Читать книгу The Forced Bride Of Alazar - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 3

‘His Highness, Azim al Bahjat,’ the attendant intoned, and with fear coating her insides with ice Johara stepped into the room.

The man she was meant to marry stood in the centre of the room, his body erect and still, his face grave and unsmiling. Johara could see how black and opaque his eyes were—like a starless night in the desert. His dark hair was cut so close she could see the powerful bones of his skull, and a scar snaked from the corner of his left eye to the curve of his mouth, clearly long since healed over, although the wounded flesh still looked red and livid.

The whole effect was beyond intimidating, and she had to fight not to take an instinctive step back towards the doors, towards safety, away from this man whose face even in repose looked frightening.

If she looked at his features reasonably, Johara told herself, fighting off panic, she could see that he was an attractive man—his features even, his nose a straight slash, his mouth a mobile, sensual curve.

Then Azim inclined his head in what Johara supposed was a greeting. His voice, when he spoke was clipped, cold.

‘We will marry in one week’s time.’