Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
B ut as the day progressed, there was no time for Soraiya to think about Zak and his thoughts and feelings. Her focus was completely on the negotiations and, she had to admit, Zak was handling the talks far better than she’d imagined. No one could be in any doubt that he controlled the meeting. She took a back seat at the beginning, wanting to watch and listen and check out the dynamics which played out between the people. Also, she was nervous. There was more than the success of this meeting riding on today. There was her future with Zak. He’d given her a chance and she couldn’t mess it up.
But the chamber’s air grew thick with anticipation as the delegation delved deeper into the trade agreement clauses. Soraiya, her mind a whir of strategy and attuned to any undercurrents which might impede the negotiations, barely registered the opulence surrounding her. Her focus was razor sharp, directed at the documents before her and the men and women seated across the polished mahogany table.
From the dealings she and her father had had with the French in her own country, she understood a concern which underlaid everything else was the wide divide between their cultures—their differences. When this eventually came up and the words threatened to become heated, she leaned forward and raised her eyes to Zak. “If I may?” she ventured.
A bead of perspiration threatened to betray the nerves which otherwise Zak his so well behind a calm exterior. He nodded to her and signaled for a server to re-fill his water.
She turned to the leader of the French delegation. “Trade, however, is more than just a matter of security,” she said, folding her hands before her. “It is about mutual growth, cultural exchange, and the forging of lasting partnerships.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Madame Cardusi responded. “But cultural exchange requires understanding. How does Sirun intend to bridge the gap that tradition has carved so deeply between our lands? How can we trust that these new trade partnerships won’t be undermined through our differences—differences in language, in understanding, in an appreciation of our cultures? These things are fundamental to the success of this trade agreement. How does Sirun intend to address these issues?”
“They have already been addressed,” Soraiya said. “By the present king, and his brother before him, with an exchange of visitors at the highest level, all to widen our knowledge. And this has been successful with other, lesser partnerships. The proof is there. And, we have other initiatives such as scholarships for our students to study in France and for French students to attend our universities, and artist residencies that celebrate both our heritages,” she said. “We value the wealth of diversity.”
As the mood of the French delegation lightened, and positive murmurings and nods ensued, Zak shot Soraiya an appreciative glance, leaned forward and took control of the meeting once more. “The days of Sirun being isolated from the rest of the world are well and truly over. As my wife has so ably explained, we are committed to closer co-operation between our two countries in every way.”
Madame Cardusi sat back and nodded and exchanged glances with the others of her team. Soraiya sensed a shift—a crack in the delegation’s armor. She held her breath as Madame Cardusi frowned, deep in thought, and tapped the paper with her pen. The silence stretched between them like the vast expanse of the Sirun desert. The stakes were monumental; a misstep here could mean economic isolation for Sirun, a betrayal of the trust Zak had placed in her.
On the third tap, she looked up suddenly. “I have to say I had my doubts coming here, and they centered on the ability of our two countries to work together. But Her Royal Highness has reassured us on that point.” Her team nodded in agreement. “So, I believe we have ourselves an agreement.”
Triumph surged through Soraiya, but she contained it, allowing only a gracious smile to cross her lips. Beside her, Zak exhaled a quiet sigh of relief, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.
“Then it is settled,” he declared.
A murmur of assent rippled through the room, a sign that the tide had turned.
“I suggest,” Zak continued, “that we conclude this afternoon’s business and prepare for the evening ahead. An hour from the city, in the desert castle, we will entertain you in the traditional manner before returning here for the night, for your departure tomorrow.”
Soraiya glanced at Zak and sucked in a sharp breath of air at what she saw in his eyes. And, as she joined the members of the delegation, she listened to them talk and her mind drifted inevitably to the look he’d sent her. His expression had signaled approval, admiration and something else, something much more personal, something she couldn’t wait to uncover more about when they were alone. Because what she’d seen in the heat of that gaze had been only for her. And her alone.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Zak and Soraiya arrived at the desert castle, their car leading the convoy of five cars carrying the French delegation. The city was now behind them, replaced by the vast expanse of the desert stretching out in every direction.
The eighth-century desert castle loomed ahead, its imposing walls and towers rising up from the sand like a mirage. Built as a fortress to protect against invading forces, it had stood strong for centuries, a testament to Sirun’s resilience and strength.
Zak steered the car through the gates and into the courtyard, bringing it to a stop in front of the grand entrance. As they stepped out of the car, Soraiya took a deep breath of the dry desert air and looked around. The castle appeared to be completely isolated, with no sign of modern buildings around. It was as if she’d gone back in time, and she suddenly understood why Zak had brought them there. While he might be looking toward the future and reaching out to the world, he wanted to show the delegation the strength of Sirun’s identity and heritage. And what better place than this?
As they entered the grand entrance hall of the castle, the French delegation followed closely behind Zak and Soraiya, their expressions filled with awe as they absorbed their surroundings. Ornate frescoes, depicting scenes from ancient history and showcasing the wealth and power of Sirun’s rulers, covered the walls, disappearing into the shadowy heights of the ceiling.
Soraiya was wearing an evening dress which she’d bought on impulse once on a trip to Paris, persuaded by the designer that it suited the unusual shade of green in her eyes. The dress was dark green and simple, with one strap studded with crystals which shimmered under the torchlight.
“This is truly remarkable,” one of the French delegates exclaimed, gazing up at the intricate designs. “I had no idea such a place existed in the desert.”
“It is indeed a unique structure,” Zak replied with a smile. “Built by my ancestors in the eighth century to ward off invading forces, but now it serves as a symbol of our strength and resilience. And here,” Zak continued, leading them towards a large bathhouse next to the main building. “Is where my ancestors came to relax and unwind after a long day.”
The delegation marveled at the grandiose bathhouse, complete with luxurious marble floors and intricate mosaic designs adorning the walls. One delegate remarking that it could rival some of the most luxurious spas in Paris. As the delegation returned to the great hall where pre-dinner drinks were being served, Soraiya lingered beside Zak.
“I wonder,” Zak said quietly to her, “if I should tell them the scandalous story about how it was here that my brother met his wife? How they were stranded here, quite alone.”
“Really?” asked Soraiya, vaguely shocked. “I assumed they’d met in the city.”
He shook his head and smiled.
She frowned. “But what on earth were they doing out here?”
“That, habibti , is a tale for another time.”
It had been an enjoyable dinner, thought Soraiya, looking around the medieval hall. And a successful one. With the flaming torches and the candles flickering in the light breeze, it looked as if little had changed since the castle had been built.
But there was nothing medieval about the beauty of the crockery and wine glasses and food. Nor the man who sat beside her, who was still deep in conversation with the people to his right. He’d replaced his formal robes with a dinner jacket and tie. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of a Monte Carlo casino.
The conversation had flowed as easily as the drinks, and the traditional food had been a success. The long table, overflowing with the remains of the dinner, which had comprised succulent meats, exotic fruits, and fragrant spices, stretched the length of the room. It was set with fine linens, glittering crystal goblets, and silver cutlery which shone in the flickering lights.
They’d both been intent on entertaining their guests but, from time to time, he’d caught her eye and she’d felt a delicious blush suffuse her cheeks. She couldn’t wait until they were alone. She couldn’t help but reflect that things had changed dramatically within only a few days.
With her immediate neighbors engaged in conversation, Soraiya sat back, cradling her crystal glass, and watched Zak as he held court. Literally. He might not have been born to be king—his father and elder brother had always been groomed for that role—but there was something innately regal about him. Charismatic power emanated from him like a radiance she’d never seen in anyone before. As he talked to the members of the French delegation, she could read the other men’s submissive stance and manner.
As the meal had progressed, and the talk shifted from business to lighter topics, Zak had effortlessly carried the conversation, discussing his previous trips to Paris and his love for the city’s culture. The French leader, clearly impressed by the king’s charm and knowledge, eagerly listened and shared her own experiences in the city. There was no need for Soraiya to make any more than polite and minimal contributions. With her father, her small-talk was always required to ease the machine of politics, but it seemed outside the boardroom, Zak was in complete command. But he hadn’t forgotten her.
“And what is your opinion, Your Highness, on the architecture of the Centre Pompidou in Paris?”
“Ah,” said Zak, “now you have me.” He turned to Soraiya, who blushed under the probing intensity of his look. “But my lovely wife will have an opinion, I have no doubt. She is highly cultured. Her mother was French, and she had inherited properties in Paris. Soraiya?”
Soraiya didn’t know if she was more struck by being called ‘lovely’, ‘Highly cultured’, by the way he looked at her, or that he was asking her for her opinion. All were a novelty, but it was the way he looked at her which struck her dumb.
The Frenchman smiled encouragingly. “I didn’t realize your mother was French, Highness. Although that would explain your beautiful eyes, no doubt.”
She suddenly found her words, ignoring the flattery about which she had no clue what to do. “Yes, my mother was from Paris. I used to accompany her there sometimes.” Again, she omitted to mention the increasing frequency and duration of those trips over the years until her mother simply didn’t return to Ra’nan. Soraiya had been left to return by herself, shortly after which her mother had died suddenly.
“Ah,” said the delegate, “that is the reason you are so well-informed about our country, and why you have excellent French.” He sat back in his chair and nodded. “I believe the future of our alliance with your country will be very good.”
All embarrassment forgotten, Soraiya was overwhelmed with relief. Before she could respond, Zak reached out, took her hand and squeezed it, and kept his hand over hers.
“My wife and I agree, and we are looking forward to closer economic relations with France. We believe this is the beginning of a new era for Sirun.”
Soraiya kept her gaze fixed on the French delegate, all the while aware of the enveloping heat of Zak’s hand around hers, not gripping uncomfortably, but cradling, his thumb sweeping over the back of her hand with a caress that stilled her mind and did anything but still her body.
“Isn’t that right, Soraiya?”
She had no choice but to look at him then, and what she saw in his eyes did nothing to quiet the pounding of her heart. His dark eyes were narrowed slightly, intense but appreciative, and his lips quirked into a slight smile of encouragement.
“Soraiya?” he repeated, his smile broadening. He knew the effect his touch and look were having on her, she could tell. She swallowed and nodded, forcing herself to look away, at the Frenchman.
“Exactly as my husband”—she blushed as she said the word, hardly believing she was married to this man who’d turned her world upside down—“says. We and the country are ready for this agreement and we look forward to working together for our mutual benefit.”
Soraiya sat back, more aware of Zak’s hand still holding hers than the polite murmurings of the delegation as they rose to return to the palace in the city. It was only then that Zak released her and they both rose and joined the French and bid their farewells. They wouldn’t be seeing them again as their transport collected them early to take them to the airport.
After the last guest had left, Zak turned to her and took both her hands in his. “Thank you, Soraiya. The delegation’s visit has been more of a success than I could have hoped. We’ve not only strengthened our relationship but forged new trade agreements, which you helped secure. When things were looking difficult, you stepped in and said exactly the right thing.” He shook his head. “And how you knew the details of the proposals, I don’t know.”
“Ah, well, I’m a quick learner.”
“And, no doubt, Aabid gave you advance warning.” He smiled. “You don’t have to say a thing. I know my vizier and he always puts Sirun first. He’s different to Kadar’s vizier—I wasn’t having him guide me. But, anyway, thank you.”
She was speechless, and could feel her blush deepen. Her father had never praised her, never acknowledged her work in such a way, and had never thanked her. The only way she knew he was pleased was because he continued to include her in future discussions.
She shook her head, unable to accept the compliment after years of not having any.
“It’s time for us to leave now.” He looked around. “I’d found Kadar’s tale of how he’d fallen in love with Sarah here, in this castle, amusing. I couldn’t imagine this place providing a seductive backdrop.” She looked down. He was still holding her hand. “But now I can.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it in an old-fashioned, courtly way which sent a thrill through her. “I think it’s time to return.” His voice had lowered. And she knew what they’d be returning to.