‘Between us.’ She met his gaze directly, unafraid now. How much more could he hurt her? ‘I don’t remember much after the snake bit me, but I remember before. I remember you telling me to fight for us and drawing me into your arms.’ She swallowed. ‘Then, the next thing I know, I’ve been desperately ill for four days and you’re back in Rubyhan. I arrived yesterday morning and this is the first I’ve even seen you.’
Zayed’s jaw was tight. ‘I’ve been busy.’
‘And when I do see you, it’s as if I’m some supplicant coming to beg a favour from the king.’ She gestured to the ornate reception room. ‘What is this? What are you trying to tell me?’
Zayed was silent for a long moment and Olivia waited, holding her breath, because there was something. She just didn’t know what it was.
‘I’ve heard from Serrat,’ Zayed said at last.
‘Serrat? The French diplomat?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’ She searched his face, finding nothing, feeling cold. ‘What did he say?’
‘France is not willing to support my claim.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ She absorbed the statement for a few seconds and then realised what it meant for her. ‘You are questioning whether my credentials matter any longer,’ she said slowly. Zayed didn’t answer. ‘Whether a western wife who can speak French and has a background in foreign service matters at all.’ It was suddenly so obvious and it hurt so much. Far more than she wanted it to. She nodded slowly, accepting, because what other choice did she have? She loved him, but he didn’t love her. She’d known that all along. ‘So, back to plan A?’ she asked with an attempt at levity that fell entirely flat.
‘There’s more.’ Zayed bit the words off, his jaw clenched tight. ‘Sultan Hassan has been in contact.’
‘Ah.’ She leaned back and folded her arms. ‘His temper has cooled off, I suppose?’
‘Something like that. He wishes to discuss my engagement to Princess Halina.’
‘Right.’ So it was all h
appening for him. She was no longer needed. And suddenly Olivia realised she was glad. No, not glad, never that, but relieved, because at least this had happened now and not in months or years, when the prospect of being set aside would have been utterly devastating. Her heart was broken, but it would mend. She would make sure of it. ‘Then all that remains is for me to book my plane ticket to Paris.’ Her lips trembled and she pressed them together, determined not to cry. Not to reveal one shred of heartbreak to Zayed. Not when he so clearly didn’t care at all.
‘I will arrange it for you,’ he said after a brief, tense pause. ‘But first I must ask you to do one last thing.’
‘Which is?’ Olivia asked, although she could guess already.
‘To accompany me to Abkar. Princess Halina wishes to see you, as does Sultan Hassan.’
Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, steeling herself against the pain, and then snapped them open again. She could do this. She could survive. ‘Fine,’ she said, her voice as terse as Zayed’s. ‘When do we leave?’
* * *
This felt all wrong. Zayed gazed at Olivia’s pale, heart-shaped face and wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and never let her go. Seeing her walk into the room, standing, recovered, alive, had been almost too much to bear. The last five days had been utter hell, the news from France and Abkar overridden by his fear and concern for Olivia. He’d had hourly reports on her condition from Ammar Abdul, and he hadn’t cared how it had made him look.
But he’d still arrived at this moment and brought Olivia with him. Whatever had been between them was over. He had to put his country first. His duty first. The memory of his father and brother spiralling down to their death, his mother in his arms, they came first. They had to. The news of Hassan’s renewed interest on top of Serrat backing away had felt like an omen, a wake-up call. He had to stop pursuing his own pleasure, his own happiness, and do what was best for Kalidar.
‘We’ll leave tomorrow,’ he said. ‘The visit should be brief.’ He paused, swallowing past the jagged lump that had formed in his throat. ‘You can be in Paris in a few days.’
Zayed didn’t see Olivia until they were boarding the helicopter the next morning. He’d barely slept all night, wanting only to go to her. One last night in her arms, forbidden and sweet. He didn’t, because he knew it wouldn’t be fair to her, or Princess Halina, for that matter. The break needed to be clean, quick and final.
They didn’t speak on the helicopter ride from Rubyhan, or in the armoured car they took through the desert to Abkar. Olivia’s face was turned to the window as the dunes slid by, and after several hours they arrived on the outskirts of Abkar’s capital, the single-storey dwellings giving way to apartment buildings and high rises.
When the palace walls came into view, built of golden stone and interspersed with minarets, she let out a little sigh. ‘It feels like a lifetime,’ she said quietly.
It was a lifetime. A part of him had come to life in the last few weeks, and then died. The grief he felt was for that part of him as much as it was for losing Olivia. He didn’t want to go back to the man he’d been, closed off from emotions, an island of independence and strength. He wanted to need her but he knew he couldn’t.
Staff met them as soon as the car pulled up to the palace’s front entrance. Zayed had barely a glance for Olivia before she was being ushered away, and he was taken to wait on Sultan Hassan in the palace’s throne room.
The Sultan came quickly into the room, unsmiling, and Zayed gave him a brief nod, one head of state to another. The two men stared at each other for a long moment and then Hassan finally spoke.
‘I do not applaud your methods, Prince Zayed, but at least you got my attention.’