Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
S oraiya waved away the mirror and the staff who were swooping and swirling around her like a flock of agitated pigeons. She didn’t need reassurance that her make-up was flawless and that her silk abaya, while austere, flattered her green eyes. Instead she focused on maintaining a strength and stillness within. It was the reason people described her as cold behind her back. But, it was also the reason she’d been accepted among her father’s ministers and allowed to do the state work which meant so much to her.
She walked over to the door and waited for it to open and for her to be announced. She was sweltering and was glad she was wearing the lightest of her silk abayas. She’d never been anywhere as hot, or as ancient as this castle, in this desert city, in the center of the hammada plains with the mountains looming up behind them. Everything was unfamiliar to her—from the accents, to the heat, to the lack of refinement in the people’s manners. She may as well be on the moon.
“Her Royal Highness, Sheika Soraiya of Ra’nan!” announced one of his courtiers, stepping aside with a flourish. Soraiya entered the room and for a brief moment her self-possession faltered. The room was cavernous, shadowy and designed to overawe. At the far end the King of Sirun sat on a raised dais. To her surprise he was alone, with not an adviser in sight. Even from that distance she could tell he was watching her. She allowed her gaze to slip and focus on his knees. At least his knees beneath his robes couldn’t intimidate her.
She walked along the stretch of carpet, followed by her closest attendant. The knees were getting closer and one of them jiggled slightly as if impatient. As if, she thought to herself suddenly, it wanted to be anywhere other than here, with her. She’d been wrong. Even his knee could intimidate her.
She came to a halt when the carpet ran out and the knee stopped jiggling. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look up. What she saw didn’t reassure her.
He looked no more amenable in real life, than he did in his photos. His flint-like gaze was fixed on her as if staring at her would somehow either make her explicable or disappear. Then he huffed out an impatient sigh which seemed to suggest he wasn’t successful on either count. He looked her up and down like the possession which, she supposed, was exactly how he viewed her, and how she was struggling not to feel — bargained and agreed on between two men.
“ As-salamu Alaykum ,” he greeted her coldly.
“ WaAlaykumas-salam .” Soraiya returned the traditional words of greeting.
He grunted and then turned to her assistant, Daria.
“Leave us!” he growled.
Daria looked at her anxiously. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
“Leave us,” he said, louder this time.
She turned to Daria. “You may leave,” she said with dignity.
She watched her friend, her assistant and her last link to her home, exit the room. The double-doors closed behind Daria with an echoing clang and Soraiya turned once more to the man who would be her husband. She refused to be intimidated by him. If she could deal with her father, she could deal with him.
“You want us to be alone, Your Majesty, but we are not yet married and my assistant feels uneasy. As do I.”
He stepped down from the dais and came to a halt in front of her, too close. But she didn’t retreat.. She was tall, but he stood a head taller than her and she had to look up to him.
“You feel uneasy?”he asked.
“Of course. It would be strange if I didn’t,” she said, forcing herself to meet his commanding gaze. “I don’t know you, and yet I have to leave my home and everything that is familiar to me to live in your country with you—a man I’ve never met before but in whom I must put my trust. I suggest these are sufficient reasons for me to feel uneasy.
Was it her imagination or did that fierce expression soften briefly? If it did, it was only momentary and it was gone the instant she’d registered it. Her hope for a warm reception must have conjured it up.
“Besides,” she hurriedly continued, “it is not proper.”
He hadn’t moved and yet he seemed closer. He must know he was invading her space, but maybe it was a test. If it was a test, she was determined to pass, just like any other test which had ever been set her. She was an A+ student and she’d be an A+ wife, because no one could criticize you if you were perfect. She lowered her gaze as she’d been taught. A+, she reminded herself.
“I think being ‘proper’ is the least of our problems, don’t you?” he said.
She jerked her head up to meet his eyes once more. Was he referring to the fact that neither of them wished to marry the other? She assumed so, but refused to admit it to him.
“Your Majesty. I can assure you I have no problems.”
He grunted with a brief quirk of his lips which she assumed was as smiley as he got.
“Then aren’t you the lucky one?”
What on earth did he mean? She looked down with a frown.
“And stop doing that,” he said.
She looked up again. “What?”
“Looking down at your feet as if you dare not meet my gaze. Am I that terrifying?”
She nodded before she could stop herself.
Again the quirk of the lips. “I do not wish any wife of mine to be subservient.”
“I can assure you I do not consider myself to be subservient. I was merely looking down because I was confused by your remark about you having problems.” Then she suddenly realized what he must have been referring to. “I’m sorry about your father. It must be most distressing for you.”
“Distressing?” He huffed a dismissive grunt. “That is a weak word for what it is. However, it is not his death to which I allude.” He paused as if considering whether to elaborate. He didn’t. Instead he sighed. “Anyway, I’m hoping you won’t be one of them.”
She blinked, startled and insulted at the same time. “I assure you, I will not be!” she said indignantly.
He waved his hand, as if to swat away her assurance. “Let’s hope not. But neither of us has a choice in this matter. Both our countries require this match to be successful.”
She lowered her eyes again, as she tried to figure out where he was going with this line of talk. This, she had not imagined at all. He wasn’t doing anything by the rule book. She’d have to keep her wits about her.
“Indeed, Your Highness,” she murmured.
Then he did yet another thing which she didn’t expect but was even more disconcerting. He reached out with his finger and lifted her chin. No man had ever touched her before. He must have seen the sudden flash of fear in her eyes because his own eyes narrowed with interest.
“You jump at my touch?”
She swallowed and gave a slight nod, not enough to dislodge his finger, whose teasing touch stroked once across her skin before he dropped his hand.
“I am an… honorable woman. Of course I jump at a strange man’s touch.”
“But this strange man will soon be your husband and will be sleeping by your side.”
She might be able to prevent her lips from trembling, or tears from trickling down her cheeks — she’d had enough practice at that — but she couldn’t prevent her heart from jump-starting into a ridiculously fast tattoo and a flush of brilliant color filling her face. She ignored both but it seemed he couldn’t.
He dropped his hand. “I see.” He pursed his lips into a rueful expression. “You are a virgin.”
“Of course I am,” she replied, deeply indignant. The heat refused to leave her cheeks but she kept her gaze fixed on his, daring him to look away instead.
“Shame,” he said under his breath.
Anger burst inside of her. How dare he humiliate her and denigrate all that she stood for and valued?
“Shame? Surely it would be shameful to be like one of your other women?” The words of reproach and anger spilled out before she could prevent them.
A spark of humor briefly lit up his face before it was quickly replaced with an expression which could only be described as compassionate and which Soraiya somehow felt even more discomfited by.
“Of course, you are correct. I am sorry if you think I’m criticizing you. I am not, I assure you. It is only that I am unused to handling such rare treasures.”
For some reason her mind dwelled on the use of the word ‘handling’. She swallowed. “We are obviously two very different people, Your Highness, with two very different sets of values. But I trust we can find mutual ground upon which we can build a sound marriage.”
He grunted, amused. “Ah, I heard about your diplomatic skills. It’s a wonder your father allowed you to leave after all the work you’ve done for Ra’nan.”
It was a wonder to her, too.
“Anyway, please come with me,” he continued, “and we will take some refreshments.”
She followed him through to the rear of the room where he held a door open for her, and she stepped outside into a courtyard above which awnings were draped to provide shelter from the sun. Plants grew all around and a fountain played. It was cooler here, and for the first time she felt she could breathe.
“This is lovely,” she said, fingering the leaves and lifting a bloom to her nose to inhale its subtle fragrance.
He looked around as if noticing it for the first time. “The important thing is that it’s more informal, and private. Please, take a seat.” He turned and raised a hand to an attendant who loitered discreetly.
“Not so very private, I think,” she couldn’t help commenting.
He shrugged as if unaware of the attendants who were waiting for a raised eyebrow or hand before they came running to grant his every wish.
They sat in silence as a crescent-beaked dallah was brought over to the table upon which small cups and a plate of dates had also been laid. Only after the cardamom pods were added to the brew were they left alone again.
“May I?” she asked, as it didn’t look as if anyone else was going to emerge to pour the coffee.
He nodded. “Please.”
She poured them both a cup of gahwa , and settled back on her seat again.She watched as he sipped the hot coffee, and allowed his gaze to linger there, as if his thoughts were far away.
He’d been so close before that she’d been struck more by his presence than his appearance. But now she saw that his eyes were an odd copper color — not brown and not gray—but utterly compelling. And that his natural good looks were marred by his habitual frown and the straight line formed by those otherwise sensuous lips. If anyone had any doubts as to his self-control, the well-defined lines and sharp planes of his face would have banished them. This wasn’t a man given to excess. Except perhaps in one area… Her mind drifted to the women she’d heard so much about. He obviously loosened up with them and, when he did, she couldn’t help wonder what lurked beneath that layer of control.
He turned to her suddenly, too abruptly for her to pretend she hadn’t been looking at him. His lips quirked again.
“You are staring, Sheikha.”
“I apologize. But surely it is natural to be curious about a man I have only just met and with whom I will spend the rest of my life?”
His face relaxed but there was no quirk of his lips this time. “You are, of course, correct. So, do you like what you see?”
She sipped her coffee, letting the silence stretch as she slid the cup back onto the table. She refused to allow herself to be dominated. She placed her hands in her lap, aware of how her sapphire rings glittered in the light, reminding him of the wealth of her nation and, by extension, her own value. She shrugged and allowed a slight smile to play on her lips. Two could play at his game.
“It’s irrelevant,” she said.
The silence held all the tension of an arm-wrestle.
“You’re different to how I imagined,” he said at last, relenting a little.
She didn’t answer, and didn’t avert her gaze.
“Aren’t you interested in how I imagined you?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “As I say, it’s irrelevant. We are to be married and we should talk about the future.”
He raised an eyebrow and inclined his head. “So be it. No small talk. Suits me. So, Soraiya — may I call you that?”
“You may,” she said archly.
“We are marrying to merge our two blood lines — your father, the King of Ra’nan and myself, the King of Sirun, and all that that entails.”
Again she inclined her head. “Exactly. And only in that way can we ensure our countries’ future co-operation, strength and wealth—economically, politically and strategically.”
He looked surprised. “You talk like a statesman.”
“Because I am. I am a states woman .”
His eyes narrowed and he turned his head slightly, as if he hadn’t liked her answer. She knew she was challenging him, but there seemed little point in pretending she was someone more interested in dresses than economics, or in the state of her nails than in the state of the nation.
“You will be my wife, Sheikha,” said Zak firmly. “And mother to my children. That is enough of a role for a woman.”
“I can be all three — wife, mother and stateswoman.” She suddenly thought of a winning answer. “Just as your mother has been.”
The mood changed instantly. His brow lowered and he glared at her. She’d crossed a line she hadn’t known existed.
He rose abruptly, causing his cup to tumble over and the black liquid to flood the highly polished table. “If you mean what you say when you declare you wish to do your duty, then you will take on the role prescribed for you. You will never have the freedom my mother had as a Queen of Sirun. Never!”
He stood looking down at her for a few moments, as if wanting to say more, before huffing angrily and walking away. Had she upset him because she could never hope to rise to the brilliant heights of his powerful mother? Or was it the reverse? Whatever, she’d clearly hit a nerve. And, even worse, she might have jeopardized the wedding plans. She panicked as she imagined returning home to her father without the prized Crown and all its implications for her people.
“Wait!” she called out, following him to the door which led back into the palace. He paused, his hand on the handle, ready to leave. “Please, wait,” she said, placing her hand boldly on his arm. “I apologize, Your Highness. I spoke hastily. Of course, I will be guided by you as to my role.”
For one long moment she wondered whether all was lost and she’d have to return to Ra’nan in shame. Her whole future, and that of both countries, hung in the balance. A muscle flickered in his jaw. It was the only thing which betrayed his thoughts and feelings.
He turned his copper eyes, which had darkened to the color of burnt chocolate, to her. “Very well. We will proceed with the wedding. But, I stress, I will not, ever , permit you to take on a role such as my mother had in this country. Not you, nor anybody else.”
And in that moment, she knew that his mother wasn’t someone he idolized but someone who, for some reason, he hated. She recoiled under his heated glare as if scorched. Once burned, twice shy. She’d remember that next time.
“Of course,” she murmured, relieved to have gained his agreement to proceed. Returning to her country and an angry father would have been untenable. She had no future there. Her father had made that clear.
No, she thought, as she walked with her fiancé back through to the reception room where her attendant was now waiting for her, whether she liked it or not, her future was here in this country, with this uncompromising man. But, she promised herself, next time they met, she’d be better prepared. Because she refused to give up her dream of a meaningful life. Her father had come to appreciate her work and so would Sheikh Zakariyya ibn al-Hadar.
Once she was safely married, he’d come around. She’d make sure of it.