The Warrior's Princess Prize

by Carol Townend

  ‘For you, Daughter. I would not wish you to arrive in Madinat Runda like a beggar.’

  ‘Thank you, Father. May I ask when the marriage will take place?’

  ‘In two days’ time.’

  Jasim heard her swallow, though she said nothing, merely dipped her head. Outwardly, her rebelliousness had vanished.

  And inwardly? What was going through her mind? That wretched veil, Jasim loathed the thing. The one glimpse he’d had of her face had shown it to be extraordinarily expressive.

  A ruby glinted as the Sultan dismissed her with a flick of his wrist. ‘Return to your quarters, Daughter. Your attendants will be furnished with silk cloth for your bride clothes. Damasks, velvets, choose whatever you like.’

  ‘Thank you, Father,’ the Princess said meekly.

  She rose, bowed carefully to the Sultan and walked gracefully from the chamber. Jasim couldn’t help but note that he, soon to be her husband, received no such courtesy.

  Shortly afterwards, as Jasim followed a torchbearer back to his quarters, he realised he had underestimated his betrothed.

  Princess Zorahaida was clearly an extremely resolute young woman. Jasim had barely exchanged a handful of words with her, yet he already knew she was capable of defying the Sultan. She colluded with the Palace Guard in order to leave the palace at will. She spied on her father. She was a woman with a mission—perhaps several missions—and she was set on carrying them out, heedless of the consequences.

  As he made his way back to the barracks, he glanced guiltily towards where he believed the Princess’s tower was sited. He had offended her. He didn’t believe it was because she had taken against him personally. Rather, her anger stemmed from the fact that his proposal had knocked her plans awry.

  It wasn’t the best way to begin a marriage.

  Jasim sighed. He would simply have to find a way to put things right. Like her father, the Princess was proud. And with her father’s insistence the marriage went ahead, she must feel she’d been backed into a corner.

  If Jasim offered her a way out, she might be more amenable to his proposal. If she realised she had a choice. Yes, that might serve...

  It was odd, he had proposed the alliance in the flush of victory, the instant he understood that his desire to marry hadn’t gone away. He’d thought it fortuitous that the Princess intrigued him. He’d suddenly seen a way forward for both Madinat Runda and his personal ambitions. In marrying the Princess, he could kill two birds with one stone.

  He’d been a fool, an arrogant fool. He would have to win her over.

  Having seen the Princess’s face, Jasim wanted the marriage more than ever. Politics be damned, the idea of leaving her behind at the mercy of her violent, irascible father was unthinkable.

  And if she insisted on staying here?

  It was a risk.

  He sighed. There was nothing for it, he must offer her a choice. Hopefully, she would see sense. Life in Madinat Runda, where she would have his protection, had to be better than life in the Alhambra where she was brutalised.

  Meeting the Princess before the marriage ceremony wasn’t going to be easy. The Sultan saw no necessity for the two of them to see each other before then. It was possible he might change his mind, but even supposing Jasim was permitted to meet her, their every breath would be watched.

  Jasim had to find a less orthodox way of talking to her. And soon. He would make her understand she would be safe with him. Then, whatever she decided; he would respect her decision.

  Getting to see the Princess on her own would be something of a challenge.

  Alone, Jasim didn’t stand a chance of arranging a private meeting with her. He needed help from someone who knew their way about the palace. Someone brave enough to break the protocols and fiercely loyal to the Princess.

  The captain he had met in the orange grove sprang to mind. The man hadn’t hesitated to aid the Princess after she had been caught wandering about near the audience chamber. If Jasim could track him down, he might be prepared to help.

  As Jasim reached the barracks, he turned to the torchbearer. ‘I need to speak to one of the officers. Would you kindly direct me to the guardhouse?’

  * * *

  Zorahaida’s betrothal turned her maidservants into madwomen. The ink was barely dry on the marriage agreement before bolts of cloth began piling pile up in the antechamber at the foot of the tower. Everyone except her seemed thrilled.

  ‘Princess, look at this velvet,’ Maura said. ‘I believe it comes from France.’

  ‘No, no, this cloth of gold is finer by far,’ Sama said, shaking out a length of glittering fabric. ‘It’s from Cathay.’

  Delicate veils were dragged from great iron-bound chests. A spray of purple flowers arrived from Prince Ghalib. Her maidservants discussed the merits of velvet slippers, beaded with freshwater pearls. They admired kidskin riding boots that had been dyed red to match the Nasrid colours. They squealed and talked non-stop.

  Even Hunter caught the excitement, he leaped from chest to chest, unearthing yet another veil and chattering almost as loudly as her maids.

  It was too much. Maura and Sama were never usually so excitable. They kept exchanging glances with one another and eyeing her in the most extraordinary manner. If Zorahaida didn’t understand they were over-excited about her marriage, she might suspect they were up to something.

  I am going to marry a stranger from the west.

  When Zorahaida could bear no more, she gave Sama and Maura instructions that she was not to be disturbed and took refuge up in her bedchamber. She left Hunter below. Save for the songbirds, whose cage was covered in a cloth to encourage them to sleep, she was alone.

  It was a warm evening, so she put on a gauzy silk nightgown and went to lie on her feather bed. The shadows created by a lamp danced about her chamber. She wouldn’t sleep. She just needed some peace.

  I have been given away as a prize in a tournament!

  The cheek of the man. The nerve.

  Her head pounded. She lay on her bed, gently rubbing her temple. She wanted to think about the man she was to marry before she could begin to contemplate silks and satins and leather riding boots dyed with the Nasrid colours.

  A door thumped decisively downstairs, and she heard the snap of a bolt being thrown.

  Then, blessed relief, quiet. Maura and Sama must have retired, they would be sleeping in a chamber below.

  Rising, Zorahaida padded to the window facing the mountain. Kneeling on a cushion in the embrasure, she pushed at a shutter which stuck a little before opening.

  The heavens were filled with stars and below them was the dark outline of the mountain. In Zorahaida’s mind, this window opened out to more than a view of the snow-capped Sierra Nevada and she often found comfort gazing out of it. This window reminded her of her sisters, of the time the three of them had been serenaded by three Spanish knights. Shortly after that, her sisters had flown from her life and her father had made it plain that he would never let her go. Not for a moment had she believed he would change his mind.

  Now he had. She was to marry a knight from the west, Jasim ibn Ismail. Would it actually happen? Her father had declared it before witnesses, but her father was unpredictable, to say the least.

  Releasing her breath in a sigh, she leaned her head against the shutter and wished she knew more about Jasim ibn Ismail. When he’d believed her to be a maidservant he’d hurried after her in order to prevent her from being beaten. He had compassion. The trouble was, she’d made the mistake of speaking to him. He’d heard her voice. And since he’d heard it again at the tourney, he would know that she was in the habit of wandering about the palace in the guise of a maidservant.

  Crucially, he didn’t seem to have told her father what she was up to.

  What else did he know? Could she trust him not to say anything about her being the clumsy maids
ervant?

  She closed her eyes and the small night sounds washed over her. The rustle of a tiny creature in the undergrowth, the cry of an owl. Her mind drifted. She thought about the warmth of Jasim ibn Ismail’s smile, of his extraordinary amber-coloured eyes...

  Down in the gully, a twig cracked. It was astonishingly loud. Zorahaida stilled. A man’s voice reached her.

  Who could be in the gully at the bottom of the palace wall? The Palace Guards?

  When she placed her hands on the cool of the windowsill, she saw something had been fastened around the central pillar. It was hard to make it out in the weak light, it felt hard and rough. It looked and felt like...

  Rope! A rope was tied to the window.

  Heart thumping, she crawled on to the low sill and leaned right out. The rope snaked down, seemingly to the bottom of the tower, to where two men, blurry shapes in the night, were standing. It was so reminiscent of the time when Zorahaida and her sisters had sent food down to their Spanish knights, that her eyes stung.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she hissed.

  ‘Be calm, it is only your betrothed.’

  Jasim ibn Ismail was down there? What madness was this? If he should be seen by the guards patrolling the wall walk...

  The rope creaked. One of the men, Jasim ibn Ismail presumably, set his hands to the rope and began to climb.

  Zorahaida’s eyes widened, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The tower was tall, if he fell, he would break his neck. Heart in her mouth, she watched him. He didn’t rush, he was careful. Hand over hand, one foot ever twisted in the rope, he came slowly, steadily nearer. At one point his headcloth fell off but he never missed a stroke. On he came. Relentless.

  Goodness, he was strong. Her pulse thudded.

  The rope shifted. Fibres groaned. As he reached the top, Zorahaida leapt back as though scalded. Broad shoulders eased through the opening and he jumped lightly into the chamber. He shoved hair out of his face—red-gold, beautiful hair—and gave her a courtly bow. He was slightly out of breath.

  ‘Don’t be alarmed, Princess.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she said, disconcerted to realise it had never occurred to her to call for help. Edging cautiously round him, she stuck her head out. His companion remained where he was, staring up at her. ‘Who is the other man?’

  ‘Captain Yusuf ibn Safwan.’

  ‘My captain helped you?’

  ‘Aye, he arranged for the rope to be secured whilst you were busy with your maids. He was most obliging.’ Jasim ibn Ismail smiled and it did strange things to Zorahaida’s insides. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was unsettling. ‘He told me that your sisters spoke to their suitors from the top of the tower.’

  Zorahaida swallowed. ‘That is true, but my sisters’ husbands were in chains at the time. They never climbed up here.’

  Jasim shrugged. ‘Yusuf never told me that. I assumed—’

  ‘You might have been killed.’ She hesitated, speaking softly so no one would hear. ‘You still might be, if you are discovered.’

  He stepped closer, his hair glowing rose gold in the lamplight. His hair, she thought vaguely, was truly magnificent. She had the most astonishing urge to touch it.

  ‘Princess, I needed to speak to you urgently and in private. I could think of no other way that didn’t involve palace protocols and us being watched.’ He laid his hand on his heart. ‘Besides, I had a yearning to see your face again.’

  He was too charming; he couldn’t possibly be sincere. Zorahaida gave him a stern look. ‘If you think flirting will win my heart, you are mistaken.’

  An eyebrow shot up. ‘Flirting? Princess, we are strangers to one another. A woman in a veil has a certain allure, I’ll not deny that, but I had a mind to know your thoughts. Since I’ve not learned to read you from your voice, I needed to see your expression.’

  ‘Oh.’

  When he glanced her up and down, Zorahaida realised, somewhat belatedly, that her filmy nightgown was a little too revealing and he seemed interested in far more than her expression. Snatching up a shawl, she draped it round her. ‘You will keep your eyes on my face, that is shocking enough.’

  His smile grew. ‘Apologies, Princess. I meant no insult.’

  ‘My father the Sultan, will kill you if he finds out you have come here.’

  ‘We shall converse quietly, if you agree. Otherwise I shall leave.’

  That he had gone to all this trouble to speak to her and was prepared to leave should she wish it settled the matter. In any case, Zorahaida was burning to hear what he had to say.

  Coolly, she nodded, gesturing for him to take a seat on one of the cushions. She took the next cushion, noting that he didn’t sit until she had. He appeared to be naturally courteous towards women. It was yet another point in his favour.

  ‘Very well, Jasim ibn Ismail, what is so important that you must risk your life to discuss it?’

  Chapter Six

  Save for the chilling bruises, the Princess was so beautiful, Jasim struggled to find words. He could hardly believe his good fortune. If God willed it, this beguiling woman would be his.

  Was frankness the best way to handle her? Perhaps he should keep his personal desires out of this. Did she know anything about statecraft? As a princess, she might be more sympathetic about his political targets.

  ‘Princess, I should like to be honest with you. I asked for your hand on impulse.’

  ‘I guessed as much. May I ask why?’

  ‘As you are aware, I am from Madinat Runda. My father’s foray into politics—’

  ‘I know about that,’ the Princess cut in. ‘Your father overstepped himself and my father the Sultan took his anger out on the entire district.’

  Jasim nodded. Once again, she had surprised him. Everything in this tower bedchamber—the honeycomb plasterwork ceiling, the decorated wall tiles, the silk cushions and, yes, even that gilded birdcage—spoke of the ultimate in luxury. The Sultan was the most contradictory of parents. He treated his daughter with cruelty and harshness, yet he appeared to shower gifts upon her. She was waited on hand and foot...

  In similar circumstances, how many women would trouble themselves to learn about what went on elsewhere? Not many. Yet this one went about dressed as a maidservant; she crept out of the palace to visit the hospital. She fascinated him as no woman before.

  A satin ribbon was loosely wound into her hair, holding it back for sleep, and a few stray tendrils framed her face. Jasim wanted to touch them, to twine a glossy lock about his finger. Was her skin as soft as it looked? A pulse throbbed with want and for the first time in his life he was gripped by the most primitive of urges.

  This woman is mine.

  With a glance at her bruises, Jasim held himself back. Her father’s brutality must have given her an abiding mistrust of men. He swallowed. He must tread carefully. His body was more than a little interested in her person. He didn’t want to alarm her.

  He cleared his throat. ‘It came to me that a marriage with the Sultan’s daughter could improve relations between Granada and Madinat Runda.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I hoped to undo the damage caused by my father’s foolhardiness. Many go hungry and—’

  ‘You wanted to make amends. Do you truly believe such an alliance will bring prosperity to your district?’

  ‘Aye.’ Jasim leaned forward, resting his forearm on his knee. ‘My uncle is Governor of Madinat Runda. He has no sons.’

  ‘You hope to win favour with him. This is not only about trade, you have ambitions.’ Long eyelashes fluttered down, briefly shielding her eyes. ‘I understand and I thank you for your honesty.’

  So, she valued honesty. In that case, he would tell her all.

  ‘Princess, there is more. I think you should know that having seen you, I find you attractive, no, it is more than that.’

  Her eyes widened; tiny green
sparks glimmered in their depths. She touched her bruise and her pretty mouth twisted.

  ‘You must be blind, sir knight.’

  ‘Not so, you are a desirable, beautiful woman.’

  Jasim’s hand was inches from her. He could practically feel her body heat. All he had to do was reach out. He reminded himself that she was a Nasrid princess. She would be pure. Untouched. And she was at this moment frowning, her dark eyes filled with uncertainty.

  ‘Sir knight, you risked much to be here tonight. I confess I am not sure why you came.’

  The shawl the Princess was using as a shield had slipped a little, taking with it what passed as a nightdress. Her naked shoulder was in plain view. Further, she was lying on her side, legs half-curled beneath her. She had pretty feet and the shape of her calves was visible through the fabric of her nightgown. It was very distracting. Jasim eased back into his cushion and tried not to look at her beautiful, sinuous body.

  ‘Princess, I need to know your will. I came to tell you that if you wish, I shall withdraw my request to marry you.’

  Silence.

  When she lifted an eyebrow, he ploughed on. ‘I do not need an unwilling wife.’

  ‘Jasim ibn Ismail, it is a pity you did not consider this before you asked to marry me. You must be aware that if you withdraw now, after the formality of our betrothal, my father would construe it as a grave insult.’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  Princess Zorahaida shifted towards him, and he caught the scent of roses. Her dark eyes were intent. ‘Not possible, sir knight, but a certainty. Father will kill you. That and that alone was why I agreed to your proposal. I am not unwilling.’ She bit her lip. ‘It is just that—’

  ‘Your life is here,’ he murmured.

  She shot him a startled glance. ‘Indeed. I have duties here and only I can undertake them.’

  ‘Only you?’ He thought about her charitable expedition into the city. ‘Surely one of the other ladies could help?’

  ‘There are some things only I can do. I have a vital role in the palace.’