The Warrior's Princess Prize

by Carol Townend

  Maura murmured agreement and stamped out of the courtyard, muttering under her breath.

  Jasim turned back to Zorahaida. ‘Princess, please allow me to introduce my cousin, Fatima bint Ibrahim. Fatima, this is Princess Zorahaida, my wife.’

  Fatima made a small obeisance, so small it was barely noticeable. As an insult it was mild. A challenge? Perhaps. Aware that this was a pivotal moment, Zorahaida kept her head as high as she could, though with Hunter tugging at her veil and hair, she didn’t feel remotely dignified. She had no wish for the inhabitants of Mondragón Palace to grovel before her, but if she was going to be happy here, those in Governor Ibrahim’s household must learn to judge her on her own merits, and not because she was the Sultan’s daughter.

  Beside her, Zorahaida felt Jasim tense. ‘Fatima,’ he growled.

  The Governor held up his hand. ‘Allow me, Jasim. Fatima, this is the Sultan’s daughter and your cousin’s wife. You can do better than that.’

  Lowering her gaze and bowing deeply, Fatima obeyed. It wasn’t a full obeisance, more of a curtsy in the Spanish style, but it was enough.

  Zorahaida stepped forward, grasped Fatima’s hands and raised her. ‘Thank you, Fatima. I am so glad to meet you.’

  Hunter chattered and walked down Zorahaida’s arm like an acrobat. Beady eyes assessed Fatima, then he jumped.

  Fatima squealed. As Hunter clambered on to her shoulder, her expression changed from wary to delighted. ‘Hello, little demon,’ she said, reaching up to pet him.

  ‘In truth, his name is Hunter,’ Zorahaida murmured.

  Hunter hopped up and down, babbling and clapping his hands. Fatima grinned at Jasim. The Governor sighed, eyes glinting with definite amusement as he gave Zorahaida a genuine smile.

  ‘Princess, we are an informal household, though pet monkeys are new to us. Since that animal had done his best to remove your veil and you are now family, will you permit us to see you?’

  Zorahaida drew her veil over her head and smiled back. Thank God, during the journey her bruises had faded. This wasn’t the most formal of meetings, but it would have been dreadful to have met the Governor wearing the imprint of her father’s hand. Even so, she was a jumble of nerves.

  Taking her by the shoulders, the Governor kissed her forehead and both her cheeks. ‘Welcome, Zorahaida, if I may call you that?’

  ‘Governor, I would be honoured.’

  ‘Zorahaida, as Jasim’s wife, you have become family. Within the palace, you may address me as Ibrahim.’

  ‘Thank you, Ibrahim.’

  Jasim cleared his throat. ‘Uncle, where is Usayd?’

  ‘I’ve not seen him today.’ The Governor looked enquiringly at his daughter. ‘Fatima, do you know where he is?’

  Fatima bit her lip. ‘I am not sure.’

  The Governor’s eyes narrowed. ‘He is in the tavern? Again?’

  Zorahaida was watching Jasim closely and she saw his smile fade. Usayd? Who was Usayd? Whoever he was, Jasim was disappointed not to see him.

  ‘Never mind, I shall doubtless see him later,’ Jasim said. ‘Uncle, I need to discuss the Princess’s protection.’

  ‘Of course. You have absconded with the Sultan’s favourite child and there are bound to be consequences. Come with me.’ The Governor paused. ‘Fatima, when you have quite finished playing with that animal, perhaps you might show Jasim’s bride the bedchambers on the upper floor. She may choose whichever she prefers.’

  Fatima gave her father a dark look. ‘With the exception of mine.’

  ‘Obviously, you baggage, with the exception of yours.’

  * * *

  Zorahaida’s introduction to Jasim’s uncle the Governor hadn’t gone quite as she had imagined it would, but she thought it would serve. Hunter had broken the ice. He attached himself firmly to Fatima and whilst Fatima took Zorahaida on a tour of the bedchambers on the upper floor, he clung to his new friend like a limpet.

  ‘So, you’ve seen the chambers set aside for the ladies of the household,’ Fatima said. ‘Which one will you choose?’

  The chamber they were standing in had the most beautiful carpet. It was covered with stylised flowers worked in blue and white. Unsure of her ground, Zorahaida hesitated. In wealthier households, it was usual for the women in the family to be housed on the upper floors where, in uncertain times, they would be safer. Yet she also remembered Jasim telling her that customs varied from village to village and from household to household.

  How were matters arranged here? Where would Jasim sleep? Did he have quarters on the ground floor? Would he summon her when he wanted her, or would he join her on the upper floor?

  ‘You are thinking of Jasim?’ Fatima said coyly. ‘You wish to know where he sleeps?’

  Zorahaida smiled. ‘If you please. We haven’t really discussed sleeping arrangements, so I have no idea what he expects.’

  ‘Jasim has always slept below, though his chamber is rather cramped. Now that he is married, I expect he would be glad if you chose one of the larger rooms. Then he may join you whenever he wishes.’

  Zorahaida felt her face fall. That wasn’t exactly what she’d been hoping to hear. None the less, she nodded briskly. ‘Very well. This chamber is airy, the carpet reminds me of Jasim’s colours, and I like the window opening out on to the courtyard. I choose this one.’

  Fatima gave her a wry grin. ‘A wise choice, if I may say so.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘With it being at the end of the gallery, this chamber has more privacy. Princess, I must apologise for my manners earlier. I am truly pleased to see Jasim married, he is my favourite cousin. He needs some love in his life.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘However, I must warn you, if you hurt him in any way, any way whatsoever, I personally will ensure you regret it.’

  With that, Fatima danced out of the chamber, Hunter in tow.

  * * *

  Zorahaida spent what was left of the afternoon watching Maura unpack and organise her belongings. The songbirds were brought up and their gilded cage placed near the light. As for the rest, Maura seemed content to make most of the decisions, which suited Zorahaida just fine because she herself was unable to concentrate. She sat on the bed, silver lute in hand, and stared into the distance. Her mind was in a whirl.

  ‘Mistress, I am pleased to have a chamber close to yours.’

  ‘Aye, Maura, so am I.’

  Without conscious thought, Zorahaida’s fingers began to dance over the strings, and the bedchamber filled with sound. She was dimly aware of Maura shooting a glance in her direction, and was thankful she didn’t have to explain herself. Maura had been with her long enough to know how the lute calmed her. Playing helped order her mind.

  Zorahaida was unconcerned by Fatima’s parting comment. On the contrary, it was heartening to know that Jasim’s cousin was such a loyal supporter. With luck, once Fatima realised that Zorahaida had no intention of hurting Jasim, she would become a friend. If Zorahaida was to be happy here, she would need friends.

  She was more concerned with how long Jasim would be closeted with the Governor, and with whether she would see him that evening. She feared she might not. Her stomach tightened.

  The reunion between Jasim and his uncle would be complicated, they had much to organise. Jasim had recognised the threat posed by the Sultan. He would, Zorahaida was sure, be doubling the watch. He would be ensuring that her escort, the servants and guards who had come with them from Granada, were properly housed. Perhaps he would be giving some of them posts in her new personal guard. She certainly hoped so. She also hoped Jasim and his uncle understood that, vengeful father or no, there was no way Zorahaida would allow Mondragón Palace to become her prison. She’d had enough of all that.

  The more she thought about what Jasim and his uncle would be discussing, the more distressed she became. Her fingers flew over the strings. Maura glanced at he
r and pursed her lips.

  It wasn’t pleasant being excluded from discussions. Zorahaida had been excluded for most of her life. Her father the Sultan had never consulted her. On anything.

  Today, Jasim was making decisions on her behalf. It didn’t help to know that he would be making them with the best of intentions. Unlike her father, Jasim was no tyrant. Nevertheless, Zorahaida longed to be involved. She gave a heavy sigh. Unfortunately, with her arrival so recent, she was in no position to make demands. This was Governor Ibrahim’s household and she was merely his nephew’s wife. The rules she had so painstakingly learned to survive in her father’s palace would not apply here.

  ‘Maura, when you next go downstairs, would you enquire as to Jasim’s whereabouts? I need to speak to him.’

  ‘Of course, Mistress. The last I heard he was with the Governor.’

  * * *

  As Zorahaida had feared, Jasim didn’t come to her chambers that night. Nor was she summoned to his chamber below. She spent a miserable night, tossing and turning on her feather mattress. The songbirds were silent and she didn’t have Hunter’s friendly presence to distract her. Since deserting her for Fatima, Hunter hadn’t come back.

  It wasn’t that Zorahaida had been neglected. She had luxuriated in a sumptuous bathhouse. Mouth-watering lemon chicken had been delivered to her chambers on lustrous tableware. She’d been served the finest wine in delicate Italian glasses. Her bedlinen was silk and gently perfumed with rose and lavender. Maura was within calling distance. She had nothing to complain about.

  Except...

  She wanted Jasim. She missed the sensual comfort he brought her. Immediately after their marriage, she hadn’t known him well enough to know whether she trusted him. Despite this, she had taken great pleasure in the marriage bed. And so had he. It had been extremely encouraging.

  Unfortunately, since then, Jasim had kept his distance. Zorahaida didn’t like it. Jasim was so polite. So formal. Had he set his heart against her?

  It wasn’t simply that she missed the lovemaking, Zorahaida missed his company. Lately, even when he was with her, she could sense his withdrawal. She felt hollow inside. Lonely.

  As the air cooled, Zorahaida lay on her back trying to visualise the position of the stars as they slowly crossed the heavens. She told herself that Jasim would surely arrive before the hour was out. The hour passed. And then another.

  He wasn’t coming. Why? Was he too busy? Her chest ached. Did he not care? Had she alienated him for ever by giving him that sleeping draught?

  As she lay there, she recalled something else. In the courtyard, Jasim had been relaxed until he’d mentioned Usayd. Then his entire demeanour had shifted, he’d looked disappointed. Hurt. Who was Usayd?

  * * *

  The next morning, Zorahaida was again playing the lute when Maura came in.

  ‘Princess, your husband has asked if you would be so kind as to meet him downstairs. The horses are waiting.’

  ‘We’re going out?’

  ‘I believe you are to be given a brief tour of the city.’

  The lute forgotten, Zorahaida sprang to her feet. She was at the door when Maura called her back, veil in hand.

  ‘Don’t forget this, Mistress.’

  * * *

  ‘Please come this way, Princess,’ Jasim said when she reached the courtyard.

  He proceeded to guide her, with much formality, towards the palace gate.

  In the street outside, a huge escort awaited. It was much larger than Zorahaida had anticipated, at least twenty men. She missed a step and frowned through her veil. Some of the men she recognised, but...

  ‘Jasim, do we need quite so many men?’

  ‘I take no risks with my wife’s safety.’

  She couldn’t argue, not in front of all those guards, but it would be impossible to have a private conversation. It was most unsatisfactory.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Zorahaida was hot and irritable and incredibly frustrated. It wasn’t anything Jasim had done, on the contrary, he’d been most solicitous. So much so, she was convinced he was keeping her at a distance on purpose. She ground her teeth and prayed for a chance to speak to him on her own.

  Jasim was intent on honouring his promise of showing her the gorge and her chance came when they dismounted. They walked a little way towards an arched gateway.

  ‘The path winds down to the bottom from here.’

  Jasim waved at the great chasm in the earth carved by the river. He was in the middle of an explanation about the strategic importance of Madinat Runda and the part the gorge played in its military defences, when she interrupted.

  ‘Jasim, have I done something to displease you?’ Was he still angry about that wretched sleeping draught? She’d made him helpless for a time and men hated feeling helpless. Was that the problem?

  He gave her an enigmatic look. ‘Displease me? Of course not.’

  Not wishing their escort to hear, she lowered her voice. ‘Then why didn’t you join me last eve?’

  ‘You missed me.’ He smiled and reached for her, before drawing back. He, too, was conscious of their escort. ‘My uncle and I were talking until dawn. I didn’t want to disturb you.’

  Forgetting Jasim couldn’t see her expression through her veil, Zorahaida returned his smile. ‘You had much to discuss, I am sure.’

  His mouth edged up at the corner. ‘Most of it centred on you. I am determined to ensure your safety.’ He gestured at their escort. ‘Whenever you want to go out, you will take these men. Ask for Bashaar ibn Suleiman. He captains these knights and they have been assigned solely to you. You will recognise some faces, I’m sure. Many of them came with us from Granada.’

  ‘Aye, so I noticed. Thank you.’

  He grasped her hand as they leaned over to peer into the gorge. They were so high; it was like staring into an abyss. Seagulls were flying far below them. Suddenly dizzy, Zorahaida turned away with a shudder.

  ‘It’s like looking down from a cloud.’

  They were walking back to the horses when a woman caught her eye. Like her, the woman was veiled, so Zorahaida couldn’t see her face, but in this case, she didn’t need to. Hunter was riding high on her shoulder, so it had to be Fatima. She was standing with a couple of manservants, staring at a rundown tavern.

  ‘Jasim, isn’t that your cousin?’

  Jasim froze. ‘So help me, it is. She shouldn’t be anywhere near that hell-hole.’

  He took a step towards Fatima, appeared to change his mind and signalled brusquely for Bashaar ibn Suleiman. ‘Captain, be so good as to escort my wife back to the palace.’

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  Jasim nudged Zorahaida towards the horses and out of the corner of her eye she saw one of Fatima’s servants slip into the tavern.

  Jasim’s swift change of temper was unsettling. He looked so angry. A knot formed in Zorahaida’s stomach. It wasn’t fear, she knew Jasim wasn’t angry with her. However, something was very wrong. What was going on?

  ‘Zorahaida, you must go,’ Jasim said. ‘Quickly.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Go. I’ll find you later.’

  Zorahaida nodded and permitted the Captain to assist her back on to Spirit. She let out the reins and was preparing to ride on when a man staggered out of the tavern. His tunic was stained and his turban askew. Zorahaida had never seen a man in his cups before but she didn’t need anyone to tell her that this one was thoroughly drunk. He could hardly stand.

  Jasim’s hands fisted and his eyes blazed. He looked angrier than the Sultan in one of his rages.

  He won’t hurt me.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘Usayd,’ came the clipped response.

  ‘Usayd?’

  ‘My older brother. When I last saw him, he was honouring a vow to stop drinking.’ He rou
nded on her, amber eyes blazing fire. ‘Good heavens, woman, what are you waiting for? Go.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Disappointment tight in his gut, Jasim propped himself against a wall, folded his arms and waited until the sound of his wife’s escort faded. Usayd had seen him, he was certain.

  In the past, Jasim’s relationship with his older brother hadn’t been easy. As the firstborn son of a celebrated knight and his favourite wife, Usayd had carried the weight of their father’s expectations for years. He’d found it a heavy burden because their father, Ismail ibn Osman, had made it plain that he expected Usayd to follow in his footsteps.

  Usayd had tried his best, long after it became clear that he wasn’t born to be a warrior. He rode and fought well, but he didn’t excel. Usayd lacked the lightning reflexes and physical decisiveness that his culture required in a knight.

  Later, when Jasim—the son of their father’s second wife—proved to be a natural swordsman, Usayd took it badly. He began haunting local taverns. He drank too much. Jasim had hauled his older brother home more times than he cared to count, particularly after their father’s death, when Usayd had finally lost hope that one day he would live up to his father’s expectations.

  There was no question but that their father Ismail ibn Osman had been a demanding taskmaster. Jasim himself understood what it was like to feel he was a disappointment, for not once, despite Jasim’s success on the tourney circuit, had his father praised him.

  Happily, Usayd’s fortunes changed when he took a wife, Aixa. Aixa proved to be the impetus his brother needed to take charge of his destiny. Overnight, Usayd stopped drinking and much of the old bitterness melted away.

  And now? Jasim scowled across the square. Had Usayd fallen by the wayside? He was braced to storm across and take his brother by the throat, when Usayd’s gaze met his. It blazed with fierce intelligence and Jasim caught his breath.