by Annie West
‘Does it feel revealing?’
Tori shook her head. It felt wonderful. If she weren’t so nervous she’d feel like Cinderella heading for the ball. She’d never possessed a dress so glamorous, or one that made her feel beautiful.
‘Of course it doesn’t.’ Azia’s tone was firm. ‘The neckline’s not too low and though the dress is contoured to your body it’s not tight. You look sophisticated and elegant. I can’t wait to see the look on Ashraf’s face.’
The thought of him washed heat across Tori’s cheeks but Azia, bless her, pretended not to notice.
‘I’m glad you chose black instead of the deep red. It’s perfect with your colouring. Besides,’ she added with a twinkle, ‘you can wear red for the next one. Or maybe that gorgeous kingfisher-blue we saw.’
Tori smiled automatically but her heart wasn’t in it. Would there be a next time? She remembered Ashraf talking about having her horse shipped to Australia. And he hadn’t pressed her again to accept marriage.
Maybe his offer for her to stay in Za’daq was no longer on the table, with or without marriage. She couldn’t expect it to be open-ended. There must be limits to Ashraf’s patience.
Yet returning to Australia didn’t appeal. Was she getting used to a life of royal luxury? Of ease and comfort?
More likely she was growing used to basking in Ashraf’s attention. The more time they spent together, the harder it was to imagine leaving. Even if it was for her own good. Ashraf was more, so much more even than she’d imagined.
A knock sounded on the door and before she could answer Azia was there, curtseying low.
‘Your Majesty.’
Ashraf stood framed in the door, looking debonair and so handsome that Tori felt her insides roll over. She’d expected him to wear traditional robes tonight but instead he wore a dinner jacket, superbly cut to his rangy, powerful frame. The crisp white shirt accentuated the rich bronze of his throat and his hair shone black as jet.
‘Majesty? Why so formal in private, Azia?’ He took the other woman’s hand and pulled her upright.
Azia dimpled up at him but her eyes were serious. ‘Just practising my curtsey for tonight. I’m told I still haven’t got it right.’
Ashraf frowned and kept hold of her hand. ‘I can imagine who told you that. Just ignore them. I’d rather have your genuine smile than perfect court etiquette.’ He paused. ‘Just as I’d rather have your herbed lamb with lemons and pilaf than any ten-course royal feast.’
Azia blushed. ‘Then you must come to dinner again soon. I’ll talk to Bram about setting a date.’ She darted a look at Tori. ‘I’d better go. He’ll wonder where I am. See you there, Tori.’
Then she was gone, surprising Tori, who’d expected to accompany her to the reception.
The door closed and Ashraf faced her. There it was again. The throb of sensation as if all the oxygen had rushed out of the room while heat pooled low in her body. She should be used to it. Instead of familiarity lessening the impact of Ashraf’s presence, it only heightened her response.
‘Victoria.’
His voice was a rough purr, drawing out the syllables of her name into something exotically beautiful.
‘You look magnificent.’
She felt her shoulders push back, her lips curve at the extravagant compliment. ‘Thank you. So do you. Though I expected to see you in traditional robes.’
He paced towards her. It felt as if the room shrank till there was nothing beyond Ashraf.
‘It’s good to mix things up. A change from tradition and court formality can be useful occasionally.’
Tori read the lines still bracketing his mouth. ‘Is this something to do with Azia? With the people who don’t think she and Bram are good enough to be here?’ She’d finally prised that out of her friend and still reeled from what she’d learned.
‘Some of the older courtiers look askance at anyone different, or any change. But they’ll learn.’
The determined set to Ashraf’s jaw told its own story. Tori knew Ashraf would make that change happen. Azia had explained how Ashraf and Bram had become friends—one a prince, the other literally a pauper.
Bram’s mother had been a servant and his father a foreigner who’d left her pregnant, unmarried and struggling to feed herself, much less a baby. She’d been shunned and Bram’s blue eyes had been a constant reminder of her shame. Doing his military service with Bram, Ashraf had saved him from a vicious whipping by some men who had objected to serving with a clever upstart from the gutter. Bram still bore scars from the attack, but he and Ashraf had been stalwart friends since.
The tale had left Tori seething with outrage. And warmed by Ashraf’s actions and the men’s friendship.
She blinked now as Ashraf moved into her personal space, pulling something from his pocket. A small leather box.
Tori’s heart leapt. Surely he wasn’t—?
‘For you to wear tonight.’
Once more that low voice curled through her, like smoke caressing her senses. She breathed deep, registering Ashraf’s warm cinnamon scent, and knew that soon she’d be begging for more from him. Days of companionship and those searing, unsettling looks had done nothing to satisfy her craving.
Slowly she opened the box and found a pair of stunning earrings. ‘Are they...?’ She peered more closely.
‘Diamonds and obsidian.’
The diamonds were large and exquisitely cut, and beneath them the long teardrops of pure black obsidian were flawless.
‘I’ve never seen anything like them.’ She might be a geologist, but she usually saw stones in their raw state. She estimated that these were unique and incredibly expensive. Yet it wasn’t their monetary value that mattered. It was Ashraf’s expression as he offered them.
Her heart stilled. Could it be...?
* * *
‘You like them?’
Ashraf cringed inwardly at the neediness of that question. Like a kid seeking validation from an adult, or a lovesick youngster mooning over a girl he could never have.
Yet he knew Tori would eventually come to him. He’d seen hints that she’d begun to see the sense of his arguments. Plus there were clear signs of her sexual frustration. Her hungry stare as he entered the room had been like an incendiary flare. He still felt the sparks in his blood.
‘They’re stunning. But I can’t—’
‘Of course you can. And it would please me if you wore them.’ He paused, watching her waver. ‘Azia will be disappointed if you don’t. She made a point of telling Bram what colour you were wearing, knowing he’d tell me.’
Tori’s mouth rucked up ruefully. She liked Azia, which pleased him. Azia and Bram had kept him sane these last couple of years since he’d taken the throne. True friendship was in scarce supply in the royal court.
‘In that case, thank you.’
Colour streaked her cheekbones. Ashraf knew she wasn’t used to accepting gifts. He liked that. Liked knowing she’d never been beholden to other men. She’d been shocked when he had procured that horse for her, protesting at length though it had been clear she adored the mare. His Tori was very independent but he enjoyed giving her presents.
He watched her replace her plain silver studs with the new earrings. As she turned the light caught the gems, drawing attention to the pale pearl lustre of her skin and her slender throat.
Ashraf’s pulse quickened.
His. His magnificent Victoria.
She would be his—and soon.
Not just because she was the mother of his son. But because he wanted her. He’d never want any other woman but her.
It should have been a shocking revelation. Instead the knowledge was like the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Ashraf felt a buzz of excitement and at the same time the peace of acceptance.
His gaze fell past pale skin down to a dress that glit
tered like the fathomless night sky in the desert, awash with stars. Traceries of delicate silver thread gave way to pure black where the dress skimmed her gorgeous body.
Ashraf swallowed hard. His baser instincts urged him to forget the people already gathered in the royal audience chamber. He’d rather spend the evening here with Tori.
He read her eyes, which had turned misty with awareness. It would take little to persuade her into bed...
But he had a duty to his people. A duty to Tori. To show her what her world would be like in Za’daq. That included events like tonight—not as much fun as visiting a souk or a village. She had to know the worst as well as the best. He just hoped, with a nervousness he hadn’t felt in years, that the reality of court life didn’t terrify her.
* * *
As expected his arrival, with Tori on his arm, caused a ripple. Cronies of his father raised eyebrows and matrons who’d shoved their unmarried daughters in his direction since he’d ascended to the throne barely hid their chagrin.
Ashraf surveyed them undaunted from his superior height. Tori was his personal guest. When she married him people would have to accept his choice.
None of them were courageous enough to say what was on their minds. That the woman at his side wasn’t a Za’daqi aristocrat. That he’d actually touched her in public—even if it was just a guiding hand on her elbow. That he’d broken custom by wearing western clothes.
They’d put up with his changes to government policy because even the most hidebound had begun to see the benefits. But alterations to court tradition, and by extension to their own sense of superiority, would be harshly judged by some. There had already been dismay because he’d been seen holding Tori’s hand on a rural visit.
However, he sensed change wouldn’t be as difficult as it had been when he’d inherited the throne. His nation was altering. Ashraf had enjoyed the evening more than usual. There was a wider mix of social groups and foreigners attending. Plus the atmosphere became more relaxed after the crowd had gone outside to watch feats of horsemanship, archery and acrobatics. He’d seen Tori’s delight and viewed it all through new eyes, enjoying her enthusiasm.
Now, late in the reception, he was enjoying a joke with an army officer who’d been a friend in the old days. When he’d believed he’d found his future in the military. Before his father had cut short his career, outraged at the thought of the despised cuckoo in the nest excelling at something.
Ashraf saw Tori, stunning in silver and black, eyes bright as she laughed with Azia, another woman and a man he recognised as a foreign diplomat. Tori was gesturing towards Ashraf, as if pointing him out.
At that moment an older couple broke in on the group. The irascible Minister for the Interior and his haughty wife. They spoke and Azia flushed furiously. Tori’s chin lifted. The two foreigners with them looked startled.
Ashraf started forward but a voice in his ear said, ‘No. Wait.’
It was Bram.
‘Is there a problem?’ his army friend asked, craning to look past the crowd.
‘Only a little one,’ said Bram. ‘Not worth worrying about. Besides, I think... Yes, it’s taken care of now.’
He was right. Whatever poison the older couple had tried to spread clearly hadn’t worked. Tori was speaking now and his nemesis looked discomfited, his wife embarrassed. Then Tori and the foreign woman began chatting again. Colour flushed Tori’s cheeks but otherwise she looked serene.
‘Nevertheless, I’ll make sure,’ Ashraf murmured. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’
He reached the group and all eyes turned to him. The Minister opened his mouth to speak but Tori was faster.
‘Your Majesty.’
Tori said it as easily as if she called him by his title daily. Her eyes glittered bright as diamond chips, and the slight flare of her nostrils hinted at displeasure, but otherwise her expression was calm, her smile welcoming.
‘I don’t believe you’ve met Ms Alison Drake, the new American ambassador.’ She turned to the slim brunette, ‘Alison, I’m pleased to introduce you to His Majesty Sheikh Ashraf ibn Kahul al Rashid of Za’daq.’
Not by a flicker did Ashraf betray surprise at her remembering his full name, or at her deft handling of the introduction. Hadn’t she spent her youth at her father’s side, mingling at official functions?
‘Ms Drake, it’s a delight to meet you.’ He shook her hand, preventing her from curtseying. ‘I understood your flight had been delayed? I expected you tomorrow.’
‘The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty. Apologies for my very late arrival. I managed to get an alternative flight and was advised...’ she glanced at her companion from the embassy ‘...that it would be okay to attend—though I haven’t yet formally presented my credentials.’
The Minister for the Interior cleared his throat but Ashraf silenced him with a look. He had no role in diplomatic matters and he’d tried to stir up trouble for Tori and Azia. Ashraf wouldn’t tolerate that.
‘Of course. It’s a pleasure to welcome you. We’ll leave the formalities till tomorrow. In the meantime, I hope you’re enjoying yourself?’
‘Oh, yes. I’ve had such a wonderfully warm welcome to your country.’
He didn’t miss the way her eyes flickered towards the older man. Or how Azia bit her lip and focused on adjusting her shawl. His curiosity deepened.
‘Excellent. Let me introduce you to some more people.’ He looked across the crowd to Bram, who was already ushering forward a number of dignitaries to meet the ambassador.
Ashraf turned to the couple standing stiffly to one side. ‘Minister, your wife looks very tired.’ He offered her a charming smile and watched her swallow nervously. ‘You have my permission to leave. We’ll talk tomorrow.’
* * *
It was hours before Ashraf could be alone with Tori.
The guests had been encouraged to leave and the staff had shut the doors, leaving them the sole possessors of the audience chamber. They stood before the large arched windows looking over a city washed in the national colours of crimson and gold from a final flourish of fireworks.
But Ashraf’s eyes were on Tori, not the view. She’d never looked more beautiful. Nor had the connection between them, invisible as spun glass but strong as the desert sun, been more palpable. She’d spent the last part of the evening at his side and it had felt right.
It was where she belonged.
Tonight, for the first time in a week, he dared to hope she felt the same. The way she smiled at him, the sense of understanding, the fizz in his blood when their eyes met, had to mean something.
Any fear he’d felt that she might be scared off by the pomp of a royal event had been short-lived. She’d shone. She was charming and interested in people. Those qualities had endeared her to his people on their excursions. Plus those years of supporting her father had stood her in good stead.
‘You were magnificent tonight.’
He caught and held her hands. Their eyes met and he felt the impact square in the centre of his chest.
She shook her head, her mouth curving up. ‘That was you, Your Majesty. Magnificent.’
He tugged her closer, almost close enough to kiss. But there was one matter to clear up first.
‘What was that scene with the Minister for the Interior?’
Tori’s eyebrows pinched. ‘You saw that? I didn’t think anyone had noticed.’
‘That he’d been insulting?’ Again, Ashraf felt fury burn. ‘I don’t think anyone else did—only me and Bram.’
Both had been watching their womenfolk. Yet only Bram had been sure that the women could handle the problem. Ashraf had underestimated Tori.
‘You handled him well. Now, tell me.’
She sighed. ‘He had no idea who Alison was. He saw us laughing and assumed she was simply a friend of mine or Azia’s and therefore unimportant.’
Ashraf had learned tonight that the ambassador had once been posted to Australia. She was an old friend of Tori’s mother.
Tori lifted her shoulders. ‘He made disparaging remarks about court standards slipping since shopkeepers and...and others had been invited to such events. He suggested we leave as we must feel out of place.’
Ashraf understood the reference to shopkeepers. Azia’s parents ran a shop in the main souk. But ‘others’...
‘Others?’ He was sure the colour washing Tori’s face had nothing to do with the fireworks. His jaw clenched. ‘Tell me.’
‘I’ve forgotten his exact words.’
Tori wasn’t a good liar, but before he could call her on it she continued.
‘He lost his air of superiority when I stared him down, mentioning how kind and welcoming most Za’daqis were to guests.’
Ashraf didn’t miss the emphasis on most.
‘I introduced him to the new ambassador and Alison mentioned that her parents had run a grocery store back in the States.’
Despite his anger, Ashraf laughed. Hospitality was something Za’daqis prided themselves on. The Minister would have hated being called out on his rudeness. ‘I like your friend Alison more and more. Nevertheless, I want to know—’
* * *
Tori put her finger to his mouth, stopping his words. Touching him felt so good. How had she kept her distance this last week?
‘I’d rather forget him. He’s rude and self-opinionated—but you know that.’ She felt Ashraf’s surprisingly soft lips against her flesh and longing shivered through her. And something more profound. ‘Don’t let him spoil what’s been a wonderful night.’
‘Wonderful?’
Eyes gleaming, Ashraf captured her wrist and kissed her palm, turning that shiver into a pounding torrent of awareness.
Tori gulped, her throat closing as she looked into that strong, dear face.
