by Jennie Lucas
Here in the desert, the harsh sun burned away all the lies.
Except for one.
The lie Jasmine had told to drive Kareef away.
Staring at the perfect bride in the mirror, she felt dizzy from the frantic beat of her heart.
Kareef had told her he’d loved her.
And she’d tossed his love back in his face!
I had no choice, she told herself as her knees shook beneath her. I had no choice! He asked to marry me. He would have been forced to abdicate the throne for me!
To push him away, she’d conjured the most cruel spell, the most vicious accusation she could imagine to drive him away from her. She’d used his own grief and guilt against him.
It made her sick inside. No matter how pure her motives, she knew she’d committed the deepest betrayal of the heart. And if she married Umar today, she would be committing suicide of the soul.
And suddenly, she knew she couldn’t do it.
She could not marry a man she did not love.
For any reason.
“Where is Umar?” she whispered, pressing her hands against her tightly corseted waist, struggling for breath. “He said we would talk before the wedding. Please find him.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea—” her father began ponderously.
“We’ll find him,” her mother said, giving her husband a sharp look. She smiled at Jasmine. “Don’t worry.”
“Wait.” She grabbed her mother’s wrist. A lump rose in her throat at the sudden fear that Jasmine would never see her again.
“Why Jasmine,” her mother said softly, stroking her hair though the veil as if she were still a little girl. “What’s wrong?”
Would they forgive her for calling off the wedding? Would they ever forgive her?
She would pray they would. She’d do everything she could to help her sister. She’d do everything she could to show her family she loved them.
But not sacrifice her soul.
“Mother,” Jasmine said, fighting back tears, “I know I haven’t always made you proud but…” Sniffling beneath her elegant veil, she looked from her mother to her father, then shook her head. “I love you both so much.”
“And we’ve always loved you, Jasmine,” her mother said, squeezing Jasmine’s hand. “We always will.”
“Come,” her father said gruffly, pulling his wife away. “Let us leave Jasmine in peace.”
Her mother’s hand slipped away. The door shut softly.
With a deep breath, Jasmine opened her eyes in the flowery pink bedroom designed by Umar’s dead wife. Jasmine saw moving rainbows against the wallpaper. She looked down to see the enormous diamond on her hand with its endless reflecting facets. She pulled the ring off her finger.
The stone was so cold, she thought, looking down at it in her palm. So hard. So dead.
Teach me how to feel nothing, like you. I’m tired of having a heart. From the moment I loved you, it has never stopped breaking.
Kareef had already left Qais, she’d heard, returning to the city on his helicopter. Tomorrow morning, he would be crowned king—alone.
Jasmine had finally gotten what she wanted. She’d finally pushed him away.
The ring fell from her lifeless hands. Jasmine sank to the floor, enshrouded by layers of white tulle as she fell forward into the voluminous white skirts. Her head hung down as her whole body was racked with sobs of grief.
“Oh my God,” she heard Umar say in the doorway. “Someone told you.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, covering her veiled face with her hands. “I’m so sorry….”
She felt Umar’s arms around her. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said. “I should have told you days ago.”
Staring up at him, she said, “Told me what?”
“I’ve been courting you for so long, but you pushed me away…and she was right there, warm and loving. She was never the type of woman I thought I would take for a bride. She has no money, no connections, no particular beauty.” Shaking his head, he stared at the floor. “In the middle of our engagement party, she called me. She said she thought she might be pregnant.”
“Pregnant,” Jasmine breathed. “Who? Who are you talking about?”
“Léa,” he whispered. He shook his head. “I never should have allowed my courtship of you to continue while I was sleeping with another woman. I told myself Léa didn’t count. She was a servant. But my children love her, and she’s pregnant with my child. I must marry her.” He pressed his hands over hers, his voice pleading for understanding. “I want to marry her. Though she is nothing like the bride I imagined…I think I could love her.” He pressed her hands to his forehead as he bowed his head. “Forgive me,” he said humbly.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said. A half-hysterical laugh burbled to her lips. “Because I myself…”
He gave her a sideways glance. “You and the king?” He smiled. “Gossip that rich travels swiftly, even to Brittany, where I was getting permission from Léa’s father to marry her.”
Umar had four children already, and would soon have a new baby. Shaking her head, Jasmine stared at the carpet. In the shifting patterns of colored light from the round window, she could imagine a meadow of flowers, hear a child’s laughter. She looked up into his face. “I wish you every happiness,” she said softly. “You and your precious little ones.”
He kissed her hand in gratitude. “You are too good,” he whispered.
She stared at the patterns of sunlight on the floor. Good? She was far from good. Picking up the ring, she handed it to him.
“What will you do?” he asked.
She took a deep breath. “Go back to New York. Run my business. Help my sister however she needs me.”
“And the king?”
She shook her head. “His duty lies elsewhere.”
“Are you sure?”
Trembling, she rose to her feet. “He must marry a woman who can give him children.”
“Sometimes, Jasmine,” Umar said, looking at her quietly, “you must put aside the person everyone wants you to be—to become the person you were born to be.”
She stared at him.
For years, Jasmine had lived alone in New York, working to build her investment portfolio. She’d focused on the past and the future, but never the present.
Now the past was done. The future was unknowable. But she was only twenty-nine years old. There could be a life for her back in New York, if she chose to create one. She could make her sterile Park Avenue apartment a comfortable home. She could start with a fresh clean slate.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Jasmine?” he asked. “Perhaps explain to your father?”
She gave a deep, shaky laugh. “That’s an idea,” she said wryly, then shook her head. “There is one thing. You have that private plane….”
“Done.”
She pulled the white veil off her head, dropping it to the floor in a shimmering cascade of translucent light.
“I cannot allow Kareef to sacrifice himself for me. But there is one thing I can do.” She glanced out the round window, thinking of the ranch house, far across the unseen desert. She straightened. “I can watch him become a king. And before I leave Qusay, I can take back a lie. I can tell him…” She took a deep breath. “I can tell him the truth.”
Kareef looked around the royal bedchamber in the bright sunlight.
His coronation day.
His enormous bedroom was richly appointed, lavishly decorated and big enough for the ten servants that usually insisted on waiting on him. This morning, he’d thrown them all out. He would dress for his coronation—alone.
Slowly, he picked up the ceremonial sword with emeralds on the scabbard and wrapped the belt around his white robes. So much had changed in the last week. And yet nothing had changed.
He was king.
He was alone.
And he felt nothing.
He had dim memories of flying back from the desert last
night after the Qais Cup. He was fairly sure he’d spent the evening making small talk with foreign dignitaries. But he could not recall any conversation or whom he’d spoken with. When he tried to think of last night all he could recall was the image of Jasmine’s pale expression, the way she’d flinched when he’d punched the hole in the wall.
You took away my chance to ever have a child.
Punching the wall, he’d been trying to rid himself of the pain. In a way, it had worked. His hand still felt numb. Just like the rest of him.
He’d offered Jasmine everything. His name. His throne. His love. And she’d still refused him.
You’re a fool. I pity you with all my heart.
The servants waiting outside his bedchamber door followed him in a line as he went down to the breakfast room for his final meal before the formal coronation.
Final meal, he thought dully. The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast.
He’d loved her. He loved her still. But he could not have her.
“Ah, sire!” the vizier said brightly as he entered the room. “Good morning! A fine joyful day, sunny and perfect for the first official day of your reign. Now that you are free of…er…entanglements, perhaps after the coronation, I might have your permission to begin the process of seeking a royal bride?”
Kareef looked up at him wearily at the word entanglements. Akmal Al’Sayr gave a single discreet grimace. The man had somehow discovered already that Jasmine had thrown him over, and he was so damn happy about it. It made Kareef grind his teeth.
“Fine,” he bit out. If Jasmine could move on, then so could he. He’d lived without love before. He could do it again.
Duty was all he had left. Cold, endless duty.
“Perfect, sire! I have several lovely princesses to choose from.”
“Choose whomever you like,” Kareef said heavily.
“I know the perfect bride. She’s already here to attend the coronation. I will speak with her family immediately, and if they agree, we will begin negotiations later this afternoon.” He paused. “Unless you’d care to meet the girl first?”
“I don’t need to meet her,” he said flatly. “Just make sure she understands this is a political marriage, nothing more.”
“Of course, sire. I will tell her.” Akmal paused delicately. “Although of course there must be children….”
Kareef looked down at his plate and saw that it was empty. Somehow, without tasting any of his food, he’d gotten it all down. The thought made him grimly glad. He would survive. At least his body would, and that was all that was required, wasn’t it?
“Ready?” His brother Rafiq entered the breakfast room.
“Is Tahir here?”
“No sign of him.”
“Right.” Why was he not surprised? Of course his youngest brother had changed his mind about coming home, promise or no promise. Kareef thought of his own optimism and joy a few days ago and felt like the exact same fool Jasmine claimed him to be.
Rising slowly to his feet, Kareef followed his brother down the long hall. But as he went outside the door and into the courtyard overlooking the cliffs above the Mediterranean, he heard someone scream his name. One sweet voice above the rest. A ghost from a long-forgotten dream.
But he kept walking. He didn’t even turn his head.
Then Kareef heard it again. He stopped.
“Did you hear that?”
“I heard nothing,” the vizier said nervously, then tried to sweep them forward. “This way, if you please, sire. You don’t wish to be late….”
Kareef took another few steps. Above the roar of the common crowd that had gathered to watch the coronation from outside the palace gates, he heard her voice again. Screaming his name desperately. He took a long, haggard breath.
“I must be losing my mind….” Kareef whispered. “I keep imagining I hear her.”
“Who? Jasmine?” Rafiq said. “She’s right there.”
Kareef whirled sharply. And there, on the other side of the palace gate, surrounded by shoving, cheering crowds, he saw her.
He whirled back to the vizier. “Get her in here!” he thundered.
“Sire,” Akmal Al’Sayr begged, “please. She’s been trying to get in all night but I’ve done my best to keep her out. For the good of the country you must consider…”
With a gasp, Kareef grabbed the older man by the neck. Then, with a shuddering breath, he regained control.
“Bring her to me,” he ordered between his teeth. Terrified, his vizier gave the frantic order to the guards. A moment later, Jasmine was inside the gate.
She ran straight to his arms. She was dressed in a simple red cotton smock and sandals, her dark hair loose and flying behind her.
“Jasmine,” he breathed, holding her against his chest. Half the world’s leaders were waiting to see him crowned king, and yet he could not let her go. He pulled her back inside the royal garden, to a private spot behind stone walls.
“It was a lie,” she gasped out with a sob. “I said those horrible things because I thought I had to push you away. I don’t blame you for the accident. Forgive me,” she whispered. “I thought I had no choice.”
His eyes fell upon the emerald hanging on a gold chain around her neck. Then he saw her left hand…was bare!
“Did you marry him, Jasmine?” he asked, his heart in his throat.
She shook her head. “No. I couldn’t do it. I know we can never be together, Kareef, but I couldn’t leave Qusay without telling you the truth. I love you. I always have, and I always will.”
With a shuddering intake of breath, Kareef held her against his chest, holding her tight as he closed his eyes, turning his face to the sun. A warm breeze swirled against his white robes, against his skin.
And for the first time since yesterday, he felt himself live again. Felt his blood rushing back through his veins. Felt air fill his lungs with every breath. Jasmine loved him.
“You had to know,” she whispered. “I had to tell you. I couldn’t leave with that lie.”
“Leave?” His eyebrows furrowed. “Where are you going?”
“To New York.” She gave a small laugh. “To start a new life. My new old life. And it’s where,” she said softly, “the king of Qusay will always have someone who loves him from afar. I will never forget you. Never stop loving you. Even after you take a wife—”
He stopped her with a kiss. And when he felt her lips against his—her soul against his own, so sweet and strong—he knew what he had to do.
Kareef would honor the vow he’d made long ago. He would hold true to his deepest obligation.
Taking her hand in his own, he led her out of the royal garden. His brother Rafiq was waiting patiently on the other side of the courtyard. Kareef felt a pang, then hardened his heart. It was the right choice. The only choice. Ancient honor demanded it of him, honor deeper than bloodlines. This promise superseded any other.
But still…
Forgive me, he thought, closing his eyes. Then he turned to Jasmine. “Come,” he said quietly. “Before you leave this city forever, you will watch me speak the words that bind me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AS KAREEF led her across the courtyard toward the old Byzantine ruin on the edge of the cliff, Jasmine knew it would be painful to watch him speak the words that would make him forever Qusay’s king. But she took a deep breath and followed him anyway. She loved him, and knew this would be the last time she would ever see him. She wanted their last memory together to be of her face shining with love—not those horrible words she’d said to him last night.
He abruptly let go of her hand, leaving her behind the three hundred guests seated in chairs placed tightly amid the old stone columns. Kareef and his brother Prince Rafiq continued walking, straight up the aisle of the ancient, roofless ruin.
She felt some people turn to look at her, a few with scorn, others with envy. Then they turned back around as Kareef faced them. He shook hands with his brother before Rafiq bowed and left
to sit in the audience beside her old friend Sera. Those two seemed rather cozy, Jasmine thought. Was there something going on between Prince Rafiq and the Sheikha’s widowed companion? Then the music swelled, and suddenly no one was looking at Jasmine at all.
Kareef stood at the front in his white ceremonial robes with the jeweled sword at his hip, set in emeralds, and no one could look anywhere else. Tears rose to Jasmine’s eyes. He was strength. He was power.
He was her love.
As the vizier started to speak in the old dialect of Qusay, her heart lifted as she stared at Kareef, so regal before the crowd. Even now, after it had ended in heartbreak, Jasmine couldn’t regret their affair.
She wouldn’t regret loving him—ever.
The music suddenly stopped. She heard the wind, the sound of the waves crashing beneath the cliffs. The ruins of the thousand-year-old citadel seemed to vibrate beneath their feet.
The vizier paused, and as the ceremony demanded, Kareef turned to the crowds. He was darkly beautiful. The perfect king.
His eyes met hers across the audience. And he spoke.
Not in the old dialect, as the ritual decreed, but in words everyone could understand, in a clear, low voice that rang across sand and sea.
“I renounce the throne.”
There was a gasp like thunder, echoing across the crowd. She heard the vizier cry out in distress. Someone else gave a low shocked hiss—was it his brother?
Kareef remained steadfast and calm, the eye of the storm.
“Thirteen years ago, I asked a woman to marry me. A young virgin, pure and true.” Everyone fell silent, struggling to listen as he said with a harsh lift of his chin and glittering eyes, “That woman was Jasmine Kouri.”
A gasp arose from half the crowd as they turned to look at her. “The Kouri girl.” The whispers were repeated, even as the foreign dignitaries frowned in bewildered confusion. “The old scandal.”
Kareef’s face hardened. “Jasmine bore the scandal—alone. But there was no shame. She lost our child in an accident. But before that, she was my bride.” He stretched out his arms and proclaimed, “I owe her a debt that supersedes any other duty or obligation.”
