by Annie West
There’d be no divorce. But Arden wasn’t a naïve girl now. She knew a man like Idris would have sexual needs long after he lost interest in her. This honeymoon period, prompted she guessed by novelty and his desire for more children, would end soon enough.
What then? Arden had told him she didn’t want to find out about his lovers. He hadn’t demurred, simply agreed and moved on. At the time she’d been devastated at the idea of marrying a man already planning to be with other women.
That was before she realised she loved him.
How could she cope when he turned away and discreetly found with other women what he no longer wanted from her?
A tearing sound rent the air and she realised it was a groan of pain.
Idris would turn his back and she’d be left high and dry. Again.
Once more she’d got her hopes up. She hadn’t consciously thought that one day her husband might come to love her but it had been there, a hidden nugget of hope, all this time.
She’d always craved love, stability, someone to value her as the most important person in their life. Every time hope had been snatched away.
Was that her fate? To seek love and always be disappointed?
She couldn’t live like this, as merely a necessary wife. Idris cared about her but not enough. Loving him when he felt only mild affection, seeing him turn to other women, would destroy her. She wouldn’t let that happen. She would be strong, for herself and for Dawud. It was the way life had made her.
Arden got to her feet, grimacing at her creaky movements, as if the hoary fingers of age already claimed her. Slowly she straightened, her eyes fixed on the beautiful little palace beyond the city.
She had to find a way to survive this deal they’d made, do the best for Dawud, and for Idris, but keep her self-respect. And she had an inkling how she could do it.
This time she wouldn’t be the one left behind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A QUICK RAP on his study door made Idris look up, his brain still grappling with the new draft of the treaty.
Ashar stood in the doorway, his features so carefully blank that unease instantly ripped up Idris’s backbone. It reminded him of yesterday when his aide had come to report that Arden was driving out of town, destination unknown.
This was worse. He sensed it.
‘Tell me.’
Not Arden. Not Dawud.
The ferocity of his fear for them paralysed him.
‘They’re both fine. Both well.’ Ashar stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him, and Idris sagged in his swivel chair, his fingers grabbing the edge of the desk too tight. His heart catapulted against his ribs, its rhythm sharp.
‘But?’ Idris tried to tell himself it was another small misunderstanding. It couldn’t be anything major. Despite her doubts, Arden was increasingly adept at dealing with courtiers and the public. As for visiting VIPs, she charmed them with an ease that made him want to laugh. This was the woman his advisers had doubted could hold her own in public and she was proving his best asset with her unconventional, direct ways.
He wished he’d had her at his side when he’d first taken the role of Sheikh. The burdens would have been much lighter, and his life so much better.
‘Tell me, Ashar.’ His aide’s silence was unnerving.
Idris watched him take a chair on the other side of the desk. ‘The Sheikha and the little Prince are both at the Dower Palace.’
Idris let his pent-up breath surge out. For a moment he’d feared something terrible.
‘Another picnic?’ A smile curved his mouth. He’d toyed with the idea of shirking all his appointments today and spending time with his family. Amazing how much the idea appealed. He’d had to force himself out of Arden’s arms and their bed in the little palace, telling himself this new treaty, and the meeting on improving infrastructure for remote provinces, were too vital to delay.
But he’d vowed to take Arden back there soon. Last night had felt like the honeymoon they’d never had. More, as if they’d found a new level of understanding. Their necessary marriage had blossomed in a way he’d never expected. She made him happy, he realised. Happy and proud. It was a revelation.
Ashar shook his head. He opened his mouth but didn’t speak. Instead he cleared his throat.
Foreboding dimmed Idris’s smile. ‘Out with it, quickly.’
Ashar looked down at his hands. ‘The Sheikha has co-opted several palace staff to help her refurbish the Dower Palace.’
‘Refurbish?’ Idris didn’t know if he was more perplexed by the idea of it needing refurbishment or the fact Arden had directed staff to do anything. She was notoriously unwilling to issue orders, unused to having paid servants.
Ashar shrugged. ‘Perhaps not refurbish. But open up the rooms ready to be lived in.’ He paused, his gaze lifting to Idris. ‘She gave the impression the order came from you.’
Ashar met his wary eyes. They both knew Idris had given no such order.
‘Anything else?’
His secretary’s expression flickered with something that might have been sympathy. ‘I understand your wife and son’s belongings have been packed up and moved out of the Palace of Gold.’
* * *
Idris slammed the door of his four-wheel drive and signalled his staff to remain here in the courtyard of the Dower Palace. Anger took him across the cobbled yard to the arch where ancient wooden doors, said to be as old as his family’s rule on the throne of Zahrat, sat open.
A couple of strides took him to another, smaller courtyard and a maid, her arms full of bed linen. Her eyes rounded when she saw him and she stopped, curtseying.
‘You’re to leave here now and return to your usual duties.’ His voice rasped out, harsh and unrecognisable. Like the fury he only just held in check. Fury that Arden would play such a game, trying to make a fool of him. ‘Tell the other staff to stop what they’re doing and get out immediately. Close the front doors behind you.’
She bobbed her head and scurried away, clasping the linen to her chest.
Idris stalked forward, through more doors, across the courtyard where just last night Arden had lain in his arms while he fed her sweet treats and seduced her into boneless compliance.
Of all the emotions that had rushed through him at Ashar’s news, the strongest was hurt. Hurt that after all he and Arden had shared, after the sense of wordless understanding he’d woken to this morning, she should play such a trick. He couldn’t believe she’d deliberately make him a laughing stock. Or that she was attempting some sort of blackmail, moving out to secure a better deal for herself.
When had he not given her what she desired?
When had he withheld his support? His riches?
When had he been anything but the best husband he could be? And in return he knew she’d strived to meet the demands of her new role.
So what was she playing at?
If she was unhappy she just had to say and he’d deal with the problem.
But this wasn’t something she wanted him to fix. That was clear from the fact she’d moved out and taken Dawud.
This was a pre-emptive strike.
He’d trusted her! Let her become part of his life in ways he’d never imagined letting any woman, and she’d betrayed him.
He couldn’t believe it. Or the excruciating ache in his heart.
Room after room passed. Some untouched, some bearing traces of recent change. Dustcovers removed. Mirrors sparkling. Mosaic floors glistening from scrubbing. He passed the room where they’d spent the night but it was deserted. Another room and there was a familiar white bed, tucked in a corner by the window. The mat he’d bought Dawud, a carpet road map for him to play on, lay beside it. Idris recognised the books and toys on top of a new dresser, and in the bed a tousled dark head, a small
hand still grasping a teddy as Dawud slept.
Idris stopped, his heart skidding against his sternum as relief battered him. Dawud was safe.
He drew in a deep breath, then another, trying to ease the hammering of his pulse as his gaze ate up the sight of his boy.
Something, some infinitesimal sound made him turn. Seconds later he was in the doorway of another bedroom. A white sheet snapped in the air as it was flung across a bed. A bed much smaller than the one he and Arden shared. Yet it was Arden smoothing the crisp cotton down the mattress. Arden, not in her finery but wearing a simple white sleeveless dress. Arden with her hair gleaming in the sunset glow coming from the window.
Idris stepped into the room, securing the door behind him. The snick of the lock made her look up, then her hand was at her throat, her face pale as chalk.
‘Idris! You scared me!’
He folded his arms across his chest, not bothering now to keep a lid on the ire that had burned and bubbled since his aide’s visit. Was Idris the last in the royal compound to hear that his wife had moved out, sneaking their son with her?
Arden’s hand fell to her side and she backed a step as if the sight of him frightened her. Good!
‘I didn’t expect to see you yet.’
Yet? That implied she had intended to see him. He felt a trickle of relief. Till he wondered where she’d planned to meet him. In the office of a divorce lawyer? No lawyer in the country would take her on. He’d see to that.
‘I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing?’ Her hands twisted together till she saw him notice and hauled them behind her back like a naughty schoolgirl. But this was no teenage prank.
‘Why don’t you say something?’ Her voice was thin, as if stretched taut by emotion. Which was all wrong. She’d planned this deliberately, with cold calculation. He was the one feeling.
‘I’m waiting for an explanation.’
‘I...’ Her hand climbed her throat again, fingers splaying nervously, till she blinked and dropped her arm. Her chin tilted. ‘I’m moving out.’
Idris stared, watching her lips circle the words, hearing them resonate in his ears, and yet the sound didn’t seem real. It was as if she spoke from a long distance, the words muffled by the skip of his pulse and the throbbing tension wrapping him so tight he felt his skin would split and bleed.
‘Explain!’
‘Dawud and I—’ She gestured: a quick circular motion encompassing the room and, presumably, the one next door. ‘We’ll live here. It will work out better this way. I was going to tell you—’
‘Really? And when were you going to impart this news?’ His voice was barely above a growl, low, guttural and cold as her frigid English heart. ‘Before or after the whole city heard about it?’
Her eyes widened and her mouth sagged. ‘No, I—’
‘No, you weren’t going to tell me after all? You were going to let me find out for myself? Just as, in fact, I did?’
Fury rose to towering levels. He paced the room, planting himself between Arden and the door. She’d betrayed him, made a fool of him, stolen his son. He’d woken this morning to a sense of peace and promise unlike any he’d ever known. He’d looked forward to building a family with her and all the time she’d planned to leave.
He’d never known such pain as that tearing at his vitals. Only years of warrior training kept him upright.
If she thought he’d permit her to get away with this she was incredibly naïve.
* * *
Arden looked up into hard, fathomless eyes. She didn’t recognise them. Didn’t recognise the man before her. This wasn’t the bronzed warrior prince she’d come to love. This was a stranger. As he uncrossed his arms and flexed his fingers she shivered.
She told herself to buck up. She’d known this wouldn’t be easy. But if she was to preserve her sanity and her self-respect it had to be done.
‘Why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable and sit down to discuss this?’ She felt trapped by his forceful presence, literally cornered.
‘Stop delaying.’ He widened his stance and re-crossed his arms over his powerful chest, reinforcing that potent male power battering her shredded nerves.
How was she supposed to fight him when part of her wanted to nestle against that broad shoulder and accept what he offered her, even though it wasn’t enough?
Arden swallowed a tangle of emotion and forced herself to meet his glare.
‘This marriage isn’t working for me. I had my doubts from the start, you know that, and...’ She gestured vaguely. ‘Well, it turns out I was right.’
‘In what way isn’t it working?’ His face was so flinty, his expression so fixed, his lips barely moved.
‘I don’t feel...’ loved. She couldn’t admit that. ‘You must understand.’ Another quick wave of her hand. ‘Zahrat, living in a palace, marriage to a sheikh; it’s all a far cry from what I’m used to. And what I’m comfortable with.’
Was it possible that his thinned lips tightened even further?
‘I don’t feel able to continue like I have been, so I’ve come up with a compromise.’
‘This doesn’t look like compromise to me,’ he snarled. ‘This looks like desertion.’
Arden jammed her hands onto her hips, summoning anger to block out the pain in her heart. ‘Desertion would be me taking Dawud on the next flight out of here and filing for divorce.’ Her breath came so fast she couldn’t keep going.
She heaved in more air and dredged up some words before he interrupted. ‘Instead I propose to live here with Dawud. Close enough that you can still see him daily. He can go to the Palace of Gold to visit you or you could come here.’ She paused. Having Idris here in what would be her sanctuary would just prolong her heartache. But what alternative could she offer?
Idris opened his mouth and she raised a hand to stop him. ‘Just hear me out.’ She snagged another quick breath. ‘This way you have the marriage you needed and the heir but without the encumbrance of...me. You know I’m not good at the whole royal thing. Everyone will understand the split. I told the staff it was your order that I move here. People will think you’ve set me aside, and they won’t be surprised because everyone knows I’m an embarrassment.’ Heat crept up her cheeks at the memory of so many public blunders.
But in the scale of things those mistakes meant nothing. Not compared to walking away from the man she loved. Dully she wondered how long it would be before the hurt started to ease. Or if it ever would.
‘I won’t embarrass you if I’m living here, out of the public eye. And you’ll be free to take lovers without worrying about me being on the premises.’ Something within her collapsed, crumpling at the thought, but she kept her chin up. ‘It’s the best solution.’
Except she didn’t believe it for a moment. Living in Zahrat, so close to Idris, would be torment. Yet for Dawud’s sake she’d endure it.
Idris’s gaze bored into hers. ‘This is the second time you’ve mentioned my lovers. You seem inordinately interested in them.’ Something flickered in that enigmatic dark stare. ‘Why is that? Are you intending to vet them yourself to see they’re not a negative influence on our son when they meet?’
‘You wouldn’t do that! You promised to be discreet and not flaunt them in front of Dawud.’ Fury rose, a fiery column, scorching her from the inside. She actually took a step closer till she read the predatory stillness in Idris’s big frame, the intensity of his haughty glare, and realised he was deliberately taunting her.
That casual cruelty punctured her indignation, leaving her empty and fragile. She swayed, praying for the strength to see this through.
‘It’s time to admit it’s not working and accept a sensible compromise. You’ve done everything that could be expected of you, Idris. You’ve married me and legitimised Dawud. You’ve upheld your honour.’
/> * * *
Idris stared at her. A nervous, defiant woman who looked like the beautiful wife he’d taken to bed last night but couldn’t be. His wife had spent the evening sighing her pleasure while setting out to please him more successfully than any other woman ever had.
Then, as usual, she’d curled confidingly close. He’d grown used to her snuggling against him as if, even in sleep, she needed physical intimacy to settle.
He’d grown used to greeting the dawn making love to her. More often than not sharing a bath or shower with her. He’d even become accustomed to chatting with her after formal events, sharing observations and insights, always fascinated by the different perspective she provided. And breakfasting with her and Dawud, enjoying a growing understanding and shared purpose in caring for their boy. He’d been proud of her progress in dealing with state occasions, and her surprising aptitude at his language. He’d laughed with her over things he’d never been able to share with others and found increasing pleasure in relaxing with her.
Over the past months she’d become more than a convenient bride. She’d become his wife.
How had it all gone wrong?
Why had she done this?
Idris stepped closer, watching with mingled satisfaction and pain as she shrank against the wall.
‘Honour! You talk to me of honour? As if that’s all this marriage is about?’ He was so incensed he had to work to keep his voice low enough that it didn’t disturb Dawud in the next room. Fire ran in his veins, a white-hot incendiary burn that ate him up from the inside, devouring him. Or perhaps that was the anguish he was trying not to think about.
‘What about us, Arden? You and me? And Dawud?’ He leaned over her and her head tilted back against the wall. But she didn’t look scared any more. She looked tired, and that tore at him.
After what she’d done, and the way she’d insulted him, he felt concerned for her?
‘As you say,’ she said softly, ‘this marriage is about you and me and our son. I think it best for Dawud not to grow up watching our marriage disintegrate. Better to make an amicable break now and come to a compromise that allows him to grow up with both of us.’
