Yet for seven years Khalil had believed himself to be his father’s son, his country’s heir. And he must know that Aziz had stayed away from Kadar for years; maybe he assumed Aziz didn’t want to be Sheikh.
Maybe he believed he’d be a better one.
‘It’s my father I really blame,’ Aziz told Malik. ‘For making marriage a condition of my rule. For not naming a successor and inciting dissent with this damned referendum.’ He shook his head, fury and despair warring within him. ‘He was trying to create instability. He wanted it both ways.’
‘You don’t know that, Your Highness.’
‘Don’t I?’ Aziz turned to give Malik a shrewd, bleak look. ‘You know, Malik, that he never wanted me as his heir. He never—’ He swallowed down the pathetic words ‘loved me’ and said instead, his voice rough, ‘Really accepted me as his son.’
‘But you are his son. His only son. And those in Siyad, and in the palace, know that. They believe you are the rightful ruler.’
‘But many others don’t. Many wonder if Khalil was treated unfairly. If my father banished him simply because he’d grown tired of his mother and preferred mine.’
‘They will learn the truth.’
‘Will they? Or will my entire rule, however long it even is, be dogged by such rumours?’ He turned to stare out of the window; the courtyard was now shimmered in the morning heat. ‘Damn my father,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Damn him to hell.’
‘Perhaps he is already there,’ Malik answered quietly.
‘I’m not normally quite this negative, am I?’ Aziz said, smiling at his aide, the action both false and familiar. Smile. Laugh. Joke. Act like you don’t car, and then maybe you won’t.
It didn’t seem to fool Malik, however, for the older man gave a small, sorrowful smile and inclined his head. ‘Your sentiment is understandable, Your Highness. Much of this current trial is your father’s doing, I know. But there are more loyal to you than you realise.’
‘I can’t gamble on the people’s loyalty, Malik. Not when I’ve been away for so long.’ Aziz shook his head. ‘I have two days to find Elena,’ he stated. ‘Two days before the six weeks are up and I lose my throne.’
‘You have men looking for Elena, Your Highness,’ Malik said. ‘There is no more you can do now. They should have a report back to you by tonight.’
‘Which gives me one day to make an alternative plan.’
‘Speaking of alternative plans...’ Malik cleared his throat. ‘You are meant to attend the opening of the Royal Gardens in Siyad’s city centre with Queen Elena today.’
Aziz closed his eyes. ‘Damn it, I forgot. Can I cancel?’
‘It’s not advisable.’
‘I’ll go alone, then.’
Malik hesitated. ‘Again, not advisable. Yesterday’s appearance on the balcony was very popular.’
‘You mean they want to see Elena again.’ Olivia. Malik nodded. ‘I don’t think she can pull it off, Malik—even if she agrees, which she won’t.’
‘She could be veiled.’
‘Veiled? Siyad is more modern than that.’
‘It would be a nod to tradition, a way to show the more conservative parts of the population that you and your queen will respect the old ways.’
‘Even if I want to change them?’
‘Respect can exist with change.’
‘I don’t know.’ He didn’t like the thought of yet more pretence. More lies.
‘Her eyes would be visible,’ he said at last.
‘Coloured contact lenses,’ Malik answered swiftly.
Aziz shook his head slowly. ‘It’s too dangerous. They might ask her to speak.’
‘Nothing beyond a murmured pleasantry, probably in Arabic.’
‘I doubt Olivia knows any Arabic.’
‘She can learn a few phrases.’
‘It’s madness.’ Aziz rose abruptly from his chair and strode to the window, bracing one hand against the ancient stone arch. ‘Madness. What happens if they find Elena at the camp? How do I explain that?’
‘You don’t. We fly her in discreetly and have her replace Miss Ellis, who returns to Paris as she wished, no one the wiser. It’s the ideal outcome, Your Highness.’
‘And what if we don’t have the ideal outcome?’ Aziz queried grimly. ‘What if we can’t find Elena, or we find her and she’s hurt, or—’ He swallowed down the words, the awful possibility he did not want to give voice to. Fury towards Khalil surged inside him. Damn the man who had made his life hell, even when he’d been thousands of miles away. ‘What then?’ he demanded of Malik. ‘How do we explain the fact that I’ve been posing with my bride for the last two days?’
‘Not easily,’ Malik acknowledged. ‘But we’ve already taken this risk by having you appear on the balcony. It was a gamble, Your Highness, even a desperate one, but necessary. You know that.’
Yes, he knew that. He knew how unstable and insecure his reign really was. How one more whisper could start a firestorm of doubt and rumour that would ravage his entire kingdom...or even start a civil war.
‘I’ll go speak to her,’ he said, and turned from the room.
* * *
Olivia lay in the massive bed, staring up at the silk canopy above her. Morning light filtered through the slats of the shutters Mada had drawn over the windows last night. It couldn’t be much past dawn, and already the room was hot, the air still.
Today she’d return to Paris, to familiarity and safety. She felt a wave of relief mixed with a treacherous flicker of disappointment.
She didn’t want to leave. She’d enjoyed herself with Aziz, enjoyed the attention and interest of a gorgeous, sexy man whose touch made her whole body tingle. A man who made her laugh, made her wonder, made her feel.
After so many years of numbness she knew now that some contrary part of her yearned for more from her life. From Aziz. She longed for his attention, his teasing, banter and sense of fun—and for his kiss. For that rush of sensation that had fired up her whole body, had made her senses sing.
Trying to banish the desire that rushed through her just at the memory of Aziz’s lips on hers, Olivia threw off the covers just as a knock sounded on the door. ‘Come in,’ she called, and then froze in shock when the door swung open and Aziz stepped into the room.
They stared at each other wordlessly for a long, suspended moment. Olivia was suddenly, horribly conscious that she was wearing nothing but a frothy nightgown of lace and silk that ended mid-thigh; Mada and Abra had given it to her last night. Her hair was tousled about her shoulders and she’d frozen, half-risen from the bed, so the nightgown rode up on her thighs and low on her breasts. She glanced at the nightgown’s matching robe laid out on a chair a few metres away. Would it be better to grab it and put it on, flimsy as it was, or to dive beneath the covers again?
She watched Aziz’s gaze rove slowly over her, saw his eyes flare and then darken with desire. Felt her body tingle treacherously in response.
‘I thought...’ Her voice came out in a croak and she tried again. ‘I thought you were one of the women who had helped me last night.’ She glanced at the clock and saw it was only a little past seven. ‘Has something happened?’
‘As much as I would enjoy discussing such matters with you in this moment, I fear I would be far too distracted.’ His gaze dipped meaningfully to her scanty nightgown, his mouth curving into a teasing smile. ‘Perhaps you could meet me for breakfast?’
Olivia felt a prickly flush spread over her whole body, even as a pleasure at his little bit of flattery stole through her. She’d distract him? She liked the sound of that...even if she shouldn’t.
‘Yes, of course,’ she managed, willing her body-blush to fade.
‘I’ll send the women to you,’ he said and with a last wicked smile he withdrew from the room.
Quickly Olivia rose from the bed and stripped off the nightgown, flinging it into a corner of the room before hurrying to the shower. Why had Mada and Abra given her such a ridiculously frothy, sexy thing to wear? It occurred to her then that the clothes she’d been wearing might belong to Queen Elena. Perhaps Aziz had bought them for her. Maybe that frothy nightgown was meant for their wedding night.
She blanched at the thought, hating that such a thought made her feel jealous. This was nothing more than pretend. Aziz was getting married, she reminded herself yet again.
Pretend or not, she knew she’d enjoyed herself more, lived more, in the last twenty-four hours than she had in ten years. And, even though she knew nothing could happen with Aziz, she didn’t want this time with him to come to an end.
By the time she got out of the shower, Mada and Abra were waiting in the bedroom with a fresh set of clothes. Olivia tried to explain to them that she wanted her old clothes back, but they didn’t understand and kept insisting she wear the sky-blue silk dress they’d brought.
With a sigh of defeat Olivia acquiesced; the dress was simple and elegant, belted at the waist and swirling about her knees. Pearl earrings and a necklace, along with a pair of low suede pumps, completed the outfit. Mada did her hair in a coil low on her neck, and Olivia felt a jolt of surprise as she looked in the mirror. She still wasn’t used to her dark hair.