There was a burden for this King that not the wisest of his council knew about. There was a decision in the making that he could only come to alone—a decision he had wrestled with for more than a year now. It was all forgotten.
He felt her fingers in his hair and the tightening of her thighs to his head. Her hips attempted to rise but he pushed her down with his mouth till she throbbed into him, and then he could wait no more.
He kneeled, looked down at all that beckoned, and she felt the roughness of his thighs part her legs further. Her body still quivered from his intimate exploration as he parted her with his thumbs. She looked with decadent, wanton fear at what would soon be deep inside her and, breathless, pleaded for it to be now.
He pulled back, for he must sheathe, and then he heard her whisper.
‘We don’t have to.’
For the first time, the fact that there could be no baby brought only relief, for neither wanted to halt things.
Now he lifted her hips, aimed himself towards her. A more deliberate lover he could not be, for he watched and manoeuvred every detail, and she let him—let him position her till he was poised at her entrance, and then he made her wait.
‘Emir …’
His smile was as rare as it was wicked.
‘Emir …’
He hovered closer and was cruel in his timing; that beat of space made her weep, and her mouth opened to beg him again, but her words faded as he filled her, as he drove into her with the ardour of a man ending his deprivation. He forgot his size and to be gentle, and never had she been so grateful to have a man forget.
He filled her completely, and then filled her again. He was over her, and the kiss he had first denied her was Amy’s reward, for he hushed her moans with his mouth until it was Emir who could not be silent. The pleasure was now his, all pain obliterated, the shackles temporarily released. His mind soared in freedom as her body moved with his. Escape beckoned and he claimed it, groaning to hold on to it, yearning to sustain it. But the pulse of her around him was too much—the rapid tightening and flicker of intimate muscles, her hot wet cheek next to his, her breath, his name in his ear.
He lost himself to her, gave in to what was and spilled into her, called out her name as they dived into pleasure. The wind was their friend now, for it shrieked louder around them, carried their shouts and their moans and buried their secret in the sands.
CHAPTER EIGHT
OF COURSE it should never have happened.
And of course it must never be referred to again.
But it was a little before morning and they’d made love again after she’d turned and looked at him while she still could. She ran a finger across the scar above his eye about which she had often wondered and was brave enough now to ask.
‘What is that from?’
‘You don’t ask that sort of thing.’
‘Naked beside you I do.’
Maybe it was better she knew, Emir thought. Maybe then she could understand how impossible it was for them.
‘Some rebels decided that they could not wait for the predictions, so they took matters into their own hands.’ He did not look at her as he spoke. He felt her fingers over his scar and remembered again. ‘They decided to take out one lineage.’ He heard her shocked gasp. ‘Of course our people had seen them approaching and they rallied. My father went out and battled, as did my brother and I …’
‘And your mother?’
‘She was killed in her bed.’
He removed her hand from his face, climbed out of bed, and dressed and headed to prayer. He had begged the desert for a solution and for a moment had thought one had been delivered; instead it had been a taunt. He must play by the rules, Emir realised as he remembered again that night and all he had inherited.
So he prayed for his country and his people.
He must forget about their lovemaking, the woman he had held in his arms. He had never felt closer to another, even Hannah, and he prayed for forgiveness.
He prayed for his daughters and the decision he was making and he got no comfort, for his heart still told him he was making the wrong one.
Then he remembered what his father had fought for and he knew he must honour it—so he prayed again for his country.
Amy lay silent, taking in this last time she would be in his bed, the masculine scent of him. Her hand moved to the warm area where he had slept and she yearned to wait for him to return to the bed and make love to her just one more time. But for both of them that would be unfair, so she headed to the bathing area and then to her own room.
She fixed her hair and put on the blue robe, became the nanny again.
For Emir there was both regret and relief when he returned from prayer and saw the empty bed. Regret and relief as they shared a quiet breakfast. She did not once refer to last night, but it killed him to see her in the familiar blue robe and to know what was beneath.
And when the silence deafened her, when she knew if she met his eyes just one more time, it would end in a kiss she wished him good morning and headed to her room. She lay on her bed and willed the twins to return, for sanity to come back to her life and to resume again her role.
But of course it felt different.
Her heart swelled with pride and relief when the birthday girls were returned.
Their squeals of delight as she kissed them made her eyes burn from the salt of unshed tears. She realised how close to being their mother she had come.
‘What are these?’ She attempted normal conversation, looked at the heart-shaped vials that now hung around their necks.
‘They are filled with the sands of the desert—they must be worn till they go to bed tonight, then they are to be locked away until their wedding day.’
‘They’re gorgeous.’ Amy held one between her finger and thumb. ‘What are they for?’
‘Fertility.’ He almost spat the word out, his mood as dark as it had been the morning she had faced him in his office, and it didn’t improve as they boarded the helicopter for their return to the palace.
The twins were crying as the helicopter took off.
‘They are not to arrive with teary faces. There will be many people gathered to greet them. My people will line the streets.’
‘Then comfort them!’ Amy said, but his face was as hard as granite and he turned to the window. ‘Emir, please.’ Amy spoke when perhaps she should not, but he had been so much better with the girls yesterday, and it worried her that she had made things worse instead of better. ‘Please don’t let last night …’
He looked over to Amy, his eyes silencing her, warning her not to continue, and then he made things exceptionally clear. ‘Do you really think what happened last night might have any bearing on the way I am with my daughters?’ He mocked her with one small incredulous shake of his head. ‘You are the nanny—you are in my country and you have to accept our laws and our ways. They are to be stoic. They are to be strong.’
But he did take Clemira and hold her on his knees, and when Clemira was quiet so too was Nakia.
Amy sat silent, craning her neck as the palace loomed into view, bouncing Nakia on her knee, ready to point out all the people, to tell the little girl that the waving flags were for her sister and herself.
Except the streets were empty.
She looked to Emir. His face was still set in stone and he said nothing.
He strode from the helicopter, which left Amy to struggle with the twins. He was greeted by Patel and whatever was said was clearly not good news, for Emir’s already severe expression hardened even more.
Amy had no idea what was happening.
She took the twins to the nursery and waited for information, to find out what time the party would be, but with each passing hour any hope of celebration faded and again it was left to Amy to amuse the little girls on what should be the happiest of days.
Her heart was heavy in her chest and she fought back tears as she made them cupcakes in the small kitchen annexe. At supper time she s
ang ‘Happy Birthday’ to them, watched them smile in glee as they opened the presents she had wrapped for them. Amy smiled back—but her face froze when she saw Emir standing in the nursery doorway.
His eyes took in the presents, the teddies and the DVDs. He watched as Amy walked over to him, her face white with fury, and for a second he thought she might spit.
‘They have everything, do they?’ Her eyes challenged him. ‘Some party!’
‘My brother is too busy in Dubai with his horses.’
He walked over to the twins and kissed the two little dark heads. He spoke in his language to them for a few moments. ‘I have their present.’
He called the servants to come in and Amy watched as the delighted twins pulled paper off a huge parcel. She bit on her lip when she saw it was a dolls’ house—an exquisite one—built like the palace, with the stairs, the doors, the bedroom.
‘I thought about what you said. How it helped you. I wanted the same for them.’
‘How?’ Even though it seemed like a lifetime ago, it had only been a couple of days. ‘How on earth did you get this done so quickly?’
‘There are some advantages to being King—though right now …’ Emir almost smiled, almost met her eyes but did not ‘… I can’t think of many.’
He stood from where he’d knelt with the twins and still could not look at her. He just cleared his throat and said what he had to—did what should have been done long ago.
‘Fatima will be sharing in the care of the twins from now on,’ Emir said, and Fatima stepped forward.
Not assisting, not helping, Amy noted.
‘She speaks only a little English and she will speak none to the twins: they need to learn our ways now.’
She did not understand what had happened. For as blissful as last night had been she would give it back, would completely delete it, if it had changed things so badly for the girls.
‘Emir …’ She saw Fatima frown at the familiarity. ‘I mean, Your Highness …’
But he didn’t allow her to speak, to question, just walked from the nursery, not turning as the twins started to cry. Amy rushed to them.
‘Leave them,’ Fatima said.
‘They’re upset.’ Amy stood her ground. ‘It’s been a long day for them.’
‘It’s been a long day for their country,’ Fatima responded. ‘It is not just the twins who will mark today—Queen Natasha gave birth to a son at sunrise.’
For a bizarre moment Amy thought of the screams she had heard last night, the cries she had thought might come from Hannah. Yet Natasha had been screaming too. She felt as if the winds were still tricking her, that the desert was always one step ahead, and watched as Fatima picked up the twins and took them to their cots. Fatima turned to go, happy to leave them to cry.
That was why there had been no celebrations, no crowds gathering in the streets. It had been a silent protest from the people—a reminder to their King that he must give them a son. Fatima confirmed it as she switched out the light.
‘Unlike Alzan, the future of Alzirz is assured.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘THEY won’t stay quiet for that length of time unless you are holding them.’
It had been a long morning for Amy. They were practising the formalities for the new Prince’s naming ceremony tomorrow, and as it was Fatima who would be travelling with the King and the Princesses, Amy had been tidying the nursery. The windows were open and she had heard their little protests, their cries to be held by their father and eventually, reluctantly, Emir had asked for Amy to be sent down.
‘Fatima will be the one holding them.’
‘They want you.’
‘They cannot have me,’ Emir said. She caught his eye then and he saw her lips tighten, because, yes, she knew how that felt. ‘I will be in military uniform. I have to salute.’ He stopped explaining then—not just because he’d remembered that he didn’t have to, but because Nakia, who had been begging for his arms, now held her arms out to Amy. They both knew that there would be no problem if it was Amy who was travelling with him.
Not that Emir would admit it.
Not that she wanted to go.
She could not stand to be around him—could not bear to see the man she loved so cold and distant, not just with her but with the babies who craved his love.
‘Can you hold one?’ She tried to keep the exasperation from her voice as she hugged a tearful Clemira.
‘I’ve tried that. Clemira was jealous,’ he explained as Fatima sloped off with Nakia to get her a drink.
‘If you can hold one then it needs to be Clemira. Keep Clemira happy and then usually Nakia is fine.’ She saw him frown and she could not check her temper because he didn’t know something so basic about his own daughters. ‘Just hold Clemira,’ she said, handing the little girl to him. ‘God, it’s like I’m speaking in a foreign language.’
‘It is one to me!’ Emir hissed, and she knew they were not talking about words.
Amy walked off, back to the palace, so she could listen to more tears from the window and do nothing, back to a role that was being eroded by the minute. She looked at the dolls’ house and felt like kicking it, felt like ripping down the palace walls, but she stifled a laugh rather than turn into psycho-nanny. She polished the tables in the nursery and changed the sheets, tried to pretend she was working.
‘It worked.’
She turned around at the sound of him, stood and stared. He held the twins, both asleep, their heads resting on his shoulders. She waited for Fatima to appear, except she didn’t.
‘Fatima is getting a headache tablet.’ Emir gave a wry smile. ‘I said I would bring them up.’
How sad that this was so rare, Amy reminded herself. How sad that something so normal merited an explanation—and, no, she told herself, she did not want him.
He went to put Clemira down and she moved to help him.
‘I don’t know how …’ It was almost an apology.
‘No.’ She took one child from his arms. ‘I can’t put them down together now either,’ she said. ‘They’re far too big for that.’ She lowered Clemira to the mattress as Emir did the same with Nakia. ‘It was easier when they were little.’ She was jabbering now. ‘But I’ve had to lower the mattress now they’re standing.’ She could feel him watching her mouth; she feared to look at him—just wanted Fatima to come.
‘Amy …’
‘They’re enjoying the dolls’ house.’
She kept her head down because she knew what would happen if she lifted it. She knew because it had almost happened the day before, and the day before that—moments when it had been impossible to deny, when it had almost killed not to touch, when it would have been easier to give in. But if she kissed him now this was what they would be reduced to—furtive snogs when Fatima wasn’t around, a quick shag when no one was watching, perhaps? And she was better than that, Amy told herself.
But the tears were coming. She reminded herself that, even if she was crying she was strong.
It was Amy who walked out. Amy who left him watching his children as she headed to her room,
‘You need to come home.’
Rather than cry she rang home, desperate for normality, for advice. Though Amy’s mum didn’t know all that had gone on, even if she did, Amy realised, her advice would be the same.
‘Amy, you’re not going to change things there. I told you that when you accepted the job.’
‘But Queen Hannah …’
‘Is dead.’
The harsh words hit home.
‘Even Queen Hannah knew that the country would have little time for her daughters. That was why she wanted them to be educated in England.’
‘I can’t leave them.’
‘You have no choice,’ her mum said. ‘Can you really stand another three years of this?’
No, Amy could not. She knew that as she hung up the phone. The last ten days had been hell. With the anniversary of Queen Hannah’s death approaching the palace was sub
dued, but more than that, worse was to come, for there would be a wedding in a few weeks and how could she be here for that?
She couldn’t.
Rather than being upset, Amy had actually been relieved that Fatima had been selected to travel with the King. She had decided that the time she would spend alone must be used wisely, but really her decision was made.
Her mother was right: she had no choice but to go home.
She had to, she told herself as she made it through another night.
By morning, she was already wavering.
She walked into the nursery where two beaming girls stood in their cots and blew kisses. They wriggled and blew bubbles as she bathed them, spat out their food and hated their new dresses, pulled out the little hair ribbons faster than Fatima could tie them.
Amy knew every new tooth in their heads, every smile was a gift for her, and she could not stand to walk away.
Except she had to.
Amy packed cases for the little girls, putting in their swimming costumes, because she knew there were several pools at the Alzirz palace.
‘They won’t be needing those,’ Fatima said. ‘I shall not be swimming with them.’
And their father certainly wouldn’t, Amy thought, biting down on her lip as she struggled to maintain her composure.
She helped Fatima bring them down to wait for the King and board the helicopter.
‘Be good!’ Amy smiled at the girls when she wanted to kiss them and hold them. She was terribly aware that this might be the last time she would see them, that perhaps it would be kinder to all of them for her simply to leave while they were away.
As Emir strode across the palace he barely glanced at his daughters, and certainly he did not look in Amy’s direction. He was dressed in military uniform as this was to be a formal event and she loathed the fact that this man still moved her. His long leather boots rang out as he walked briskly across the marble floor, only halting when Patel called out to him.
‘La.’ He shook his head, his reply instant, and carried on walking, but Patel called to him again and there was a brief, rather urgent discussion. Then Emir headed into his study, with Patel following closely behind.
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