Royal Weddings Page 4

  A lump formed in Evie’s throat and she looked away, angling her head to the craggy mountains that formed a natural border to this capital city. To the south, she knew, it was a vastly different landscape. The river that carried prosperity and livelihood to the northern villages didn’t make it far past the mountain ranges and the earth was dry and brown. Still beautiful, Sabra had stressed, but far more of a desert kingdom than the north, where the ancient shipping routes had brought wealth and power to a small country. The stories of Ishala had travelled far and wide too, and there had been centuries that were almost completely marked by wars. A brief Spanish occupation in the seventeenth century had resulted in the Moorish architecture and a dialect that had been heavily influenced by European language.

  Now the mountains were bathed in the duskiness of evening, their harshly angled tops were leaden and seemed to whisper strange secrets into the dawning night.

  Far above the terrace, in his private apartment, Malakhi’s gaze didn’t falter. He had been watching his nephew and Evelyn for almost ten minutes. Her petite frame was curled like a conch shell, her feet flat on the ground and her bottom poised inches above it, as her arms were curled around her legs to hold her balanced. She was graceful and neat, but when she’d turned away from Kalem to the El-Asyout ranges he saw the way her face momentarily contorted with dark emotions.

  What must it be like to be able to express so freely the weight of one’s heart? To give free reign to whichever feeling tugged most sharply?

  A movement to the edge of the terrace caught his eye. He was easily able to recognise the form of one of his most trusted aides. Fayaz had worked for the palace for over a decade, and his father before him.

  “Oh,” Evie startled as the man she vaguely remembered from the wedding shifted into her line of sight. “I didn’t realise … I thought we were alone out here.”

  “Na!” Kalem pointed towards the servant, his head tilted to one side as he undertook a detailed scrutiny of the invader.

  Fayaz smiled kindly. “Hello. My name is Fayaz,” he said in a thick accent that was reminiscent of the Sheikh’s.

  “Fayaz?” Evie nodded. “You were a friend of Sab’s.”

  He nodded his head to hide the effect her words had on him. “Indeed.” It was a murmured agreement. “I knew her all our lives.”

  “She spoke of you,” Evie said softly, standing and wiping her hands on the front of her dark dress.

  “That is kind of you to say,” Fayaz acknowledged.

  Evie put a hand down and Kalem faithfully added his to her palm. She walked slowly towards Fayaz; Malakhi watched, observing the elegance of her movements. “She said you can count to one hundred in one hundred languages.”

  It was such an unexpected statement that he burst out laughing. “I had forgotten about that. We were children.” He shook his head from side to side, a smile still broad on his handsome face. “She dared me and I was never one to shy away from a challenge.”

  “That’s quite a challenge.” When Evie smiled she had the same dimples as Kalem; they lit up her face now, changing her face from sophisticated sadness to something else entirely. Malakhi saw it at the same moment as Fayaz; both men appreciated the unique beauty of her features.

  “Yes,” he laughed again. “Sabra loved to tease me.”

  The pleasure of speaking of Sabra with someone else who had loved her! Evie lifted Kalem up to her hip, holding him close. “She loved to tease everyone,” Evie said with a smile. “I’ve never known someone so good at making you laugh at yourself.”

  “For a princess she was a study in kindness,” Fayaz agreed.

  “I remember the first time I met her, I thought my brother was kidding. He was very like her,” Evie said softly. “He loved to play practical jokes. I spent the whole night calling Sab ‘Your Highness’, imagining that I was simply playing along in the ruse.”

  “When did you find out the truth?”

  “When she gifted me a diamond necklace a week later,” Evie said with a shake of her head.

  “Ah. Generous to a fault.”

  “A little too generous at times,” Evie nodded.

  “And this is her little man?”

  She linked her fingers with Kalem’s and nodded. “Yes. This is His Tiny Highness.” Her eyes met his with apology. “It’s what we used to call him. Sab, Dave and I.”

  Kalem lifted his hand in a pudgy wave, his intelligent eyes searching the man’s face. He lifted a hand and ran a finger along the man’s cheek bone, fascinated by the differences and similarities to his own face.

  “I understand you have expressed a desire to remain in Ishala indefinitely?” Fayaz prompted, gesturing with his hand that they should move closer to the intricate wrought iron balustrade of the terrace.

  She fell into step beside him, easing Kalem back to the ground once they were at the edge. His hands gripped the railings and he peered through, wondering at this new landscape. Did he remember the steep hills of Brisbane? The way he would call with delight as his pram was pushed down those hills and back up them again? Did he recall reaching his hands out to feel the air in his fingers? How he’d run sticks along the timber fences and pick tropical flowers?

  “I’m here as long as Kal is,” she agreed, a hint of iron-like resolve in her voice.

  “And are you settling in?” Fayaz side-stepped the apparently prickly response.

  Evie nodded. “The heat is unbearable.”

  “You get used to it.”

  “I don’t know,” she shook her head. “My home is no slouch in the heat stakes. But it’s humid and tropical. This is so dry I feel like my eyes are being scorched out of their sockets.”

  He grimaced. “Yes. That’s true. But here we have at least some breeze from the ocean.”

  “Not enough.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry to complain. I’m being ornery, I know.”

  “Not at all,” he assured her, putting a hand lightly on hers. It was completely inappropriate for Fayaz to touch her. They were not friends. He was a servant and she a guest of the Sheikh. And yet they had both loved and lost a dear friend in Sabra and a closeness seemed to swirl around them through her. Nonetheless, he pulled his hand away so quickly that Evie almost doubted the gesture had taken place. “There have been many changes for you since …”

  “The accident,” she supplied when his sentence faded into nothingness.

  “The accident,” he agreed. Together they stared out towards the sea, their minds unified in regret and bitterness. For a simple accident had robbed them of their friend, her brother, and Kalem of his parents.

  “Did you know there’s a gymnasium with a swimming pool?”

  “No,” she shook her head.

  Fayaz rested an elbow on the railing so that he could turn to face her fully. “There are several pools in the palace, in fact. While the gymnasium boasts an Olympic length pool there is a diving pool, and a recreational pool that is filled with salt water.”

  “I had no idea,” she mumbled, thinking that she’d barely explored beyond the wing of rooms to which she’d been assigned.

  “I would be happy to show you how to find them,” Fayaz offered.

  Evie nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I feel like a little marble in this huge, huge marble run. Kalem and I have been rattling around these last few days and it’s hard to know how to spend the time.”

  “Of course,” he agreed softly. “You are used to working, no?”

  She nodded.

  “Your life is busy?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now it is not.”

  “That’s exactly it,” she sighed with relief. “Kalem has nannies who leave me with huge swathes of free time and I’ve already read every book in my room.”

  “I will speak to His Highness about furnishing you with greater occupation.”

  “Oh!” She shook her head and put a hand up to Fayaz’s chest. It was a perfectly natural gesture to someone like Evie who’d been raised to think and act as she
felt. But to Fayaz it was a gesture that would be seen as completely inappropriate if an outsider observed it. “Please don’t bother him with this. That’s the last thing I want.”

  “He considers you his guest. He would be displeased to think you are idle and bored.”

  “I’m not,” she attempted to backtrack, dropping her hand and squirming her fingers together in front of her. “I’m fine. Really, please, just leave it.”

  Fayaz studied her determined profile, then dropped his attention to the little boy. “On one condition,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Yes?”

  “When next Kalem’s nannies are on duty, I will show you where the swimming pools are.”

  Evie nodded gratefully. “That’s a deal.”

  * * *

  “Madam?”

  Evie spun around, a guilty expression on her face despite the fact she had been doing nothing wrong. She had only just got back to her room, having thanked Fayaz for his kindness in offering to help her settle in. She had expected to be left alone for the rest of the night, now.

  “Amina.” She smiled, softening instantly. “I’ve been hoping to see you. I wanted to thank you for your help the other night.”

  Amina’s eyes dropped. “Of course.”

  There was something in her bearing that unsettled Evie. “Is everything okay?”

  “Of course, madam.”

  “Please, call me Evie.”

  Amina shook her head. “That’s not possible. Madam, His Highness has sent for you.”

  “Oh?” It was instant. The quickening of her heart, the racing of her pulse, the heat between her legs. She felt desire, unmistakable, lodge inside of her.

  “Yes.” Amina nodded. “He is in his office.”

  This could mean only one thing: he had made a decision. Having been waiting for the executioner’s axe to drop all day, she was now desperate to know her fate.

  “Thank you.” She moved with quick determination but as she passed Amina she paused suddenly, extending a hand to Amina’s. “Did I get you in trouble?”

  Amina’s eyes shifted uncomfortably. “Of course not, madam.”

  Evie shook her head. “Are you being truthful?”

  Amina’s smile was tremulous. “I will be moved to the kitchen team,” she said softly. “But it is nice to have a new experience.”

  Indignation fired through Evie. “We’ll see about that.”

  “Please don’t interfere,” she whispered. “It will make it worse.”

  Evie’s cheeks were scored pink. She moved quickly through the palace. Only when she reached the doors to his office did she wished she’d reserved her strength. She was hot, and beads of perspiration dotted her forehead and upper lip. She dabbed them away and then knocked sharply on the imposing doors.

  He opened them instantly, as though he’d been waiting.

  They were chest to chest, so close she caught a hint of his tantalisingly masculine fragrance. “You summoned me?” She muttered darkly, her mind still reeling from Amina’s demotion.

  “Yes.” He was angry too! Good. Far better to feel the force of his anger than the heat of his seduction.

  “I want to speak to you about a servant who’s been helping me.”

  He shook his head. Visions of the way she’d laughed with Fayaz burned into his brain. “Not now.”

  “Oh? Because you are the King and you can say and do whatever the hell you want?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes sparked. “Ridiculous. How can any man think he should have such control of people?”

  “You, of all people, will come to understand this intimately.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shut the door tightly and spun around, his hands on his hips. Evie’s breath was burning in her lungs, and though it had little to do with the heat, she fanned her face. “God, this place is hotter than a barbecue plate.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yet you want to stay.”

  “You know I do. For Kalem.”

  His smile showed how little he believed her motivations. “And what will your husband think about this, Evelyn?”

  “Leave worrying about Nick to me,” she said haltingly, taking a step backwards and turning into the room. His desk was littered with condolence notes now.

  “Yet you do not seem to be worrying about him at all. You have not once mentioned how he would adapt to life here. He is a surgeon; presumably it would be difficult for him to simply leave his business in Australia?”

  Evie nodded. “He knows what Kalem means to me.”

  Malakhi was very quiet but his silence was loaded with emotions he couldn’t convey. Finally, wordlessly, he pulled a piece of cream paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

  Evie recognised it almost instantly. She’d helped select the stationery design, after all. “Nick.” She ran her finger over the silver details and then read the words. Tears sparkled on her eyelashes. She pushed it back to Malakhi.

  What had he made of the words?

  Had he realised she was not the wife he referred to?

  “It was a strange note to receive,” he murmured, taking a step closer towards her. “After all, why send condolences on behalf of himself and his wife, when you are already here doing so in person?”

  Evie walked quickly to the window, hoping for some relief from the fever that was in her blood. None came. The dusk breeze was still hot, no hint of the cool change that night would bring.

  “Tell me.” The demand in his voice surprised her.

  A sob was burning through her. Evie bit down on her lower lip, waiting for the words to form inside of her. They didn’t come. Betraying Sabra was a hard task; one she did not relish.

  “You are not married.”

  Evie shook her head, glad that she wasn’t looking at him.

  He was right behind her though; she could feel him at her back.

  “Yet you wear a ring.”

  She nodded.

  His sigh was a sound of impatience. “What happened?”

  Evie shook her head and lifted shaking fingers to her lips.

  He pulled on her hand, tugging her around to face him. The fury in his face surprised her; she hadn’t expected such a visceral reaction.

  “For two months you have been lying to me. Why?”

  The tears were falling freely now. “Sabra … Sabra said you could never know that I was … that I had … divorced.” She sobbed, dipping her head forward on the admission.

  Silence sparked from Malakhi. Only Evie’s gentle cries broke it.

  “When did you divorce?”

  Evie kept her eyes shut. It was easier to blot him out that way. “Almost two years ago.”

  “Two years ago?” He did the math quickly. “You only got married two years ago. Your wedding was right after theirs.” He thought of the photographs Sabra had innocently emailed, having no idea of the wound she had aggravated. For he had wanted Evie, and she had not been available. It was the first time he’d known the power of denial, and he had not relished its cruel flavour.

  Her heart twisted in her chest. “I know that.”

  “So? This fiancé you were so in love with suddenly lost his appeal? Or was it the other way around? Did he discover you had a penchant for making love to other men and decide he did not wish to be married to such a woman?”

  “I did not,” she interjected angrily. “It was only you, only once and we certainly didn’t … make love.”

  “We have already agreed that kiss was a prelude to sex. Had I not done the honourable thing, you would have spread your legs for me that night, engaged or not.”

  Her fingers trembled and she lifted her hand sharply in the air. She hadn’t realised her intention until he caught her wrist just before it connected with his cheek. He pulled on it hard, bringing her body hard against his. He twisted her hand behind her back, holding her tightly to him. His chest was moving quickly; a sign of how difficult he was finding it to control his own emotions.

 
“So? What was it? He did not like the idea of being married to a woman with no morals? I cannot say that I blame him.”

  “How dare you?” She cried, pulling at her wrist.

  He didn’t release her. “Oh, I dare. You played with fire when you taunted me.”

  “I didn’t taunt you!”

  “Of course you did. You offered me what you knew I could not take. But now? You are divorced. What reason do we have for fighting this?”

  “Plenty,” she responded sharply, her whole body slick with anticipation at the possibility of finally getting what she had longed for from this man. But like this? With his anger a palpable force?

  “Yes, you’re right.” He crushed his lips to hers. It was a punishing kiss of possession; a kiss born of frustration and resentment, of need and want. She moaned into his mouth and kissed him back just as hard. The saltiness of her tears fell into their mouths but neither broke free. His body pushed hers backwards, and she went willingly, until she connected with the glass window. He held her wrist behind her back still, and with one powerful leg he splayed her legs. She couldn’t help it, she writhed against his muscle, trying desperately to cool the throbbing heat of her womanhood.

  He lifted his head abruptly, his eyes glinting like onyx in his handsome face. “It would feel good to take you now,” he muttered. “But I am not a man who enjoys that which other men reject.”

  She drew in a breath sharply, her whole body shaking at the horrible insult. Shock had stalled her tears but her face drained of all colour and she wondered, briefly, if she might faint.

  “Why did he leave you?” He asked, not moving his body away from hers.

  Her breaths were loud, wretched husks. “None of your damned business.”

  When he stepped away from her, she felt ice-cold. She brought her wrist around and rubbed it without thinking. His eyes dropped to the small gesture. A natural instinct to apologise for having hurt her was quelled by his disgust. With her, and certainly with himself.

  “Fine.” He spun around, putting vital distance between them. “I will have my jet fuelled. You can leave tomorrow.”