The Desert Lord's Love-Child: The Desert Lord's Baby

The way he’d felt when he laid eyes on her. Her telling him she’d had enough of him and walking out. And now, her request.

A clean slate.

She was asking him to surrender his anger, to deny his memory, to erase his knowledge of her crimes. She wanted to start fresh. What for? A way back into his good opinion and goodwill? Into his emotions? Another shot at his faith? Everything she’d once made him lavish on her, and she’d squandered?

The worst part was how she understood him. How she always said or did the perfect thing at the perfect time to have the desired effect on him. His first reaction to her request had been to snatch her in his arms, singe her skin off with the violence of relief, the liberation of capitulation. He still wanted to let his new insight into her ordeals and her exponential effect on him wipe his memory, soothe away the lacerations, drive him to hand her power over him again. He fought the temptation with all he had.

She wasn’t here because this was a shiny new beginning and it was her choice to start over, but because he’d given her none. If it had been up to her, no matter her reasons, he would have never found her and Mennah, and Judar would be heading for destruction.

He must never forget that.

But she was flushed with the agitation of hope, while the dread of the little girl who’d grown accustomed to being turned down clouded the heavens of her eyes, made the redrose petals of her lips tremble, and his convictions evaporated as they formed.

And that was why he couldn’t relent.

She’d been destructive as his mistress. As his wife, the mother of his daughter, she’d be devastating. If he let her.

He braced against the pain as he ended this hope for something he wanted as much as she seemed to … more. “Since temporal control to change the past isn’t one of my powers, a clean slate is probably the one thing I can’t grant you.”

It was a good thing he’d given himself that pep talk. Otherwise he would have relented upon seeing her flame dim.

Which was what she probably wanted him to see.

Which he did see. That this was no act. That she was scared of her new life, wanted to make peace, wanted a chance. A second chance. And he’d just denied her that.

He bit back a retraction, a promise of all the chances she wanted, if only she’d promise never to lie to him again. Which proved her spell was turning into compulsion. She’d promise anything he wanted. Words were easy.

Or they were supposed to be. The ones with which he fought the thrill her seeming lack of avarice provoked had to be forced to his lips kicking and screaming.

“Since you won’t name your mahr, I’ll use my discretion. And you’ll accept it. I’m not having this debate again.”

Her flame went out.

Unable to bear the dejection coming off her in waves, he looked out of the window, pretended to ignore her again.

Tomorrow night he’d give her his undivided attention.

Approaching Farooq’s palace was like one of those scenes in movies where the heroine nears a boundary that, once crossed, would plunge her into a fairy tale. Or a nightmare.

She was about to cross into one wrapped in the other.

Not that she cared right now. She’d asked for the impossible. He’d pointed that fact out. And she felt … gored.

She knew why she had. Asked. Why she did. Feel this way. Because he made her hope there was a chance it wasn’t impossible. A chance to start over, be more than a stray lost in a world she had no place in, clutching a tattered shield of wisecracks and the inconsequence of her dignity.

“Is all this yours?”

The question surprised her. She hadn’t intended to ask it.

His eyes turned back to her. “I have my own home, but even if I haven’t been living here for the past three years to deal with all that my uncle can’t deal with now, we would have come here first anyway. The royal palace is where all royals marry.”

This kept getting better. “You mean this is the royal palace? And we’ll live with the king? And his family?”

His expression filled with mockery. “I assure you your in-laws will not be a source of intrusion. The palatial complex stands on over one hundred hectares, with a three-mile stretch of beach, and its connected annexes boast three hundred twenty rooms and ninety-five suites. And that’s not counting the central building housing the royal quarters and halls for royal functions. It will be like living in a hotel compound where you only see other residents with a previous appointment.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t imagine living in the place he’d described, let alone having any role, any say in it. The moment she tried to fine-tune a picture of herself as the crown princess, or the queen overseeing it all, her mind screeched at the enormity of projections, groped for anything to wrench her focus away.

The sights unfolding before her came to the rescue.

Draped in the illumination of a breathtaking sunset, jutting from a peninsula hugged by crystalline waters, the palace crouched like the starship of some giant alien race among many satellites, nestled between expanses of lush landscaped gardens and pristine white beaches, a construction conjured by the highest order of magic, the collaboration of a thousand genies in the era when impossibilities were everyday occurrences, and transported intact through time. She found herself saying all that out loud.

He gave an amused nod. “The forces creating this place were those of hundreds of masters of their trades, from designers to builders to painters to engineers from around the world, who combined faithfulness to Judar’s legacy of design and architecture with luxury and state-of-the-art technology. Who needs genies when the magic of imagination and skill can create this?”

“Who indeed.”

That was the last thing said as the limo, which she’d long realized was part of a cavalcade, passed through gates ensconced between two towers flying the Judarian flag high above the thirty-foot fence, through street-wide paths lined by palm trees and flower beds and paved in cobblestones. They passed through one tier after another of more gates, courtyards and pavilions until they reached the central grounds of the palace and its extensions.

Everything bore the intricacies and distinctions of the cultures that had melted together to form Judar, the towers leaning toward the Byzantine, the gates toward the Indian, the pavilions the Persian, each twist of metal, each arrangement of stone, every arch and pillar and spire a testimony to one culture’s influence or the other, and all ultimately Arabian.

She finally exhaled her admiration. “This place sure gives Buckingham palace and the Taj Mahal a run for their money.”

“Since construction was completed five years ago and the royal family moved here from the old palace in Durgham, it has become a national symbol of similar importance, and in this last year has been rising in the ranks of the world’s most coveted tourist attractions.”

“Tourists are allowed inside?” That was a surprise. She knew how Middle Eastern monarchies guarded their privacy at all costs.

“In certain areas of the palace and its satellites, two days a week, yes. I recommended this to my uncle and he obliged me. Tourism has spiked by three hundred percent since the practice was implemented.”

“Wow. That was a great thing to do, Farooq, to give as many people as possible a chance to experience the wonder of this place. To tourists it must feel like walking through an oriental fable.”

His smile was tinged with cynicism. “I’ve heard this is the impression this new palace creates. It doesn’t have much to do with reality but that’s tourism for you, capitalizing on the notions held by strangers to the land, on the fantasies the culture projects.”

Before she could analyze his words, wonder if any pertained to her, the limo stopped. And before she could blink, Farooq grabbed Mennah’s car seat, exited the car, then handed her out, too.

And she set foot on the ground of what he’d called her new home.

She stumbled. He kept her up, then had her walking, saved her from looking like a clumsy idiot instead of a self-possessed princess in front of his subjects and employees. He had her caught up in his body, held up by his power, propelled by his will. Her pulse escalated until she feared her heart would either burst or implode. The majesty bombarding her oppressed her, its implications in her tiny life unthinkable. Her breath sheared through her lungs in a mini panic attack as they walked up the expansive steps of the stone palace, which soared four towering levels and echoed every hue of the desert, its roof system sprouting with a hundred domes covered in mosaic glass and gold finials.

“This place … it’s amazing.” That wasn’t what she’d intended to say, but a strange excitement was taking over through her agitation. “I can almost see the grounds and terraces with the stairs leading down to the beach and marina lit with strings of lanterns and brass pillars bearing torches, live ood music playing between a blend of accents as head honchos from around the globe move from one world-shaping banquet to another.”

She turned up entranced eyes, found him staring at her in the semidarkness, his eyes flaring like burning coals.

Then he exhaled. “Who better than you to see the potential of this place? Regretfully, with my uncle ill for so long, it has seen no such events in the five years it’s been in existence. Our marriage will be the first festive occasion to take place here.”

He fell silent as footmen dressed in ornate uniforms materialized to open the palace’s twenty-foot, inlaid-in-gold-and-silver mahogany double doors. She looked back to catch its details, then turned to find more wonders to capture her eyes. The circular columned hall they were crossing had to be at least two hundred feet in diameter, with a soaring ceiling at least one hundred feet high, its center sprawling under a gigantic stained-glass dome.

Her gaze swam around the superbly lit space, got impressions of a sweeping floor plan extending on both sides of the hall, of pastels and neutrals, of Arabian/Moorish influences in decor and furnishing, modern ones in finish and feel on a floor spread with polished marble the color of the sand the palace lay on.

Suddenly Farooq said, “Had we had more time, I would have turned over the ceremony to you. Judging by the success you made of the conference you arranged for me, with this place and every power at your disposal, you would have turned it into an event that would have become the stuff of new fables.”