I was placed in a lot of foster homes...’
‘So you had a lot of toy boxes?’
She nodded and ran her hand over the ancient gleaming wood. ‘Sometimes there would be a jigsaw...’
‘Missing parts?’
‘No time to finish it. Or I’d find something I liked and then it would be time to go and I’d have to leave it behind. It wasn’t always the case. Things calmed down somewhat as I got older. And I spent a lot of time with Grace and her mother.’
‘It must have hurt when Mrs Andrews accused you.’
‘I’m very used to it.’ She made light of the painful topic, but then caught his serious, patient eyes. ‘I was mortified,’ she admitted, and felt her throat tighten even as she spoke. ‘I die on the inside whenever things go missing.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m terrified people will think it’s me.’
‘Mrs Andrews was clearly confused.’
Violet nodded. She could hear the wind howling outside and she felt so removed from the world. And, despite her situation, she simply felt free not to lie.
‘It was Grace questioning me that really hurt.’ She had never said that—not even to Grace. ‘I don’t blame her. I get that it was easier for her to think I’d taken something rather than that her mother was so ill. She’s always trying to talk about it now, or say sorry.’
‘You’re still too angry to hear it?’
‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head. ‘I was never angry—just terrified I was going to lose her friendship.’
‘Violet...’
‘Don’t.’
She put up her hand and then went back to the trunk, grateful for the distraction.
Her heart came to a stop when she saw a photo of the late Queen Elizabeth II with... ‘Oh, goodness.’ Her emotions changed like the wind. ‘I thought this was you.’
‘Show me?’
‘Is this in London?’
‘Yes.’ Sahir propped himself onto one elbow to look. ‘That’s my father.’
‘He looks about twelve.’
‘He’d have been about eighteen...’ He took a moment, as if to work out the year it had been taken. ‘No, he’d have been nineteen.’
‘Where’s your mother?’
‘This was before they were married. It was his first solo tour. What else is in there?’ he asked.
‘Menus,’ Violet said delightedly. ‘Maybe they’ll give me some ideas. At work, we all bring in something to eat on a Friday... Oh, well, I guess I won’t be needing these...’
‘You’re going to miss working a lot?’
‘Yes,’ Violet admitted, flicking through the cards. ‘But maybe it’s the change I need. I mean I always—and I mean always—wanted to be a librarian. I was also keen to study, but I didn’t want to move away.’
‘How come?’ he probed. ‘Why are you so reluctant to move away?’
She paused in flicking through the menu cards and met his gaze. She liked how he didn’t react when she told him things, how his expression didn’t change and he didn’t judge. Sahir’s calm made her feel able to admit something she never had before.
‘I don’t want to leave in case my parents ever decide to look me up.’
He nodded.
‘They wouldn’t be able to find me.’
He said nothing. Yes, she liked his calm...how he didn’t react.
Inwardly Sahir did react.
I would find you , he wanted to say, but knew those words could only hurt.
She had put her career, her future, on hold, in the hope that one day her parents might look her up, or drop in.
He felt a real sadness. One he’d been taught not to feel, let alone reveal.
He felt everything now. Since Violet had appeared in his life he felt the world more intensely, and he breathed through the wave of anger that seemed to crush him for a moment as Violet got back to the menu cards.
‘Ooh, what’s Persian Love Cake?’
‘Cake,’ he responded gruffly. His voice betrayed him, so he corrected it and elaborated. ‘With petals on. Tastes of rose water...’
‘I’m going to make it,’ Violet said. ‘Once I’ve been freed.’
He took a deep breath.
‘Kidding!’ She looked over and gave him a small smile.
‘Good.’
He stared at the tent roof as she went through all the menus and he realised he’d been right the first time—she did recover quickly.
The hurt was still there, though.
‘You could get a job anywhere,’ he said, in as even a tone as he could summon.
‘Oh, please... I have no qualifications, no experience apart from at the library. And please don’t offer to help,’ she warned. ‘I’d hate that.’
‘Then I won’t—and anyway, you don’t need my help. You have a lot going for you.’ He looked at her. ‘You must be reliable, if you’ve worked there for so long. Loyal...’
She was many, many things, he thought.
‘Maybe it’s time to think about what you really want.’
‘I’d like this.’ Again, she changed the subject and held up another menu card. ‘Christmas dinner at the Savoy. I’d love to go there.’
‘I’m being serious.’
‘So am I,’ she said.
But she would not look up, and he knew she was hurting, and he loathed it that he did not know how to fix this, that she refused his help.
He sensed she did not want to discuss it further. ‘What’s on the menu?’ he asked.
‘Turkey,’ she read. ‘Sole.’
He smiled when she pulled a face at the thought of fish.
‘Skip to the dessert, Violet,’ he said. ‘You know you want to.’
‘Actually, no!’
She laughed, about to tell him she loathed fruit cake, but then she saw all the ticks beside a few of the dishes—neat little ticks that she recognised from the Queen’s markings on the books.
‘This is...’ She was about to tell him, but then, turning the menu over, she abruptly stopped.
It was dated.
‘What?’ he asked.
Violet was silent, frantically doing the maths in her head.
‘What?’ he asked again, and she looked up, her face flushed.
‘I was going to say it’s less expensive than I thought it would be, but it’s an old menu.’
It was from the Christmas before Sahir had been born.
Violet said nothing more, but went through the trunk with a keener interest now.
There were some gorgeous jewels contained in a little pouch. She poured them into her hand. ‘Are these real?’
He barely glanced over.
‘I would think so,’ he said. ‘We don’t have any...’
‘Costume jewellery?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You are such a snob.’
She looked at the gorgeous sapphires, diamonds and rubies, all just exquisite, and then carefully replaced them in the pouch.
‘Here’s a report card...’ she said. Then she read the name. ‘It’s your father’s.’
‘We went to the same school.’ He rolled his eyes.
She read through it. ‘It says that he’s kind and thoughtful.’
‘So long as he gets his own way. I think they probably only said such nice things because of his title.’
‘Did they say nice things about you?’
‘They did,’ he agreed. ‘Because I was an excellent student.’
‘Arrogant?’
‘“Confident”, I believe they said...’
‘Did you like boarding school?’
‘I would have liked it a lot better without Aadil guarding me.’
‘You really don’t like him?’
‘No. He was always snooping...reporting back to my father. He was the one who told me that my mother had died.’
‘What did he tell you?’ Violet asked.
‘The truth.’
Violet frowned.
‘He told me she was ill. That it was serious, and I was needed back home. I wanted to see her. He took a message after we boarded the jet and then started going through protocol.’
‘Protocol?’
‘For if the Queen dies, or the King, or whoever...’
Violet nodded, trying to imagine what that must be like—to be losing someone you love and having to think of protocol.
‘I told him that I was aware of my role and that it was offensive of him to speak like that when she was fighting for her life...’
Violet nodded. ‘I’d have felt the same.’
‘Well, he barely glanced up from his papers, then he said, “The Queen has already died.”’
Violet gasped. ‘That’s how he told you?’
‘He then added “Your Highness”, and offered his condolences, but, yes, that was how he told me.’ He looked over. ‘I think he was trying to provoke me.’
‘Provoke?’
‘He was hoping for a reaction. I think he thought it would be better for me to be upset at thirty thousand feet rather than on landing. I’ve told you—a royal cannot show emotion. It unsettles the people.’
‘I think having a cold and unfeeling ruler would be more unsettling,’ Violet said. ‘At least that’s how it would seem to me.’
‘The people need to know their rulers won’t fall apart in a crisis. I used to question it, but after my mother died...’
She stared at him, trying to demand with her eyes that he be honest—for she had been, after all.
‘It was a turbulent time for our country,’ Sahir said. ‘My father had to work hard, make decisions that would impact the nation’s future, and he did so unfailingly. I took a month out of school but I barely saw him. He was up at dawn, and would take morning briefings from Aadil in the gardens. I almost failed that year at school. Sometimes I would forget to eat...’
He was silent, remembering it.
‘I managed all my royal duties, but only just. I knew if I got upset then Ibrahim and Jasmine would follow suit. I had to put aside my own guilt.’
He regretted his words immediately, because of course she pounced.
‘Guilt?’
He stood up, ending the conversation. ‘I believe most people feel that way when they lose someone.’
‘But you’re the Crown Prince,’ Violet said. ‘You don’t get to feel.’
His back stiffened. ‘No.’ He turned around. ‘And I don’t get to share.’ He nodded. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Stay.’ She sat still, holding another book. ‘Talk.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Better not.’
He went to his rooms, shut off the fire, stripped and climbed into bed.
He watched the lounge darken.
Then saw Violet’s shadow on the wall.
Politely he closed his eyes as she undressed, for she had clearly not worked out how erotic this space could be.
He opened them again and thankfully saw she was in bed. He could see her reading, her hair still up, and then he watched her turn her head to one side, picking up the howl of a lone Arabian wolf. She got back to reading.
Violet really was inquisitive rather than fearless.
And very sensible to have cut that silken cord.
How he ached to reach for it now...
The wind was soft, like a little whistle or a howl, and yet it was so still in here.
She paused in her reading and heard another wolf howling—or was it two, or three?
The poor Queen, Violet thought, stuck in her businesslike marriage. Because from all she’d read Anousheh hadn’t just adored the sensual poets, but the romantic ones too.
She read a poem about ageing love and silver hair, and found there were tears in her eyes... Only she wasn’t sure if they were for Queen Anousheh or for herself.
She wanted Sahir—more of Sahir—and yet she had warned him in no uncertain terms to stay back.
And she wanted to go riding, to play with the little foal and just explore this incredible place...
Then be sent away.
She got back to the sensual poems, reaching for a drink of water. But the glass was empty and she couldn’t be bothered to fill it.
She saw her own shadow on the wall, and then looked up and saw she was there on the ceiling too, her hand outstretched for the glass.
Her fingers were far longer than they were in real life...even the curls at the ends of her hair were magnified and somehow enhanced. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, and she thought she could even see her eyelashes flutter...
It was hypnotic...lying there, watching herself...
Her shadow self.
Or was it the real her?
Violet didn’t know. And even though she got back to her book her shadow was still there, and apparently braver than she...more accepting of the low throb of desire in her stomach... The woman who danced across the walls as she lifted her leg and looked at her toes didn’t mind where she was, or the circumstances that had brought her here.
Goodness, those poems made her bold—or was it something about the desert that lured her other side out? Was it simply that the man who had brought her here made her feel she could be whoever she really was?
Whoever she wanted to be?
Violet climbed out of the low bed and stood still. Oh, she was not that bold. She wasn’t about to follow her shadow where it tempted her to go. No, she would not be slipping into Sahir’s bed. Nor was she about to perform for him...
In the scheme of things, it could be considered tame. All she did was stand and lift the heavy jug by her bed, fill her goblet with water.
She did not glance up to check her shadow, nor did she intend to taunt.
Perhaps a little.
She took out the combs from her hair. Really, she only did what she might do at home...
It just felt very different here.
Sahir lay there.
He did not politely avert his gaze from her erect nipples...
He enjoyed the slow shake of her head as she loosened her hair and then climbed slowly into bed...
He knew that was for him.
Of course Violet would have worked it out.
And now she was taunting him for being the first to say goodnight.
When possibly she should be grateful that he wouldn’t make her his lover tonight.
She could never be Queen.
A lover, a confidant—whatever the way it was described—that was all she could ever be for him.
Sahir knew one thing, and it kept him from turning on the lamp, beckoning her to his bed.
She deserved more.