She scooted to the edge of her seat and took Brittany’s perfectly manicured hands into her own.
“You have to listen,” she said earnestly. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved another human being in my life. You’re practically my daughter.”
Brittany’s expression softened. “I love you, too. You know you’ve been there for me way more than my own mother.”
“Then, please, please, think this through. You’re young and smart and you can have anything you want in the world. Why would you be willing to tie yourself to a man you’ve never met in a country you’ve never visited? What if you hate Bahania?”
Daphne didn’t think that was possible—personally she loved the desert country—but at this point she was done playing fair.
“Travel isn’t going to be what you think,” Daphne continued before Brittany could interrupt. “Any visits will be state events. They’ll be planned and photographed. Once you agree to marry the prince you’ll never be able to just run over and see a girlfriend or head to the mall or the movies.”
Brittany stared at her. “What do you mean I can’t go to the mall?”
Daphne blinked. Was this progress at last? “You’ll be the future queen. You won’t be able to rush off and buy a last-minute cashmere sweater just because it’s on sale.”
“Why not?”
Daphne sighed. “I’ve been trying to explain this to you. You won’t get to be your own person anymore. You’ll be living a life in a foreign country with unfamiliar rules and expectations. You will have to adhere to them.”
None of which sounded all that tough to her, but she wasn’t the one signing up for a lifetime of queenhood.
“I never thought about having to stay in the palace a lot,” Brittany said slowly. “I just sort of figured I could fly back home whenever I wanted and hang with my friends.”
“Bahania will be your home now.”
Brittany’s eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t miss Mom and Dad so much, but Deanna and you.” She bit her lower lip. “I guess if I love the prince…”
“Do you?” Daphne asked. “You’ve never met him. You’re risking a whole lot on the off chance you two will get along.” She squeezed her niece’s fingers. “You’ve only had a couple of boyfriends, none of them serious. Do you really want to give all that up? Dating? College?”
Brittany frowned. “I can’t go to college?”
“Do you think any professor is going to want the future queen in his class? How could he or she give you a real grade? Even if you did get that worked out, you’d just be attending classes part-time. You couldn’t live on campus.”
“That’s right. Because I’d be in the palace.”
“Possibly pregnant,” Daphne added for good measure.
“No way. I’m not ready to have a baby now.”
“And if Prince Murat is?”
Her niece glared at her. “You’re trying to scare me.”
“You bet. I’m willing to do just about anything to keep you from throwing away your life. If you’d met someone and had fallen in love, then I wouldn’t care if he was a prince or an alien from planet Xeon. But you didn’t. I would have gotten involved with this sooner, but your mother did her best to keep the truth from me.”
Brittany sighed. “She’s pretty determined to have her way.”
“I’m not going to let that happen. Tell me honestly. Tell me you’re completely committed to this and I’ll back off. But if you have even one hint of a doubt, you need to give yourself time to think.”
Brittany swallowed. “I’m not sure,” she admitted in a tiny voice. “I want things to go great with the prince, but what if they don’t?” Tears filled her eyes. “I’ve been trying to do what my parents want me to do and I’m scared.” She glanced around the luxury plane. “The pilot said we were landing in twenty minutes. That’s about up. I can’t meet the prince and tell him I’m not sure.”
Daphne vowed that when she returned to the States she was going to kill her oldest sister, Laurel. How dare she try to guilt her only daughter into something like this? Outrage mingled with relief. She held open her arms, and Brittany fell into her embrace.
“Is it too late?” the teenager asked.
“Of course not. You’re going to be fine.” She hugged her tight. “You had me worried for a while. I thought you were really going through with this.”
Brittany sniffed. “Some parts of it sounded pretty fun. Having all that money and crowns and stuff, but I tried not to think about actually being married to someone that old.”
“I don’t blame you.” The age difference was impossible, Daphne thought. What on earth could Murat be thinking, considering an engagement to a teenager?
“I’ll take care of everything,” she promised. “You’ll stay on the plane and go directly home while I handle things at the palace.”
Brittany straightened. “Really? I don’t even have to meet him?”
“Nope. You go back and pretend this never happened.”
“What about Mom?”
Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “You can leave her to me, as well.”
Just over an hour later Daphne found herself in the back of a limo, heading to the fabled Pink Palace of Bahania. Because of the long plane trip, she expected to find the city in darkness, but with the time difference, it was late afternoon. She sat right by the window so she could take in everything—the ancient buildings that butted up against the new financial district. The amazing blue of the Arabian Sea just south of the city. The views were breathtaking and familiar. She’d grown to love this country when she’d visited ten years ago.
“Don’t go there,” she told herself. There was no time for a trip down memory lane. Instead she needed to focus and figure out what she was going to say to Murat.
She glanced at her watch. With every second that ticked by, finding the perfect words became less and less important. Once Brittany landed back in the States, she would be safe from Murat’s clutches. Still, she couldn’t help feeling a little nervous as the long, black car turned left and drove past elegant wrought-iron gates.
The car pulled to a stop in front of the main entrance. Daphne drew in a deep breath to calm herself as she waited for one of the guards to open the door. She stepped out into the warm afternoon and glanced around.
The gardens were as beautiful as she remembered. Sweet, lush scents competed for her attention. To the left was the gate that led to the private English-style garden she’d always loved. To the right was a path that led to the most perfect view of the sea. And in front of her…well, that was the way into the lion’s den.
She tried to tell herself she had no reason to be afraid, that she’d done nothing wrong. Murat was the one interested in marrying a teenager nearly half his age. If anyone should be feeling foolish and ashamed, it was he.
But despite being in the right, and determined to stand strong against any and all who might try to get in her way, she couldn’t help a tiny shiver of apprehension. After all, ten years ago she’d been a guest in this very palace. She’d been young and in love and engaged to be married.
To Murat.
Then three weeks before the wedding, she’d bolted, leaving him without even a whisper of an explanation.
Chapter Two
“Ms. Snowden?”
Daphne saw a well-dressed young man walking toward her. “Yes?”
“The prince is waiting. If you will follow me?”
As Daphne trailed after the man, she wondered if he had any idea she wasn’t Brittany. She doubted Murat had bothered to brief his staff on the arrival of a potential bride. He’d rarely concerned himself with details like that. So she would guess that his staff member had simply been told to escort the woman who arrived to an appropriate meeting area.
“Someone is in for a surprise,” she murmured under her breath as she walked down a wide corridor lined with stunning mosaics and elegant antiques.
Just being back in the palace made her feel better. She wanted to ask
her guide to wait a few minutes while she stopped to enjoy an especially beautiful view from a window or a spectacular piece of artwork. Instead she trailed along dutifully, concentrating on tapestries and carvings instead of what she was going to say when she saw Murat.
They turned a corner. Up ahead Daphne saw a large tabby cat sitting in a patch of sun and washing her face. She smiled as she recalled the dozens and dozens of cats the king kept in the palace.
“In here, Ms. Snowden,” the man said as he paused in front of an open door. “The prince will be with you shortly.”
She nodded, then walked past him into a small sitting room. The furniture was Western, complete with a sofa, three chairs, a coffee table and a buffet along the far wall. A carafe of ice water and several glasses sat next to a phone on the buffet. She walked over and helped herself to the refreshment.
As she drank she looked around the room and shook her head. How like Murat to have a stranger bring his prospective bride to a room and then drop her off. If Brittany had been here, the teenager would have been terrified by now. The least he could have done was to have sent a woman and then have her keep Brittany company.
But she wasn’t Brittany, Daphne reminded herself. Nor was she afraid. Ten years had given her a lot of experience and perspective. Murat might be expecting a young, malleable bride who would bow to his every wish and quiver with fear at the thought of displeasing him, but what he was getting instead was a very different matter.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. She set down the glass and squared her shoulders. Seconds later the prince from her past strolled into the room.
He still moved with an easy grace of one “to the manor born,” she thought as she took in his powerful body and elegant suit. And he was still a formidable opponent, she reminded herself as he stopped and stared at her.
Not by a flicker of a lash did he indicate he was the least bit surprised.
“Daphne,” the crown prince said with a slight smile. “You have returned at last.”
“I know you weren’t expecting me,” she said. “But Brittany couldn’t make it.”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Has she been taken ill?”
“No. She simply came to her senses. Even as we speak, she’s on a plane back to the United States. There isn’t going to be a wedding.” She thought maybe she’d been a bit abrupt, so she added a somewhat insincere, “I’m sorry.”
“Yes, I can feel your compassion from here,” Murat said as he crossed to the buffet and picked up the phone. He dialed four numbers, then spoke. “The airport. Flight control.”
He waited a few seconds, then spoke again. “My plane?”
She watched while he listened. It was possible a muscle tightened in his jaw, but she couldn’t be sure. He had to be feeling something, she told herself. Or maybe not. Ten years ago he’d let her go without a word. Why should this runaway bride matter?
He hung up the phone and turned back to her. “I assume you had something to do with Brittany’s decision.”
He wasn’t asking a question, but she answered it all the same. “Of course. It was madness. I can’t imagine what you were thinking. She’s barely eighteen, Murat. Still a child. If you’re so desperate for a bride, at least pick someone who is close to being an equal.”
For the first time since he walked into the room, he showed emotion, and it wasn’t a happy one. Temper drew his eyebrows together.
“You insult me with both your familiarity and your assumption.”
She winced silently. Of course. She’d called him by his first name. “I apologize for not using the proper title.”
“And the other?”
“I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep Brittany safe from you.”
“Just because you were not interested in being my wife doesn’t mean that others feel the same way.”
“I agree completely. There is a world filled with willing young women. Have them all—I don’t care. But you’re not marrying my niece.”
Instead of answering her, he pulled a small device out of his pocket. It was about the size of a key fob. Seconds later a half dozen armed guards burst into the room and surrounded Daphne. Two of them grabbed her by the arms.
She was too stunned to protest.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Myself? Nothing.” Murat returned what she assumed was a security device to his jacket pocket, then adjusted his cuffs. “The guards are another story.”
Daphne glared at him. “What? You’re arresting me because I wouldn’t let you marry my niece?”
“I’m holding you in protective custody for interfering with the private business of the Crown Prince of Bahania.”
She narrowed her gaze. “This is crazy. You can’t do this to me.”
“All evidence to the contrary.”
“Bastard.”
She tried to squirm away from the guards, but they didn’t let her go.
“You’d better not try to turn that plane around,” she said, her fury growing. “I won’t let you touch her. Not for a second.”
Murat crossed toward the door, then paused and glanced at her. “Make no mistake, Daphne. One way or another, there will be a wedding in four months, and the bride will be a Snowden. There is nothing you can do to stop me.”
“Want to bet?” she asked, knowing the words were as futile as her attempt to twist free of the guards.
“Of course. I have no fear of wagering with you.” He smiled again. “What will you give me when I win?”
She lunged for him and only got a sharp pain in her arm for her reward. Murat chuckled as he walked away.
“When I get my hands on him,” she said. “I swear I’ll…” She pressed her lips together. On second thought, threatening the prince while still in the presence of several burly guards wasn’t exactly smart.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked when the guards continued to just stand here, holding her in place.
The one by the door touched an earpiece, then nodded.
“What? Getting instructions from the crown prince himself?” she asked. “Couldn’t he have told you while he was still in the room?”
Apparently not, she realized as the guards started moving. The two holding on to her kept their grips firm enough that she didn’t want to risk pulling away. She had a feeling she was already going to be plenty bruised by her experience.
The group of guards, with her in the center, walked down the main corridor, then stopped at a bank of elevators. The one in communication with Murat pushed the down button. When the car arrived, it was a tight fit, but they all made it inside. Daphne noticed how none of the men stood too close to her. In fact, except for the hold on her arms, they were pretty much ignoring her.
She tried to remember the layout of the palace so she could figure out where they were going. Down wasn’t her idea of a happy thought. Were there still dungeons in the palace? She wouldn’t put it past Murat to lock her up.
But when they stepped out of the elevator and headed along a more narrow corridor, Daphne suddenly realized their destination. It was much worse than any dungeon.
“You’re not taking me there,” she said, wiggling and twisting to escape.
The guard on her left tightened his grip on her arm. “Ma’am, we don’t want to hurt you.”
The implication being they would if necessary.
I’ll get him for this, she thought as she stopped fighting. One way or another, Murat would pay.
They turned a corner, and Daphne saw the famous gold double doors. They stood nearly ten feet tall and were heavily embossed with a scene of several young women frolicking at an oasis.
One of the guards stepped forward and opened the door on the left. The rest marched her inside.
When the men released her, she thought briefly about making a dash for freedom but knew she would be caught and returned here. So she accepted her fate with dignity and a vow that she would find her way out as soon as she could.
The gu
ards left. She heard the heavy clang as the doors closed behind them and the thunk of the gold cross bar being locked into place. Low conversation from the hallway told her that someone would be left on duty to watch over her.
“This is just like you, Murat,” she said as she placed her hands on her hips. “You might be an imperial, piggish prince, but I can stand it. I can stand anything to keep you from marrying Brittany.”
Daphne looked for something to throw, but the thick, cream-colored walls were completely bare. The only decoration was the brightly colored tile floor.
She moved through the arched entryway, into the large open living area. Dozens of chairs and sofas filled the vast space. The doorway to the left led to the baths, the one on the right led to the sleeping rooms. She recognized this part of the palace from her explorations ten years before. Recognized and fumed because of it.
Dammit all, if Murat hadn’t locked her in the harem.
Murat stalked toward the business wing of the palace. Fury quickened his steps. After all this time Daphne Snowden had dared to return to Bahania, only to once again disrupt his world.
Had she come modestly, begging his apology for her unforgivable acts? Of course not. He swore silently. The woman had stared him in the eye, speaking as if they were equals. She had defied him.
Murat swept past the guards outside his father’s business suite and stepped into the inner office.
“She is here,” he announced as he came to a stop in front of the large, carved desk.
The king raised his eyebrows. “You do not sound happy. Has your fiancée displeased you already?”
“She is not my fiancée.”
His father sighed, then stood and walked around the desk. “Murat, I know you have reservations about this engagement. You complain that the girl is too young and inexperienced, that she can never be happy here, but once again I ask you to give her a chance.”
Murat stared at his father. Anger bubbled inside of him, although he was careful to keep it from showing. He’d spent a lifetime not reacting to anything, and that practice served him well now.
Desert Rogues Part 2 Page 56
