The Royal Wager

by Kristi Gold

  She looked like the scruffy side of a camel’s hump.

  Raina stood before the mirror examining the bags beneath her eyes, all the while thinking she could not believe she’d slept until 5 p.m.

  When the knock came at the door, her heart skipped several beats. She started to reach for her robe to cover herself in case it was Dharr, then reconsidered. What the heck? He’d definitely seen her in a whole lot less.

  She strolled to the door, her pulse fluttering with excitement and anticipation, only to find Badya on the other side.

  “I see you have finally awakened,” Badya said as she hurried into the room carrying a tray full of food that she placed on the table in the corner.

  “You should’ve gotten me up hours ago.”

  “I tried but I could not rouse you.”

  “You must not have tried very hard.”

  Badya brought out her familiar grimace, the one she’d always used on Raina when she wasn’t too pleased. “I put away all your clothes and still you did not move. I then checked to see if you were breathing, which you were, so I assumed you needed your rest after the flight.” She gestured toward the fare. “Now come have something to eat.”

  Raina walked to the table and wrinkled her nose, her stomach roiling in protest. “I’m not really all that hungry, but I will have some coffee.”

  After Badya poured her a cup, Raina took a sip and tasted cardamom, bringing back a host of memories from a long-ago time. “I’d forgotten how good this is,” she said as she dropped down in one less-than-comfortable chair.

  “You really should eat, yáahil. You need your strength.”

  Raina needed strength, all right. At least enough to keep her hands off Dharr. She bypassed the pungent stew and grabbed a pastry that melted like sugar in her mouth. “I remember these date bars, too,” she said after she swallowed. “You’re still the best cook in Azzril.”

  “You are kind, yáahil, but I no longer cook. It is my recipe, though.”

  Badya took the chair across from Raina and smiled. “So have you found Sheikh Halim to your liking?”

  Raina nearly choked on the cookie. “If you mean do I think he’s nice, he’s okay.”

  “I would say by the way that you look at him, he would be more than that to you.”

  Raina reminded herself to stop eating until this conversation ended. “What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps I should say the way you look at each other, as if you share a secret. Perhaps you are in love with him.”

  Raina rolled her tired eyes and even that took effort. “That’s ridiculous. Why would you even think such a thing?”

  “Because every woman in this country below the age of sixty is in love with him. You will see that tonight when he escorts you into the village for the celebration.”

  “What celebration?”

  “Two days ago, your childhood friend, Fahra Gebwa married Gameel Attar. Though the couple has left for their wedding trip, the celebration continues.”

  Wonderful. Fahra had always been a little sneaky snob and Gameel, whose name meant “handsome” in Arabic, was about as attractive—inside and out—as a dried-up blowfish. Like she was really one to talk at the moment. “That’s good. She can spend all his money while he establishes his very own harem.”

  “True, it is not a love match, but a solid match.”

  “I just pity the children.”

  Badya laughed. “You are as quarrelsome as always.”

  Raina stood and stretched. “Only when it comes to people I don’t care for.”

  “And of course, the sheikh would not be among those people.”

  Was she being that obvious? If so, she needed to practice camouflaging her attraction to Dharr, and fast. She wasn’t certain how well she could manage that in the near future, especially in a public forum. “I still don’t want to attend the celebration. Besides, I need to visit with Papa.”

  “It is your father who has ordained it. You are to go in his place.”

  Great. Just great. First Papa wanted to kill Dharr and now he was throwing him into her path. “I don’t have anything appropriate to wear.”

  Badya came to her feet, strode to the closet and pulled out a teal sleeveless top with beads dangling at the hem and the matching wraparound skirt. “This will do. I will bring you a shawl to cover yourself since the desert nights can be cool. Now go and bathe and I will help you ready yourself. You need to be downstairs by seven.”

  Raina grasped for the final excuse. “I need to wash my hair and it won’t be dry by then.”

  “I will braid it as I did when you were a child.”

  So much for that protest. As usual, Badya had an answer for everything. “Fine, but I doubt I’m going to have any fun.”

  Badya sent her a wily grin. “I would think a certain prince would have something to say about that.”

  Dharr was uncertain what to say to the sultan when he answered his summons. He was, however, pleased to find that Idris was seated for the first time since his arrival at the palace from the hospital. “It is good to see you up and about, Idris.”

  The sultan answered with a smile. “Having my daughter home has renewed my strength.” He indicated the settee near the chair, which he now occupied. “Come sit with me a while before you go.”

  After Dharr complied, he braced for a serious conversation, and he was not disappointed when Idris said, “My daughter is a jewel, and she will be treated as such. Am I clear on this point?”

  Hiding his guilt behind a stern expression, Dharr replied, “I am wounded you do not trust me.”

  “I am a man, Dharr. And I know it is not easy to resist a beautiful woman such as my daughter.”

  How well Dharr knew that. “You may count on me to treat her with the greatest respect.”

  “Good. Now have you given any consideration to the betrothal?”

  As suspected, Idris was stilling holding out hope that Dharr would marry his daughter. “Raina and I have not discussed that at length, although I do know she plans to return to the States in a few days.”

  “Then you must prevent her from doing so.”

  A feat Dharr dare not attempt to undertake. “She is her own person and free to do as she pleases. I would not impose any sanctions on her because of an agreement you made with my father years ago.”

  “A good agreement, I might add.” Although his tone was somber, it was not all that severe.

  “These are different times, Idris. We do not hold the same beliefs as your generation.”

  “And those former beliefs are not always unwise. Marriages agreed upon by arrangement are most always successful. Those brought about by emotions such as love at times do not survive.”

  Dharr’s own words to Raina two days ago. Yet somehow they sounded callous and hollow coming from her father’s mouth. “I suppose you are right, but again, we have not broached the subject.”

  Idris leaned forward and leveled a stern gaze on him. “You should, and soon. My daughter might surprise you.”

  As far as Dharr was concerned, she already had surprised him at every turn, yet that had nothing to do with the marriage they both adamantly opposed. Still, he would give Idris some hope to avoid any upset. “I will consider it.”

  At least the sultan looked pleased, even if Dharr had no plan to bring up the contract to Raina again. “Good. Give the Gabwa’s my best this evening. And take care with my Raina.”

  The door creaked open and a soft feminine voice said, “Did someone call me?”

  Dharr immediately stood and faced the entry, unprepared for the sight of Raina dressed in an aqua blouse and skirt, her hair pulled away from her forehead and plaited in a long braid, revealing her exquisite features.

  “Papa, are you sure you should be sitting up?” she asked as she bypassed Dharr, bringing with her the citrus scent he had detected during their first encounter in California.

  “I am quite capable of sitting,” Idris said, followed by a grumble.

  Raina d
id not try to conceal her concern. “As long as the doctor says it’s okay, I guess it’s okay.”

  Idris’s features softened as he looked upon his only child. “You are worried for naught. The doctor says it would be good for me to move around for short periods of time.”

  When Raina leaned over to embrace her father, Dharr caught a glimpse of bare flesh at her back and the top of the lamp tattoo. He would most certainly be engaged in a battle not to touch her tonight—a battle that would not be easily won.

  Raina straightened and frowned. “Are you sure you want me to go into the village? I mean, I just got here.”

  “Yes, you should go,” Idris said. “You need to recapture what is good about this country.”

  “I know what’s good, Papa. I still remember.”

  “And tonight you shall make more good memories.” He sent her a smile and sighed. “You are truly a beauty. You look so very much like your mother.”

  Dharr could not agree more, even when Raina’s frown deepened and she said, “Minus the blond hair and blue eyes.”

  Idris turned his attention to Dharr. “Is she not beautiful, Sheikh Halim?”

  “Yes, she is.” More beautiful to behold that most of the women Dharr had kept in his company in the past. “And we are late. The guards are waiting for us and the car is ready.”

  “Guards?” Raina said, disapproval in her tone.

  Idris patted her hand that now rested on the edge of the table. “You are with a future king, Raina. And though we live in a peaceful country, there are those who would like to see him fall.”

  Dharr felt as if he had already fallen, down the side of a sheer cliff, grasping for a hold on his emotions every time he looked at Raina.

  Raina sent Dharr a quick glance before regarding her father again. “Okay, I guess we should go. Try to get some rest, Papa.”

  “All I do is rest, my child.”

  “And you should. Dharr and I will check on you when we return.” She turned her head and gave Dharr her smile.” It shouldn’t be too late, right?”

  If Dharr had his wish, their time together would take all night—in his bed. “We shall make it a short evening.”

  Idris waved a hand in dismissal. “Now run along, young people. Do not give me another thought. I will be soundly sleeping upon your return. Enjoy your evening together.”

  The sultan’s emphasis on the word “together” was not lost on Dharr, and he doubted it would be on Raina, as well. Oddly, Idris kept sending Dharr veiled warnings about his treatment of Raina, yet he seemed determined to keep them together.

  Dharr followed Raina to the door and when she turned the knob, he placed his palm on her back as if it were only natural. After dropping his hand, he risked a glance back at the sultan, expecting to find anger in the man’s expression. Instead Idris sent Dharr a knowing smile.

  Fortunately Idris Kahlil had no knowledge of how thoroughly Dharr had previously touched his daughter. No doubt, he saw through Dharr’s carefully formulated façade, and he wondered if tonight, everyone else would, too. Including Raina Kahlil.

  Raina was touched by Dharr’s attentiveness as he took her hand and helped her from the black sedan parked on the outskirts of the ongoing celebration. At the end of the village proper, modern melded with ancient in the form of multilevel buildings—the core of the business district. She chose to ignore that aspect and concentrate on the place she’d always loved—the true heart of Tomar, rich in history that seemed to be suspended in time, even tonight.

  Raina’s memories of Azzril had been of a haven for tourists from various countries looking to experience Arabian culture. A Mecca for all peoples and religions. Under Dharr’s father’s reign, and his father’s father before him, they had known for the most part peaceful coexistence within the boundaries, shielded and sheltered from the rest of the world by a range of mountains. Considering the current state of the world, she wondered how long that would continue to hold true. She prayed it did.

  The path they now walked had been cordoned off for their arrival, the outskirts surrounded by countless guards. The piquant smell of native foods wafted over the area—most likely arusia, the favorite rice dish for celebrations. The scents brought back Raina’s fond recollections of a simpler time, before her parents had gone their separate ways. Only then did she realize how much she had missed the atmosphere, the culture that had been a large part of her formative years.

  As Dharr navigated the alley separating two small stone buildings, they came upon a blazing fire surrounded by several men dressed in traditional white dishdashas, the turban-like muzzars resting atop their heads. They quickly came to their feet and bowed at the waist, their eyes lowered as if Dharr were a god. Raina had to admit with his kaffiyeh secured by the gold and blue band, the flowing white robes also trimmed in gold, he could pass for an ethereal being—an earthbound angel—one with dark, dark eyes and a deadly seductive smile.

  Dharr acknowledged the men with a polite greeting and nod before continuing on into the center of activity. The sheikh’s presence became known little by little, apparent when several of the onlookers turned toward them, muttering amongst themselves. The men bowed reverently and Raina heard a few nervous giggles coming from a gathering of attractive young women wearing brightly-colored kandouras—full length gowns—and elaborate jewelry. As Badya had said, females revered him as much as males respected him. Raina knew him as the man, not the prince. Knew him intimately, as a matter of fact. That thought brought a sudden rise of heat to her face.

  As Dharr began to mingle with his subjects, Raina hung back, wondering if somewhere in this crowd another woman, maybe several, might know him just as well. Logically, that was highly doubtful. Any woman granted access to a future king would be carefully screened and discreetly presented to him, a woman who would not be seen among the masses.

  Raina couldn’t quite wrap her mind around Dharr keeping time with courtesans. Of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t met more than a few other prospects during his travels. She wouldn’t begin to speculate on what he’d done during his Harvard days. And then there was the matter of the woman—maybe even that debutante Elizabeth—who at one time captured his heart and for whatever reason, turned him loose. Even though Dharr still hadn’t made that admission, she believed its validity. Why else would he be so jaded when it came to love? Why else hadn’t he married long before now?

  Still, she couldn’t imagine anyone who had earned his love actually releasing him. Obviously there was a story there, one she would probably never know. And worse, she would probably never know how he felt about her. Was it only sex for the sake of sex? Was she only one of many who’d experienced his skills as a lover only to be discarded later? It truly didn’t matter. In a few days, she would be going home, as soon as she was assured her father was on his way to recovery. Home to California and the life she had made. Home, alone.

  A round of collective sounds of approval came from the crowd when Dharr waved away a guard to allow a little girl into the protective circle. He knelt before the child and smiled, a softer side of Dharr Halim that Raina had never really witnessed until now.

  Not exactly true. If she thought back on the days when she’d known him as only a family friend, she recalled the times he had treated her as if she might be special. In one instance, he’d sneaked her a few cookies after her parents had forbidden her from having them before dinner. He’d given her a few of his favorite books and had forgiven her when she’d kicked him in the shin—hard—after he’d tugged on her braids.

  At that time, she had been eight and he sixteen, still a yucky boy in her opinion, at least back then. Now he was a man. A striking, enigmatic man.

  He would make a great king. An exceptional father. A wonderful husband. But not to Raina Kahlil. Never her. She reserved the right to choose a man who could love her back, and that man wasn’t Dharr Halim, even though in some ways she was beginning to wish it could be so.

  She kept her attention focused on Dhar
r. He now sported a smile reserved for the angelic child presenting him with a red paper flower as she whispered something in his ear. Then suddenly he looked toward Raina and gave her that same smile, making her heart plunge to the pebbled path beneath her feet.

  Dharr patted the little girl’s cheek, straightened and started toward Raina. With each step he took in her direction, her pulse quickened in response.

  Once he stood before her, he offered the flower. “From an admirer.”

  She took the paper creation and waved to the child who favored her with a toothy grin. But her attention soon turned to Dharr when he said, “Walk with me,” and started up the path past the quaint shops lining the border of the commons area where the festivities continued.

  As they strolled along at a leisurely pace, surrounded by a contingent of guards in front and behind them, Dharr spoke to her about the recent progress in modernizing Tomar.

  When he told her that an art museum was also in the planning stages, Raina came to a stop and faced him. “I’m surprised you didn’t say anything to me earlier,” she said.

  “I assumed you might not be interested.”

  Her eyes widened. “How could you say that knowing art is my life?”

  “In California,” he corrected. “Not in Azzril.”

  That stung Raina more than a little, but she could understand why he might believe that. “I’m interested in anything having to do with art. Do you already have any commitments in terms of collections?”

  “I have my own collection I will donate, except for one particular piece.”

  When the cool breeze intensified, she tightened the shawl around her shoulders even though she wasn’t at all cold. Thanks to Dharr’s presence. “A very special piece, I take it?”

  “Yes. A Modigliani.”

  One of her favorites. “Wow. I would love to see it sometime.”

  He leaned over and although they spoke in English, he lowered his voice and said, “It is hanging in my bedroom, over the fireplace. I am surprised you did not notice it.”

  She hadn’t been coherent enough to notice much of anything in the massive bedroom. “You can show it to me later,” she murmured, hoping her suggestive comment had gone unnoticed by the surrounding guards who were keeping a safe distance. Considering the return of the fire in Dharr’s eyes, it hadn’t been overlooked by him.