The Royal House of Karedes: Two Crowns: The Sheikh's Forbidden Virgin / The Greek Billionaire's Innocent Princess / The Future King's Love-Child

‘Oh, yes?’ she said, raising her eyebrows.

‘He is, of course, a busy man,’ Bahir continued. ‘With many royal duties. He is not, in fact, on Calista at the moment…’ He let his voice trail off in delicate inquiry, and Kalila watched with a flicker of interest as Aarif’s mouth tightened.

‘He is not?’ she asked. ‘Where is he, Prince Aarif?’

‘Please, call me Aarif.’ There was a thread of tension in his voice that Kalila heard with growing curiosity.

‘Then you must call me Kalila,’ she returned as a matter of courtesy, yet this pleasantry caused Aarif’s sharp gaze to rest briefly on her face and something unfurled deep in her belly and spiralled strangely upwards.

He wasn’t, she reflected, taking another sip of wine, a classically handsome man. The scar put paid to that, but even without it his face was too harsh, too hard. There was no kindness in it, no humour or sympathy. The only emotion she saw in his dark eyes, in the flat line of his mouth, was determination.

She wondered just what Aarif was determined to do.

The first course, stewed chicken seasoned with coriander and paprika, was served, and they all began to eat.

‘I have heard,’ Bahir said after a moment, his voice mild and easy, ‘rumours of diamonds.’

Aarif paused for only a fraction of a second before he smiled and shrugged. ‘There are always rumours.’

‘This rumour,’ Bahir continued, his voice turning hard for only a second, ‘is that half of the Stefani diamond is missing.’ He paused, and Kalila watched as Aarif continued chewing with what looked like deliberate unconcern. ‘I wonder if that is what concerns your brother, Aarif?’

Aarif swallowed and took a sip of wine. Tension crackled in the air and Kalila’s gaze flickered from one man to the other, both smiling and genial, yet too much shrewd knowledge in their eyes.

What was going on?

‘My brother is indeed concerned about the Stefani diamond,’ Aarif said after a moment. ‘It has long been his desire to unite the diamond, and of course the kingdoms of Calista and Aristo.’ His gaze rested once more on Kalila, and again she felt that strange unfurling, as if inside her something had taken root and now sought sunlight, life and air. ‘This, of course, is of benefit to you, Princess. You shall be Queen not only of Calista, but of Aristo also.’

Kalila tried to smile, although in truth she hadn’t considered herself queen of anything at all. She’d only been thinking of herself as someone’s wife, not queen of a country, or even two.

Queen. She tried to feel the obligatory thrill, but disappointment and fear were too pressing. She didn’t aspire to titles; she aspired to love.

‘I wish your brother every success,’ she finally said, keeping her voice light, and a servant came to clear their plates.

‘My brother will be successful,’ Aarif said, smiling, although there was an odd flatness to his voice, his eyes. ‘When one is determined, one is also successful.’

There was a tiny pause, and the servant came to clear the dishes. ‘Indeed, an excellent maxim to live by,’ Bahir said lightly, and poured more wine.

Kalila toyed with the next course, a salad made with couscous, cucumbers, and tomatoes. Her appetite had vanished and she felt unsettled again, uneasy even though she was in comfortable clothes. Even though she was herself.

She didn’t know what caused this sense of unease, a needy sort of dissatisfaction. Was it Zakari’s absence or Aarif’s presence? Her gaze flitted to the prince’s hard profile, lingered briefly on the strong curve of his jaw, the livid line of his scar, and she felt again that strange spiralling within, upwards, something happy and hungry. He interested her, she realised with a spark of surprise. Fascinated her.

Would Zakari have done the same? The shadowy figure from her childhood held little appeal compared to the enigmatic presence of this man…this man, who was not and was never going to be her husband.

Aarif turned, his eyes clashing with hers, and Kalila jerked her gaze away, feeling exposed, as if he’d somehow witnessed her disturbing thought process.

‘Kalila?’ Bahir raised his eyebrow, drawing her back into the conversation.

‘Please excuse me,’ Kalila said quickly, forcing herself not to flush. ‘My mind was elsewhere. Father?’

‘Prince Aarif was just inquiring about bringing you to Calista. He wanted to leave tomorrow, and I was explaining to him about our customs.’ Bahir smiled apologetically at Aarif. ‘You see, Prince Aarif, there is a tradition here in Zaraq. The people love the royal family—it has always been so.’ He paused and took a sip of wine. ‘It is, perhaps, why we have enjoyed over a hundred years of peaceful rule.’ It was, Kalila knew, a delicate reminder of the power and prestige Zaraq brought to this marriage alliance. ‘The people of Makaris, our capital, like to hold a little festival when a member of the royal family is going to be married.’ Bahir held up one smooth, well-manicured hand, anticipating Aarif’s response, although he hadn’t moved or spoken. He simply waited. ‘I know this festival would normally occur after the wedding, but Kalila will be in Calista then, and it is important to the people that they see the happy couple…or at least the radiant bride.’ There was no censure in Bahir’s voice, but Aarif must have felt it for his mouth tightened once more.

‘If my brother had been aware of such traditions, I am sure he would have made every effort to be here,’ he said after a moment, and Bahir inclined his head in gracious acknowledgement.

‘Of course, of course. As it is, he is not, and you are. And for the sake of our beloved people, as well as the peace of our happy country, the festival must go forward as planned. It is a small affair, a simple matter. Food, music, dancing. I thought, considering—’ he paused delicately ‘—you could stop in Makaris on your way to the airport, and enjoy the festivities for an hour, two, no more. The people like a glimpse of the royal family, that is all.’

‘On the way to the airport?’ Aarif repeated, his voice scrupulously polite. ‘It was my understanding we would depart from the palace’s airstrip.’

Bahir waved a hand. ‘Yes, yes, I can see how you would think that. But as I said, the people of Zaraq care very much for the royal family, and in truth Princess Kalila, being my only heir, is much loved. They will want to wish her well, say farewell, you know how it is.’ He smiled, but no one could mistake the shrewd glint in his eyes.

Aarif dabbed his mouth with a napkin before smiling easily, although Kalila saw that his eyes were just as hard and shrewd as her father’s. ‘Yes, of course. We must satisfy the people, King Bahir. Let it be as you wish.’

Bahir smiled in satisfaction, and Kalila felt a sudden wave of numbing fatigue crash over her at the thought of several hours of mingling, chatting, waving, smiling. Indulging everyone’s need for a fairy tale.

Yet it had to be done; it would be done. It was, she knew, all part of her duty as princess. As queen.

‘I am sorry to rush you from your home, Princess,’ Aarif said, turning to her. ‘But as you know, the wedding is in two weeks, and there will be preparations to complete there.’ He paused before adding almost as an afterthought, ‘And of course King Zakari will be eager to see you, his bride.’

‘Of course.’ Kalila stared down at her untouched plate. At that moment she had trouble believing Zakari was eager for anything but another diamond in his crown.

The rest of the evening passed with more ease, and Bahir made sure the wine and conversation flowed smoothly.

‘I have heard that many of the Al’Farisi princes have been educated at Oxford,’ he said as dessert, roasted plums seasoned with cardamom and nutmeg, was served. ‘I went to Sandhurst myself, which is how I happened to meet my late wife, Queen Amelia, God rest her soul. Her brother was one of my best friends.’ Bahir smiled in inquiry. ‘Did you attend Oxford, Aarif?’

‘I did, and then returned to Calista to oversee our diamond industry.’

‘You are a man of business.’

‘Indeed.’

And he looked like one, Kalila thought. All about hard facts and figures, details and prices. Even his eyes had the hardness of diamonds.

‘Kalila went to Cambridge,’ Bahir continued. ‘As I’m sure you, or at least your brother, knows. She studied history, and enjoyed her years there, didn’t you, my dear?’

‘Yes, very much.’ Kalila smiled stiffly, disliking the way her father trotted out her accomplishments as if she were a show pony. A brood mare.

‘An education is important for any ruler, don’t you think?’ Bahir continued, and Aarif swivelled slightly to rest that harsh and unyielding gaze on Kalila.

She stilled under it, felt again that strange warmth bloom in her cheeks and her belly at his scrutiny. Strange, when his expression was so ungenerous, his eyes so dark and obdurate. She should quell under that unyielding gaze, yet she didn’t. She flourished. She wanted more, yet more of what? What more could a man like Aarif give?

‘Yes,’ he said flatly, and then looked away.

Finally the meal was over, and Bahir invited Aarif to take a cigar and port in his private study. It was a male tradition, one that took different guises all around the world, and all it took was for her father to raise his eyebrows at her for Kalila to know she’d been excused. It usually annoyed her, this arrogant dismissal of women from what was seen as the truly important matters, but tonight she was glad.

She wanted to be alone. She needed to think.

She waited until Bahir and Aarif were ensconced in the study before she slipped outside to the palace’s private gardens, an oasis of verdant calm. She loved these gardens, the cool shade provided by a hundred different varieties of shrub and flower, the twisting paths that would suddenly lead to a fountain or sculpture or garden bench, something pleasant and lovely.

She breathed in deeply the surprising scents of lavender and rose, imported from England by Bahir for the pleasure of his homesick wife.