Читать книгу The Royal House of Karedes: The Desert Throne: Tamed: The Barbarian King / Forbidden: The Sheikh's Virgin / Scandal: His Majesty's Love-Child - Annie West - Страница 15

FOR an instant Kareef was afraid he’d hurt her. Then she moaned, swaying against him, tightening her legs around his waist as he filled her.

He gasped at that movement, at the way her full breasts brushed against his chest. Then he pushed her down again, thrusting inside her, filling her so deeply a growl escaped the back of his throat.

Firelight cast shadows over her beautiful face, her full, swollen lips, and the long dark eyelashes tightly closed in an expression of joy. Watching her, he held his breath with the effort it took to hold himself back.

He was inside her, but she was the one who filled him.

Jasmine. Her beauty. Her boundless sensuality. She swayed against him with the decadent grace of a houri. Beads of sweat were like clear pearls on her white, swanlike neck as she leaned back, gasping. The veil of her dark, glossy hair cascaded down her back, swinging back and forth as she kept her eyes closed, panting for breath.

Lifting her head with his hand, he kissed her. She gasped her pleasure against his mouth, gripping his shoulders, biting into his flesh with her fingernails, marking him in her own act of possession.

The force of his taking was primal—unstoppable. He heard her cry out and could hold back no longer. He gripped her against his body as he poured himself into her with a shout.

He collapsed back on the red blanket, holding her against him. He did not know when he woke. She was still sleeping in his arms.

They were both naked. The fire was dying. The night was growing cold, the darkness growing around them.

He felt her shiver. He looked down at her face. She was sleeping, her cheek pressed against his chest. Her beauty went beyond her dark hair or perfect pink lips. It went deeper than her pale skin with roses in her cheeks.

Even after all the times he’d made love to her, he did not feel satiated. And he was starting to fear he never would be.

He did not want to divorce her.

Silently, Kareef withdrew himself from beneath her body and rose to his feet. Crossing the cave, he pulled a second blanket from the horse’s pack. Crawling back beside her, he covered them both with it, wrapping her in his arms. He knew, even in sleep, he would not let her go.

Growing drowsy, he looked down at her sleeping against him. He wanted her like this every night. In his bed. At his table. On his arm. Charming diplomats with her beauty. Dancing in his arms.

With her beauty and gentle grace, Jasmine would be the perfect queen. But…

His jaw tightened as he stared at the dying fire.

He still had to divorce her. He had to provide an heir of the blood. The Al’Ramizes had reigned Qusay for a thousand years. His cousin Xavian had given up the throne when he’d learned he was a changeling, a substitute for a lost Al’Ramiz child.

Blood meant everything. It gave the Al’Ramiz men the right to rule. Not just the right—the obligation. And Jasmine could never become pregnant with his child.

His throat became tight. He looked away, staring at the bumps and rocks of scattered earth illuminated by the fading embers of the fire. Outside, he could hear the rattle of the sand against the solid rocks of the cliffs, hear the wind wailing in disappointed fury as it slowly died.

He slept fitfully, holding her tight.

“Kareef.” Her naked body stirred in his arms. “Are you awake?”

Her voice was like a dream, full of sweet warmth, offering such peace. He slowly opened his eyes.

At the mouth of the cave, above the piles of new sand, he saw the gray light of dawn creeping over the western mountains. The wind had died down. The desert was calm. He could hear the plaintive sound of morning birds, hear the soft whinny of the stallion hungry for breakfast.

It was morning. The storm was over.

Their time was over.

Unwillingly, he turned to Jasmine. Her face was like cool water, a balm to his spirit. Her brown eyes reflected deep pools of light. But it only made the pain worse.

He did not want to let her go.

“It’s barely dawn,” he lied softly. His arms tightened around her. “Go back to sleep.”

For a moment, she rested against him, and silence fell in the cool darkness of the cave. Then she shifted in his arms and her head popped up to look down at him. “Do you think your men are looking for us?”

“Yes,” he said. “They will be here soon.”

He heard her intake of breath, felt her pull away from him on the blanket. When she spoke, her voice was curiously flat. “Then it’s time.”

“Time?”

“Time for you to divorce me.”

He looked up at her. Her expression had turned to stone, the pools of light shuttered and gone. She glanced over at the black fabric now crumpled on the other side of the cave.

“I know you have the emerald,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said, his jaw tight. “I brought it with me.”

“So eager to be rid of me?”

“I promised to set you free.”

She lifted her chin, her expression a mixture of bravado and pain. “So do it.”

Kareef’s hands tightened into fists.

Jasmine was right. It was time. The storm was over, and his men were no doubt grimly combing the desert. Soon, they’d be found, and Kareef would return to Shafar. Back to the royal palace, back to his endless duties. He would be hosting a royal banquet tonight.

Then, tomorrow, he would attend the Qais Cup. And witness the wedding of Jasmine Kouri to Umar Hajjar.

It was dawn. The magic was over.

“Kareef?” Jasmine looked at him, her eyes swimming with misery.

She felt the same as he did, he realized. She did not want this divorce.

The knowledge flooded him with sudden strength.

So he would not give her up. Not yet. He wasn’t done with her yet.

“No,” he growled. “I won’t speak the words yet.”

“But Kareef,” she choked out, “you know you must!”

“Must?” He sat up. His shoulders straightened as his whole body became as unyielding as steel. He looked down at her, as selfish and ruthless and harsh as any ancient sultan.

“There is no must,” he growled, lifting his chin as his eyes glittered down at her. “I’m the king of Qusay. And until I release you, you belong to me.”

You belong to me.

Jasmine shivered at the words. She could not deny them. She did belong to Kareef. She always had, body and soul.

But he was king of Qusay. He could not keep a barren woman as his bride. And she couldn’t openly remain his mistress. Such a scandal would make the one thirteen years ago seem like nothing.

Jasmine closed her eyes with a shuddering breath. She’d returned to Qusay to help her family, not ruin them again! And how could she stab Umar in the heart with such a public humiliation, after everything he’d done for her?

They had to divorce. They had to part. There was no other way. If she allowed herself to be with Kareef as she wished—if she allowed herself to be selfish—it would destroy everyone she loved. She looked up at Kareef.

Already, a team of his bodyguards was searching, no doubt panicked that their king had disappeared in the sandstorm.

Was that a helicopter she heard in the distance now?

No, she told herself frantically. Not yet!

But she had to face the hard truth. Their sweet, stolen time was over.

Pushing away from Kareef’s warmth, she rose numbly to her feet. It was too late for her panties—they’d been annihilated in the fire—but she pulled on her white cotton bra, which she found on the floor of the cave.

“You don’t need that,” Kareef said, lying back against the blanket. “We have hours yet. It’s barely dawn.”

She didn’t answer.

Kareef pushed himself up on one elbow. “Jasmine.”

She didn’t look back. She was afraid if she looked into the basilisk intensity of his gaze, she would be caught by his magic once again and lose her own ability to do what must be done. Even now, her body shook with the effort of defying him—and worse, defying her own deepest longings.

She found the white cotton dress, now dirty and with tiny rips in the eyelet lace, crumpled behind a rock. It seemed eons since he’d pulled it off her body.

So much had happened since then. Entire worlds had changed.

She felt his gaze, but wouldn’t turn to meet his eyes.

Naked, he sprang lightly to his feet, like a warrior. Taking her in his arms, he forced her to turn around and meet his gaze. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

She swallowed. “Thank you for these beautiful days in the desert,” she whispered, feeling like her heart was splitting, bleeding in her chest. “I will never forget them.”

“Our time is not over.”

Trembling, Jasmine closed her eyes. It would be easier to say this if she didn’t have to look at his beautifully masculine face, at his sensual mouth, at his eyes of endless blue. He took her heart apart in his gaze.

“It is over,” she whispered. “We are over.”

She felt his shock. Felt his hands go slack before he tightened his grip painfully around her. “Look at me.”

She wouldn’t.

“Look at me!”

Compelled to obey, she opened her eyes.

His face was dark with fury.

“You are mine, Jasmine. For as long as I want you.”

Her throat went dry. How she wished it could be true, wished she could be his forever—or for even one more night!

“How?” she replied hoarsely. “How can I be yours, Kareef?”

His eyes darkened and cooled until they were like a thousand storms over the Arctic Sea. “You bound yourself to me long ago.”

“Kareef—”

“You will not marry him tomorrow. It is too soon!”

Her tortured eyes flickered up at him. “What would you have me do, then? Desert Umar at the altar? Be your mistress? Leave my family to their ruin?”

His jaw clenched. “We could keep our affair a secret—”

“There’s no such thing at the palace!” she cried. “Here in the desert, perhaps, with only your trusted servants, we could keep it quiet for a short while. But you know as well as I do that there are no secrets at the royal palace. There’s likely gossip about us already. I’ve already caused my family so much pain, and now my little sister is pregnant. How could my parents ever hold up their heads in the street, if I let myself be branded as your whore?”

Air hissed through his teeth.

“No one would call you that,” he raged. “You would be respected as my…as my—”

“As your what? As your wife? We cannot remain married. You know we cannot!”

His eyes glittered down at her. “I can do as I please. I am the king.”

She heard a distant helicopter, a deep flick-flick-flick high above the desert, and this time there could be no doubt. Shaking her head, she gave a harsh laugh.

“For a man with your sense of honor,” she said, fighting back tears, “that makes you less free than the lowliest servant in your palace.”

“Jasmine…”

“No!” she shouted. “I cannot back out of my engagement. Umar would be humiliated. My family’s reputation would be destroyed. First my scandal, then Nima’s pregnancy—my parents would never be able to leave their house again!”

“Why do you even care, after the way they’ve treated you?”

“Because I love them. Because—” she lifted her head as tears filled her eyes “—they are the only family I’ll ever have. They, and Umar and his children. I cannot be the cause of their ruin by becoming your whore!”

“Don’t use that word! I would kill any man who called you that!”

“All of them?” Her throat tightened as a hoarse laugh escaped her. “You would kill your own subjects for speaking the truth?”

His hands clenched her shoulders. “It’s not the truth, and you know it!”

She briefly closed her eyes, trying to regain her strength, to catch her breath. “What else would you call an engaged woman who’s done what I’ve done with you?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re my wife.”

“Let me go, Kareef,” she whispered. “Set me free.”

He looked down at her, his eyes full of an impetuous mixture of autocratic male possessiveness and emotion that struck her to the heart. “I can protect you, Jasmine.”

“How?” she whispered, then shook her head. “Even you cannot work miracles—”

“It’s a miracle you’re here with me now.” Cupping her face, he looked down at her. “And I will not let you go. Not yet.”

She felt his rough fingertips against her skin. Felt his naked body, so warm and hard and fierce against hers. Felt how much he desired her. Felt the power of his savage strength as he lowered his mouth to hers.

His lips moved against hers with deep, exquisite tenderness. Persuading her. Mastering her, not just with his sensual power, but with the ache of her own body and heart.

When he finally released her, a low sigh rose from her throat. She gazed up at him, this man she loved, feeling dazed and warm, drenched by the soft sunlight of his nearness.

His kiss had conquered her as a thousand words could not.

Exhaling, he pulled her back against his bare chest, stroking her hair as he felt her surrender. “You’re mine, Jasmine,” he murmured into her hair, almost too softly for her to hear. “As I am yours.”

Distantly, a voice cried inside her that he wasn’t hers—that he could never be hers, not anymore. And that by going back to Shafar with him as his secret mistress, she’d be risking everything she held precious—everyone she loved.

But she could not let him go. Not yet. Not yet!

She closed her eyes as he held her in her arms. Let the future come as it will, she thought. Somehow, they could find a way to be together just for a little while longer without hurting anyone. Couldn’t they?

The helicopter was very loud now. She saw the swirl of sand outside the cave turn by the force of its rotor blades as it landed on the nearby plateau.

Jasmine pulled back with sudden alarm. “Get dressed. We can’t let your men find you naked…alone with me!”

He snorted a laugh. “That would be a most unexpected sight for them, wouldn’t it?”

Picking up his clothes from the ground, she shoved them into his arms. “Get dressed!”

He smiled down at her, and she couldn’t help smiling back. For one instant time hung between them, breathless with the anticipation of endless future joys.

Then she heard his men shouting, heard the pounding of machines against the earth. Heard a rush of heavy footsteps coming toward the cave, growing louder.

Sighing beneath her anxious, pleading gaze, he moved with rapid military precision, stepping into his boxers and black pants. As he pulled on his shirt, she peeked one last look at his handsome physique and marveled that she was the only woman who’d ever experienced the incredible pleasure of being in his bed. How was it possible? How was she so blessed?

She thought again of the reverent, hot, tender way he’d touched her in the night. And in the day…

“Sire? Sire!”

Kareef’s chief bodyguard peered over the piled sand at the mouth of the cave, then fell to his knee in gratitude and relief. Behind him were a dozen men, geared up as if for battle. “God be praised! That blasted mare returned riderless right before the storm hit the house. We thought…We feared…”

Buttoning his ragged white shirt, Kareef stood before them, tall and proud. He looked every inch a king.

“We are safe, Faruq. Miss Kouri and I were riding when we were caught in the storm and took shelter here. Thank you for finding us.” He gestured at the black stallion tied to the rock. “Please see Tayyib is cared for. He bore us well.”

“Yes, sire.”

“And my people? My home?”

“No injuries,” the bodyguard replied. “Little damage. A great deal of sand. We brought a doctor for you just in case.”

“I am unhurt. He will check Miss Kouri for injury.”

Faruq glanced at her uneasily, then bowed and backed away. She felt the other bodyguards giving her sideways glances, and her face grew hot.

“The helicopter will return us to the royal palace immediately,” Kareef said. He turned to her, holding out his hand. “Miss Kouri?”

As Kareef escorted her out of the dark cave, lifting her back into the hot white sun, he smiled down at her. And all her sudden anxiety disappeared as if it had never been.

He led her to the waiting helicopter, and she smiled at him, trying to ignore the grim-faced bodyguards trailing behind. They would manage to keep their affair secret for one more day. One more precious day before Kareef would be forced to realize he had no choice but to divorce her, and they each parted to face the separate lives that fate had decreed for them.

One more day, she thought desperately. No one would be hurt by one more selfish day. A single day could feel like a lifetime.

Kareef would find a way to keep it secret. She’d never seen a secret kept at the palace, but he could find a way. He was magic. He was power.

He was king.

Kareef’s shoulders were tight as he stormed through the corridors of the royal palace, scattering assistants in his wake.

Every minute of his schedule since his return to the city had been meticulously dictated by five different assistants and undersecretaries working in conjunction, overseen by the vizier. The king’s duties were endless. Treaties to negotiate. False smiles under cloak of courtesy. Diplomacy. Politics. Saying one thing and meaning another. What did Kareef know of those?

He growled to himself. He was already learning far more than he’d ever wished.

He despised keeping Jasmine a secret.

She’d slept against his shoulder on the helicopter journey from the desert. He could still feel her, somehow still smell her intoxicating scent of oranges and cloves against his body, though he’d showered and changed out of his clothes and into white robes at the royal palace.

The moment he’d set foot back at the palace, he’d wanted to take her to his bedchamber; but she’d demurred, glancing at the endless secretaries and assistants waiting for him in the hallways. “Later,” she’d whispered, and with a sigh, he’d let her go. He’d told himself he’d be able to cut his meetings short and return soon to her little room in the servants’ wing.

That was ten hours ago. His elderly vizier, Akmal Al’Sayr, was still tearing his beard out at the days Kareef had missed. It seemed even being lost and halfpresumed dead in the desert wasn’t enough to excuse a monarch from his duty.

It was now twilight, and he hadn’t seen Jasmine since they’d arrived at the palace. His entire day had been wasted. A day devoted to cold duty in a palace full of hidden corridors and sly whispers of gossip.

His hands tightened. He hated all this secrecy. He had to convince her to give up the marriage. He would smooth things over with Hajjar somehow. Once she agreed to call off her wedding, Kareef would be willing to divorce her. When she agreed to be his longterm mistress.

How could my parents ever hold up their heads in the street, if I let myself be branded as your whore?

The word made him flinch. No. Damn it, no! If any man dared insult her, Kareef would throw him into the Byzantine dungeon beneath the palace. He would exile him to the desert without food or water. He would—

You would kill your own subjects for speaking the truth? He heard the echo of Jasmine’s whisper in the cave. Let me go. Set me free.

Clenching his jaw, he pushed the thought firmly from his mind. He would keep her as long as he desired her—whether that took ten years or fifty. He was young yet, only thirty-one. He would keep her for himself, and put off his own marriage as long as he could.

He quickened his pace down the hall, growling at any servant who dared to look his way.

Was Jasmine awake yet? he wondered. Was she naked beneath the sheets, with her dark hair mussed across the pillow? He felt rock-hard, aching for her. He went faster, almost breaking into a run.

“Sire, a word?”

In the hallway near the royal offices, he saw his vizier hovering in the doorway.

“Later,” he ground out, not stopping.

“Of course, my king,” the vizier said silkily. “I just wanted you to know I’ve begun negotiations for your marriage. You needn’t worry about it. I will present your bride to you in a few weeks.”

Stopping dead in the hallway, Kareef whirled into the reception room and closed the door behind them.

“You will arrange nothing,” he said coldly. “I have no interest in marriage.”

“But sire, these things take time. And you are not getting any younger…”

“I’m thirty-one!”

“After all the chaos caused by your cousin’s abdication, your subjects need the comfort and security of seeing the line of succession continue. A royal wedding. A royal family.” He pulled on his graying beard. “It might be difficult to find the right bride, a young virgin with the correct lineage and a perfect, unsullied reputation—”

“Why must she be a virgin?” Kareef demanded.

“So no one can ever doubt that your children are yours,” he replied, sounding surprised. “You must have an undisputed heir.”

Kareef clenched his jaw. “You will not negotiate a bride for me. I forbid it.”

The vizier returned his look with gleaming, canny eyes. “Because your interests are elsewhere?”

Kareef looked at him narrowly, wondering how much he already knew. The vizier’s spies were everywhere. He cared so obsessively about the security of the country, personal privacy meant nothing to the man. “What do you mean?”

His dark eyes affixed on Kareef. “It would be a grave mistake to insult Umar Hajjar, my king,” he said quietly. “I’ve heard he is returning from Paris tonight.”

Paris. So Kareef’s suspicions had been right. Hajjar had been spending time with his French mistress.

And Kareef was expected to give up Jasmine to a man who did not even care enough to be loyal to her?

Too angry to be fair, he clenched his hands. “I have no intention of insulting Hajjar. He is my friend. He saved my life.”

“Yes. Quite.” The older man cleared his throat. “The royal banquet begins soon, sire. Ambassadors and foreign princes have come from all over the world to celebrate your impending coronation. You will not wish to be late.”

Kareef ground his teeth. Making small talk with people he didn’t care about? “I will attend in my own time.”

The vizier tugged his beard. “It’s just a pity you don’t have your future bride on your arm for such a social event,” he sighed, then brightened. “Princess Lara du Plessis is attending with her father. She is a possibility as well. She’s very beautiful—”

“No marriage,” Kareef barked out. His mind already on Jasmine, he turned to go.

“You will find her in the royal garden,” the vizier called sourly behind him. “Where she does not deserve to be.”

Kareef whirled to face him.

Jasmine was right. There were no secrets in the palace. Akmal Al’Sayr knew them all.

Except one.

He did not know Kareef was already married.

“You will call off your spies,” he said grimly. “Leave her in peace.”

Akmal’s mouth twisted sharply downward, his lips disappearing into his long gray beard as he fell into dutiful silence.

“And find her a place at the banquet.”

The vizier looked unhappier still, his slender body drooping like a frown. But he hung his head beneath his sovereign’s decree. “Yes, sire.” He looked up, his beady eyes glittering. “But she can never be more to you than a mistress. The people would never accept such a woman as your wife, a woman who’s had so many lovers she threw herself from a horse to lose her nameless, ill-gotten child—”

Red covered Kareef’s gaze. In two strides, he’d grabbed the other man’s throat.

“It was an accident,” he hissed. “An accident. And as for her many lovers, she’s had only one. Me. Do you understand, Al’Sayr? I was her lover. The only one.”

The older man’s eyes started to bulge before Kareef regained control. He let him go. The vizier leaned over, holding his throat and coughing.

“Never speak of her that way again,” he spat out. With a growl still on his lips, Kareef whirled away in murderous fury, striding down the hall in his robes.

His heart was still pounding with rage when he found Jasmine in the royal garden in the twilight, sleeping on a cushioned seat in a shady, quiet bower. A book was folded upside down unheeded in her lap. He stopped, staring down at her, marveling again at her beauty.

She slept peacefully, like a child. The wind blew softly through the trees, rattling the leaves, brushing loose tendrils of dark hair across her face. She was wearing a fitted black sweater over a high-necked white shirt and a long black skirt. And below that—red canvas sneakers.

Her lovely face was bare of makeup, and beautiful in its natural simplicity. Modest, simple, like a maid. She looked the part of a perfect wife and mother—the perfect heart of any man’s home. Of his home.

He took a deep breath, calming down beneath the influence of her sweet purity, of her innocence. He smiled down at her. Then his gaze fell upon her hand, and he saw she still wore Hajjar’s diamond upon her finger.

Jasmine’s dark brown eyes fluttered open. A smile lit up her face when she saw him. Her smile struck through his soul.

“Kareef.” The sweet lilt of her voice washed over him like a wave of water. “Oh, how I’ve missed you today!”

He sat next to her, taking her hands in his own. “I thought the day would never end.”

“And once again, you’ve caught me in the royal garden.” Her expression became bashful, apologetic. “Where I should not be.”

“The garden is yours,” he said roughly. “You have the right.”

She tried to smile at him, but her expression faltered. She looked down at her hand, twisting the ring on her finger. “For now.”

A spasm of unexpected jealousy went through him as he looked at that ring, the physical mark of another man’s ownership. “Take that off.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Why?”

“Take it off.”

“No.”

“You’re not going to marry him tomorrow.”

Her expression became mutinous. “I am.” She rose to her feet. “And if you can’t accept that—”

“We won’t talk about it now, then.” He caught her wrist. “Just come to the royal banquet with me tonight.”

She looked down at his hand on her wrist.

“This is how we would be discreet?” she said. “Beside each other at the banquet, as lovers for all the world to see?” She shook her head. He saw tears in her eyes. “Admit I was right,” she whispered. “The palace separates us already. Let’s end this cleanly. We must part.”

He looked at her with a heavy heart. How could he change her mind, when he himself could feel the truth of her words?

But taking a deep breath, he shook his head. “One more night.”

“It won’t change anything.”

“Attend the banquet with me. Give me one last chance to change your mind, to convince you not to marry him. One last night.” He set his jaw. “Then, if you still wish to wed him—I will say farewell.”

He watched her face as her expression struggled visibly between desire and pain. “You will divorce me?”

“Yes.”

“On your honor?”

“Yes,” he bit out.

She gave him a slow nod. “Very well.” She reached out to caress his cheek, then hesitated. She glanced wryly at her red high-top sneakers. “I will go get dressed.” She bowed her head, then looked up. Tears glistened in her eyes. “Until tonight, my king.”

A half hour later, Kareef arrived alone to thunderous applause at the grand ballroom. Five hundred illustrious guests clamored for his attention, clamored for his gaze—and he still hadn’t thought of a way to convince Jasmine to remain his mistress. Because there wasn’t a solution.

Jasmine wanted respectability. She wanted a family of her own. She wanted children.

As king, what could he offer her—except disgrace?

Greeting his honored guests, Kareef walked to the end of the long table, looking for one beautiful face. Where was she? Where had the vizier placed her? Without her calming presence, he felt like a trapped tiger in a cage, half-mad in captivity. He prayed to find her beside him at the table.

But when he reached his place, he stopped.

Seated on his left he saw the elderly king of a neighboring nation.

Seated on his right was a beautiful blonde of no more than eighteen, bedecked in diamonds and giggling behind her hand as she stared up at him with big blue eyes. He instantly knew who she must be: Princess Lara du Plessis.

Silently cursing his vizier, Kareef sat down. His hands clenched on the fine linen tablecloth of the table. He stared dismally at his plate setting of 24-karat goldpatterned china and crystal stemware filled with champagne. Where was Jasmine?

As the meal was served, the elderly king on his left complained at length about some unfair customs tax between Qusay and his own country, and it was all Kareef could do to keep from turning his ceremonial dagger on himself, like a wolf chewing off his own paw to escape a trap.

Then he felt the prickles rise on the back of his neck. And he looked up.

Jasmine looked at him from the other side of the ballroom, as far away as she could possibly be. She’d been seated beside some plain woman dressed in brown and the fat, balding secretary of the Minister of the Treasury. No doubt a location that the vizier had arranged for her personally.

She tried to give him an encouraging smile, but her eyes were sad. The shadows of the darkening ballroom beneath the candlelit chandeliers made everyone else disappear.

She was so beautiful. And so far away.

His heart turned over in his chest. Was this all it was to be, then? Was this all he could offer her? To be his secret mistress, fit only for clandestine trysts in his bedroom—instead of be the honored companion by his side?

Kareef ate quickly and spoke in monosyllables to the elderly king and the giggling young princess when they forced a direct question upon him. The instant the musicians and fire dancers arrived in the ballroom, signaling the end of the banquet, the candles were put out to highlight the magic of the performance.

Kareef threw his linen napkin on his plate and went to her.

The shadows were dark and deep as he made his way through the ballroom. All the audience was mesmerized by the intricacies of a dance with flames and swords, set to the haunting melody of the jowza and santur. Kareef was invisible in the darkness. He passed many whispered conversations that he knew would never be spoken before the king.

“…Jasmine Kouri,” he heard a woman hiss, and in spite of himself, he slowed to listen. “Spending every day with him at the palace—and nights, too, I wager. The king’s a good, honorable man but when a woman is so determined to spread her legs…”

“And her an engaged woman!” came the spiteful reply. “She’s made a fool out of Umar Hajjar for wanting to marry her. You remember that scandal when she was young? She was bad from the start.”

“She’ll get her comeuppance. Wait and see.…”

Hands clenched, Kareef whirled to see who was speaking, but the women’s voices faded and blended into the rest of the crowd. He saw only moving shadows.

Oh God, give him an honest fight! A fight where he could face his enemy—not the whisper of spiteful gossips in the dark!

He was still trembling with fury when he reached the lower tables of the ballroom. He whispered Jasmine’s name silently. He craved her touch, yearned to have her in his arms. He yearned to keep her safe, to somehow give her shelter from the cruel words.

But when he reached for her chair, it was empty.

The instant the musicians entered the ballroom with their guitars, dulcimers and flutes in an eerie, haunting accompaniment to dancing swords of fire in the abruptly darkened ballroom, Jasmine bolted from her seat.

The banquet had been hell. She’d heard whispers and caught stares in her direction—some curious, some envious, a few hateful. It was clear that in spite of the fact that she and Kareef had neither kissed nor slept in the same bed since they’d returned to the palace, everyone already believed she was his lover. And they blamed her—only her—for that sin.

On her right side at the table, a fat, balding man had leered at her throughout the meal. On her left, a plain woman had stiffened in her mousy brown suit and pointedly ignored her for a solid hour.

Jasmine had watched Kareef across the ballroom. He was clearly adored and praised by his subjects, and he accepted their attention carelessly, as his due.

Kareef didn’t need her in his life, whatever he might say. He was surrounded by people begging for his attention, including the virginal blonde princess seated beside him. She was the type of woman he no doubt would marry—very soon.

She’d fled as soon as the ballroom went dark. She’d been desperate to escape before anyone could see her tears. But as soon as she was in the hallway, she felt a hand on her shoulder and whirled around, her hands tightened into fists.

Then her hands grew lax. Her body went numb.

“Father,” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”

Yazid Kouri seemed to have aged in just the last few days, his once-powerful frame grown stooped and thin. He looked her over from her careful chignon to the black formal dress she’d borrowed from her old friend Sera for the occasion.

He gave a harsh laugh. “Why did you come back here?”

“You know why—”

“I thought you’d at last become a respectable, dutiful girl.” He shook his head, his black eyes suspiciously bright. “Why would you agree to marry a respectable man, only to betray him with the king before you have even spoken your vows?”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand!”

“Tell me you’ve never lain with the king,” he said. “Tell me it’s just an ugly rumor, and I’ll believe you.”

Blinking fast, she looked away. Her father’s disappointment hurt her so badly she could hardly bear it. “I’ve betrayed no one except myself. There is no shame if I am with the king, not when he…not when we…”

Not when we’re married. But the words caught at her throat. She couldn’t reveal their secret. The king’s word of honor was admired around the world. How could she reveal that he’d hidden such a secret for thirteen years?

As a girl, she’d remained silent to protect him.

As a woman, she still would.

“You see nothing wrong in sleeping with a man who is not your husband?” her father continued, his voice sodden with grief. “That sort of behavior might be acceptable in the modern world, but not in our family. Your sister needs you. Marry Umar. Return to New York with your new husband and family. Help Nima raise her child!”

Jasmine’s jaw dropped. “You’ve spoken to her?”

“She called us two hours ago.” He looked away, his jaw clenching. “She says she doesn’t know how to be a mother. She’s threatening to give the child to strangers when it’s born! She’s scared. She’s so young.”

Fury suddenly raced through Jasmine, fury she could not control. She raised her head.

“Just as I was!” she cried. “I was sixteen when you threw me out of our family, out of our country!”

“I was angry,” he whispered. Tears filled his bleary eyes. “I had different expectations of you, Jasmine. You were my eldest. You had such intelligence, such strength. I took so much pride in you. Then…it all fell apart.”

Her heart turned over in her chest.

“Go back to New York as a married woman. Steady Nima with your strength.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Tomorrow, I will be in Qais, expecting to see a wedding.”