Scandal: His Majesty's Love-Child

But the feel of Rafiq’s solid hand gripping his, his other palm at Tahir’s shoulder, as if to make sure he was actually there, evoked a blast of unexpected emotions.

‘You’re really here,’ Rafiq said, his sombre expression transforming with a grin of real pleasure. ‘Air control got your mayday, but there was interference and they misheard your coordinates and identification. They’d been searching the sea.’ He shook his head. ‘Why am I not surprised to hear you came out of the desert instead?’

Tahir felt an answering smile tug at his lips. He hadn’t allowed himself to think what sort of welcome the family would extend to the prodigal son, but he hadn’t expected genuine warmth.

He returned Rafiq’s grip with his own.

When he was a kid Rafiq and Kareef had been his role models. He’d striven to be as quick and as strong and as clever as they were. Particularly Rafiq, their father’s favourite. But where Rafiq had been able to do little wrong in Yazan Al’Ramiz’s eyes, Tahir had done nothing right. The unfairness of it had haunted him.

For a while Tahir had resented Rafiq bitterly, until he’d realised his brother had nothing to do with their father’s favouritism. Or his frightening rages. In fact Rafiq had done his best to protect his little brother.

‘You know I was always the contrary one,’ Tahir murmured.

Rafiq shook his head. ‘You were always a survivor. And I’m glad.’ He nodded a dismissal to the hovering doctor, then pulled up a chair and sat, surveying Tahir with mingled amusement and consternation. ‘You’ve been incredibly lucky, you know.’

‘I know.’ Even now, after days drinking all the fluids Annalisa had insisted on, he could taste the desert sand in his mouth. The flavour of death.

He’d been far luckier than he deserved.

Rafiq’s grin faded. ‘Do us all a favour, Tahir, and stay here. You need to recuperate.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve got broken ribs and severe bruising, possible concussion, plus what the doctors warn is a severe chest infection. They say you’re not in a good way. In fact they seem to think you’re not as fit as you should be even without the injuries from the accident.’

Tahir shrugged. ‘I’ve never cosseted myself.’ And lately, as the darkness had closed around him more often and more swiftly, he’d pushed himself to the limits, seeking new thrills. He’d been careless of his health.

‘Well, for pity’s sake do it now. Just this once. Our mother has been frantic.’

Tahir’s eyes widened. ‘Our mother?’

Of all the people he’d left behind in Qusay she was the one who’d weighed heavily on his conscience. Before his exile he’d tried to convince her to leave with him, lest Yazan Al’Ramiz turn his violence on her once he didn’t have his scapegoat son to vent his anger on.

But she’d refused to see him, refused to take his calls. At first he’d thought it was fear of her husband that prompted her. But even after he’d left the country she’d wanted nothing to do with him. His calls and e-mails had gone unanswered. He’d assumed he’d alienated her too.

‘You must be mistaken.’

Rafiq looked at him keenly. ‘No mistake. She’s been here since you were admitted, sitting by your bedside. She’s only just left.’

Tahir remembered the comfort of a feminine hand soothing his brow and stroking his hand. He’d dreamed it was Annalisa.

Was it possible his mother, the woman who’d cut off all ties with him, was the one whose touch he’d felt?

It seemed preposterous. Yet Rafiq’s concerned expression was real. Tahir frowned, trying to make sense of the impossible.

‘I’m not imagining you, am I?’ He’d suffered enough delirium in the last few days.

Rafiq huffed with laughter and settled more easily in his chair. ‘Am I that ugly?’

Tahir’s mouth pulled in a one-sided smile. ‘You expect me to answer that?’ He waved a hand in a gesture that encompassed the hospital room. ‘This is just a bit much to absorb. And what’s with these royal titles? “Sire” and “Your Highness” and so on?’

‘Ah. I’m glad you mentioned that.’ Rafiq leaned forward in his chair, his face suddenly serious. ‘There’s been a complication.’

‘That’s what Kareef said when he told me our cousin is no longer King of Qusay and that he would be taking the crown.’ He watched Rafiq steeple his fingers and felt premonition spider its way down his spine. Something was wrong.

‘Kareef has renounced the throne.’

‘He’s done what?’