Glittering gems dazzled in a rainbow of colors—smooth, oval star sapphires and cut diamonds on crowns, rubies encrusting sword hilts, heavy necklaces and brooches set in gold and silver that gleamed against black velvet in the display cases. She swept the room with a glance, but her breath caught in her chest when she saw the case in the middle of the opposite wall. Her stare fixed on one wide display case offering two books whose aged leather covers gleamed with ancient gold on the bindings and latches. She walked to the display case, mesmerized by the script etched into the covers.
It couldn't be—but it was.
Diamonds and sapphires had been embedded into the leather and gold bindings, but the Arabic script on the covers held her spellbound. She turned to Arif.
"They're here—my father really did need something like the gold of Troy, only it's the gold of Zahkim. These are the two histories that were referenced in the archives. This is what I've been searching for. I've got to take a look inside. I'm willing to bet these have never even been properly translated."
Chapter Twelve
Arif glanced from his Christine to the books. He wanted to give her anything, but he also knew these books to be priceless, and not just for the jewels on the covers. They were ancient, had been in the royal family for beyond memory, and it would be his head if anything happened to them. He rubbed the back of his neck.
Christine kept pleading. "You know I know how to handle manuscripts. I swear I'll use gloves, just as I have in the archives. But I've got to see if they have what I need."
Lips pressed tight, Arif glanced at the door and back to his Christine. She was asking almost more than he could grant. Only the royal family had access to this room. And disappointment lodged in his chest like a knot—these books, not him, were what she needed. Still, he could not bear to let her down. He gave a nod. "I can have a guard bring them to your room every morning. They must come back to the treasury every night."
"Of course. Totally understandable." She glanced from him to the books and back again, her brown eyes sparkling.
He took her hand—and shameless advantage of her gratitude. "In return, I have a request. There is to be an official banquet tonight. I would like you to attend as my special guest."
She nodded, her stare fixed on the books. "Sure…sure." She glanced at him. "Could I have a couple of hours this afternoon with the books—just to make sure they're the ones referenced?"
He gave a nod. She bounced on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek. "You really are a prince. You don't mind if I get started right away?” Stepping away from him, she bent over the glass case. "This is going to be incredible."
Arif let out a breath. It seemed he had found what most pleased his Christine—two old books. Why must they also be the most valuable books in Zahkim?
Christine had cleared the desk in her sitting room for a workspace. She kept her tablet nearby to help with translations. The first book, a work by Ibn-Khaldun, dated to the 1300s, but it referenced the other book, a seventh-century history written in Kufic calligraphy that had been rebound several hundred years later. There she came up with what she wanted. One scrap of a story of how nomads from the west settled around the Nile. That was it—that was the first mention that would show the world her dad wasn't just pulling ideas out of his butt. She was on the right track now. Even if this was the only reference, she'd found new source material no one else had ever brought to the modern world. This was amazing.
A knock rattled her door, and she answered absently with, “Come in.” A maid entered, carrying something black and glittering with gold.
"With Sheikh Arif's compliments," the maid said. She held up a traditional black robe beautifully embroidered with gold thread and studded with gold coins. Christine's eyes went wide. She stood, despite the lure of the research in front of her, and touched a finger to the robe, finding the fabric soft and light.
She pulled her hand back. "That's real gold."
"And the robes are woven of the finest goat's hair." The maid took the gown into the bedroom, spread it across the bed, and came back. "Sheikh Arif said you have boots already to match. Call if you need any help dressing for tonight."
Christine groaned. She'd forgotten about tonight. She glanced down at her jeans and white button-down shirt. She looked rumpled. Her face didn't have a swipe of makeup. And that gown was too gorgeous to waste on her. She gave a thought to putting on her navy dress, but it still smelled of sex and Arif, and she couldn't do it.
Heading to the bedroom door, she looked at the dress again. She'd never pull it off. That was more dress than she could handle.
Another knock sounded on her door. She turned. If this was the maid, maybe she could send this dress back and ask for something a little more…subdued. She wanted to blend in to the background, not stand out.
Instead of the maid, however, Bian swept in without waiting to be asked. She wore traditional robes in unrelieved black, a veil over her head, but she had left her face uncovered. Gold bangles glittered on her wrists. Kohl rimmed her eyes, making them seem huge and edged sharp as daggers.
Bian shut the door behind her with a soft click and glanced at the books open on Christine's desk. Her nostrils flared.
Looking back at Christine, she said, her voice soft and smooth, "You should leave. You do nothing but cause Arif to do what he should not. A marriage between you and Arif would be cursed and barren."
Crossing her arms, Christine's face heated. "Really? And you know this how? You cast a chart? Threw some bones? How does anything between Arif and me have anything to do with you? I get he's your nephew, but he's also his own man."
Bian's mouth thinned. She took a step forward and glanced into the bedroom. Her eyes widened. "Family is my business."
"Well, then, I guess you really should have been there when Tess married Tarek…oh, let me guess. You didn't approve of that, either, so you stayed away to let them know that." Pushing her hair back, Christine tried to hang onto her temper. Bian was only looking after her nephew, but she wasn't being subtle about it. Christine took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out slowly. "I get it—you care about him. But you don't have to be unpleasant, and I'm not looking to become part of any royal family."
Bian's mouth curved up, and the smugness in her expression grated on Christine's nerves. The woman looked just like every professor who'd dissed her father's theories. She gave back just as fake a smile.
"Of course, I am wearing the dress Arif gave me to the banquet tonight. Now, if you don't mind, I need to change."
Muttering under her breath, Bian swept out, her bracelets jangling. Christine stomped into the bathroom to shower, put on scent, and line her eyes with kohl, and Bian could just lump it when Christine showed up looking like she belonged here.