Lost to the Desert Warrior

But what difference did it make? Her alternative was marriage to Hassan and nothing could be worse.

Rationalising that, Layla only half listened as the girl braided her hair and continued to praise Raz in terms close to hero-worship. She was aware of the worsening throb in her head and the steady gnawing of anxiety about her sister. And beneath all that there was anxiety about herself. About what lay ahead. About him.

It was all very well to state bravely that this was what she wanted. Quite another thing to contemplate the reality.

I will inevitably hurt you—as you would know if you’d read the book.

‘The book’ was safely tucked away in her bag, along with the other book she’d smuggled out of the Citadel. Raz had told her she didn’t need to read it but she couldn’t think of anything worse than relying entirely on someone else for information.

She wished she could have time alone to study it before the wedding, but there seemed to be no chance of that and she couldn’t argue with his decision to proceed as quickly as possible.

Hassan would be out looking for her. And for Yasmin.

She winced as the girl’s fingers encountered a fresh bruise.

‘His Highness told me you fell from your horse. It’s a shame that you can’t ride because he is a magnificent horseman.’

The implication being that he couldn’t have picked a worse match in her.

Her confidence plummeting as each of Raz’s qualities was revealed, Layla sank into gloom. She was starting to wonder if this might not have been the worst idea of her life.

And then she heard noise from outside the tent and sat up, clutching the towel, terrified that Hassan might have found them. ‘Who is that?’

‘The wedding guests. A Bedouin wedding gives everyone a chance to dress up and celebrate. Word has spread that His Royal Highness Raz Al Zahki is to marry Her Royal Highness Princess Layla of Tazkhan.’ There was a brittle note to her tone. ‘Even though it is short notice, he wants as many of the local people here as possible. It’s important that it is witnessed.’

He wanted rumour spread. He wanted Hassan to hear and be afraid.

‘Even when I’m married to Raz Al Zahki, Hassan is unlikely to step aside.’

‘His Highness will know what to do.’

Layla was surprised by how much faith people seemed to have in him. She was used to living in an atmosphere of negativity and resentment, not of trust.

Nothing about this new life seemed familiar, and certainly not the dress.

She had never worn anything so beautiful. Her hair, now shiny and clean, was concealed by a veil and her eyes had been accentuated by kohl. The shiny gloss the girl applied to her mouth felt sticky and strange and Layla felt utterly unlike herself.

Any hopes she’d had of being able to sneak a look at the Kama Sutra died as she was immediately led outside. It seemed that she and Raz Al Zahki agreed on at least one thing, and that was that the marriage should take place as fast as possible.

And clearly he had also decided that there should be as many witnesses as possible, because a surprising number of people had poured into the desert camp in the time it had taken her to wash and change.

The wedding itself was a blur, conducted with an urgency driven not by feelings of sentimentality but by the knowledge that any delay could give Hassan an advantage.

Layla kept her gaze focused ahead of her, aware of what felt like a thousand pairs of eyes fixed on her—some curious, others with unconcealed hostility.

And all the time she was aware of Raz next to her, tall and powerful, doing his duty for the good of his people, his own personal wishes set aside.

The event held no emotional meaning for either of them, but they stood side by side, spoke the words required of them, and Layla felt a rush of relief that came from the knowledge that no matter what happened now Hassan couldn’t make her his wife.

As Raz turned towards her relief was washed away by reality.

She was now living in the enemy camp with a man who had no reason to feel anything but animosity and contempt for her.

The fact that this was a marriage of expediency didn’t seem to bother the guests, who danced and celebrated until Layla was almost dropping with exhaustion.

And he noticed, of course, because it seemed he noticed everything—from the slightest change in the wind’s direction to a child who had wandered off unattended.

‘Come.’

Just a single word, but delivered with such authority that it didn’t occur to her to contradict him. Or maybe it was that she was too preoccupied with what lay ahead.