Royal Weddings

by Clare Connelly

  “We’ll do wa-wa later, buddy,” she said softly, curling her fingers around his sweet, dark hair.

  “’Ere.” Fatima paused outside an enormous curved archway. Sure enough, the unmistakable odour of chlorine descended like a cloud on Evie. She ached to go further, to see the pool and cast aside her clothes, to sink into its soothing depths.

  “May I?” She asked, pointing inwards.

  “Yah, yah. Quick, eh?”

  Evie hid her smile by kissing Kalem’s head.

  The pool was more like an aquatic centre. Perhaps fifty metres long and almost that in width, shaped with gently undulating curves so that from above it might look like a splodge, with white marbled edges, and a fountain in its very centre. The roof was made of glass, so that the temperature in the room was sultry like the tropics she thought of as home.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Beyond the pool, there were windows that framed a view of a formal garden. She didn’t recognise the trees but they offered enormous orbs of fruit – red and cream coloured on the outside. Almost as though strawberries and cream had married and formed this delectable little love-child.

  “One minute,” she said to Fatima, lifting her finger up. She bustled towards the edge of the pool before the older woman could object, and quickly freed Kalem’s feet from the little leather sandals he wore.

  “Wa-wa! Wa-wa!”

  She laughed and didn’t dare look over her shoulder as she pulled his pants off, so that he was in just his nappy. Crouching down, she lowered him gently into the pool, smiling at the glee on his features. His body peeled with laughter. She guided him through the water a little way, and he kicked his feet, splashing her in the process.

  She laughed; it was a contagious sound and she quickly looked over her shoulder and saw that even Fatima had a smile on her face.

  “He loves it,” Evie grinned, wishing harder than she had wished for anything in her life that Sabra and Dave had been there to see it. “He loves it.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “But Fatima’s right. You need to sleep.”

  She lifted him out of the pool with regret – an emotion that was certainly echoed on his little face. His lower lip trembled as he pointed insistently at the pool and she nodded.

  “We’ll come back again soon, little one. I promise.” She ruffled his hair.

  “I take,” Fatima held her hands out and Evie nodded, handing him over. In Fatima’s arms, he resisted for a moment and then settled against her bosom.

  “Sleep tight.” Evie smiled at him with all the love in her heart. She waited until they’d left the room before returning to the water’s edge and crouching down. She dipped her fingers into the shallows and shivered as relief filled her heat-worn veins.

  Kalem’s face danced before her eyes. How happy he’d been in the water! He had certainly known what he wanted: just like his uncle.

  And just like his mother.

  Her smile dropped a little; how could it not? Thinking of Sabra was now a double-edged sword: every single memory was marked with sadness, for there would be no new memories.

  The last time she’d seen Sabra, she’d sensed an apprehension in her sister-in-law. The limousines had been parked outside their luxurious riverfront home and Sabra had dithered.

  “Let them wait,” she’d smiled, pouring boiling water into a pot while Evie had bounced Kalem on her lap.

  “The flight’s scheduled to take off at six.”

  “It’s my brother’s jet,” she said with a shrug. “It will not leave without me.”

  Dave had walked in at that moment, shaking his head. “I can’t wait to get back to Ishara. The Ruins of Fash’allam are some of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Why are you dragging your heels?”

  Sabra pinned her husband with an exasperated sigh. “You know why.”

  “Ah, yes. The dream.” He rolled his eyes. “For the last time, it was just that: a dream. A conjuring of your subconscious. It meant nothing.”

  “What was it about?” Evie took the proffered tea and leaned forward, her expression serious.

  “She won’t talk about it. Something about that gives it more power.” Dave wiggled his brows in mocking amusement and Sabra picked up a pair of socks and aimed them at his shoulder. She was a bad shot; they landed square on his nose.

  He laughed. “Honey, it’s fine. We’re going for one month. You’ll see your brother, Tiny Highness here will get his portrait taken, and I’ll get to finish my research. Research that meeting you, frankly, derailed.”

  Sabra pulled a face. “I know. I’m sure you’re right.” But she didn’t seem at all placated. “Did you file that paperwork?”

  “Yes. Calm down.” He put an arm around Evie, squeezing her shoulders. “Most people buy a new camera before their first family vacation. My wife updates our wills.”

  Evie grinned. “That’s a very practical and wise thing to do.” She sobered at Sabra’s pinched expression. “But I’m sure it won’t be necessary.”

  “Of course it won’t be,” Dave laughed. “Don’t encourage her.”

  “She isn’t encouraging me,” Sabra snapped, but she softened it with a tremulous smile for Evie’s benefit. “It’s just the emotion of it all, I think.”

  “That’s natural.” Evie had shivered, imaging returning to Ishala. Seeing Malakhi again. “Now, get out of here,” she said jovially, to cover the trembling overtaking her body. “I’m sick of the sight of you both.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The document had arrived with the condolences.

  Odd, given the size of the envelope, but then again, with the Australian postmark and being addressed specifically to him, he could understand that it had been bundled in with the rest.

  He stared at the pages long and hard, but every time he blinked the same statement was staring straight back at him, the very words accusatory in light of how he’d behaved.

  IN THE EVENT OF THE DEATH OR INCAPACITATION OF SABRA JASAM ADAMS AND DAVID WILLIAM ADAMS THEIR SOLE SURVIVING DEPENDANT MALAKHI KALEM ADAMS WILL BECOME THE LEGAL WARD AND FALL UNDER THE ENDURING LEGAL GUARDIANSHIP OF EVELYN ANN ADAMS. THE CHILD IS TO BE RAISED, IN ALL MATTERS, IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE GUARDIAN’S WISHES.

  What had his sister been thinking?

  They’d spoken about this. They’d formed an agreement. True, it wasn’t in writing, but he had considered it iron-clad. And that agreement had inferred custody upon him. Kalem was the heir to the kingdom of Ishala until such time as Malakhi produced an heir of his own. As such, it was entirely inappropriate for the child to be raised by anyone but him.

  Especially Evie.

  Evie.

  Desire danced on his skin as he thought of her. Why was she such a bad choice? She loved Kalem, that much was obvious. But in the ways of their people she was ignorant. Could Sabra really have intended to have the boy raised by an Australian woman on the other side of the world?

  He dropped his pen forcefully and flicked to the final page of the document. Two names seemed to be tapping him on the shoulder, reminding him that they’d signed this document because they damned well wanted it to be followed.

  Surprise warred with indignation; it bred impotence and frustration. Could he really disregard the wishes of the sister he’d adored? What choice did he have? Allowing Evelyn to raise the child was out of the question. Wasn’t it?

  * * *

  The heat of the pool area had induced an almost-trance-like-state. It was broken by the sound of footsteps. She turned sharply, glancing towards the door.

  “Fayaz!” The smile came easily to her lips. “What a welcome surprise.”

  “Ah! I am glad. I just spoke to Fatima and she said I might find you here.”

  Evie nodded. “Kalem wanted to dip his toes into the water,” she explained, standing with fluid grace and taking a step backwards.

  “And you?” He said with a teasing smile.

  “Tempting.” In fact, as soon as she found Amina, she’d ask her about swimming. The country was steep
ed in ritual and Evie suspected there would be certain protocols to follow before just diving into a royal pool.

  “How are you finding our heat? Have you adjusted any better?”

  She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Hardly. I’m sure in time I’ll learn to cope.”

  He nodded. “Yes, that’s right. You are staying, then?”

  Her cheeks flamed as she thought of the deal she’d forged with Malakhi. “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m glad. I think this will be beneficial for the child. And for you. To lose Sabra and David, and then your nephew: this would be too cruel.”

  Her eyes misted over and she shook her head apologetically. “I cry so easily these days.”

  “That’s only natural,” he soothed.

  “It’s stupid. Ironically, Sabra and Dave would give me a very hard time if they saw what a sook I’ve become.”

  “Yes, I can well imagine it,” he nodded. “Of Sabra, at least.”

  He tilted his head towards the door. “I’m just leaving a meeting. I have no plans now. Would you like to join me for lunch?”

  “Lunch?” She frowned.

  “Yes. It’s a meal. I’d thought it was universal but perhaps it is an Ishalan custom? It is something we generally eat in the middle hours of the day. Sometimes accompanied by wine. Often conversation. Are you familiar with it?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. Very funny.”

  His grin changed his face completely; he looked roguishly charming. “There’s a restaurant in town that does the best Lak-ilman you’ll ever taste.”

  “Oh!” Her smile brightened at the lure of leaving the palace’s walls. “I thought you meant just to eat here? I’d love to go into the town. Having spent so long looking down on its colourful buildings, I’m desperate to actually explore it myself.”

  “You mean you haven’t yet been? This is a travesty. For surely this ancient city is one of the most beautiful in the whole world. Rome has nothing to Fashil’s paved alleys and stone buildings. Come. Let me show you.”

  She nodded again, so thrilled at the idea that she forgot altogether about the heat. “What’s Lak-ilm…”

  “Lak-ilman?” He stood aside, allowing her to pass through the archway before her. “I thought you were a chef?”

  “Yeah. But my knowledge of your food is limited.”

  He nodded. “Well. It’s hard to describe. To call it a curry would not be to do it justice. It is a spiced stew, unique to the city. Other places try to copy it but there is something in the sea air and ancient coals that makes it taste right only here.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Come. I’m parked this way.”

  For weeks, Evie had been looking down at the city and building it up in her mind. But the reality was beyond anything she could ever have envisaged. The streets wound almost in circles, forming a maze of paths that she was quite certain she’d never be able to follow, if left to her own desires. The palace was high on the hill in the distance, and from down below she got a greater sense for the vast size of the place. The wall extended on each direction, keeping it private and secure, and giving it a feeling of almost medieval defensiveness.

  “Here.” He slid the car into a tight space, lightly bumping the car in front. Evie shifted her gaze to Fayaz’s for a reaction but he shrugged. “That’s driving in the capital. It’s bedlam.”

  He came quickly to her side of the car and opened the door, bowing in an exaggerated fashion. “M’lady?”

  She grinned. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  Just behind them there was a charmingly quaint restaurant. The walls were stone but arched glass windows were fitted along its front. Green wrought-iron chairs sat on the uneven footpath, all in a line, facing the street. A pot plant with geraniums stood sentry at the door, bright and enthusiastic despite the heat.

  Fayaz was greeted with affection by a rotund man in a green apron.

  “This is Matir,” he said with a smile. “He doesn’t speak English.”

  “That’s not his fault. I’m the one who needs to learn Ishalan,” she pointed out self-deprecatingly.

  “He asks to be allowed to prepare a menu for you.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes flew to Fayaz’s. “I’m in your hands. Whatever you think.”

  “You are a chef, are you not?”

  She nodded. “But a pastry chef. I’m out of my depth here.”

  Fayaz’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Okay. Leave it to me.”

  The food was delicious. They shared several different bowls, each of them small enough to offer just a taste before another was brought in its place. But by the tenth small portion, Evie had to lift her hands in surrender.

  “I honestly don’t think I can eat another thing. Will he be offended?”

  Fayaz grinned. “Probably, but only because he loves to cook for beautiful women.”

  She laughed. “Charmer.” She relaxed back in the chair and lifted her wine to her lips. “Do you bring many here? Women, I mean. Not beautiful … I’m not saying I’m beautiful.” She flushed to the roots of her hair.

  “Of course you know you are; do not be modest on my account.”

  Evie shook her head. “Are you trying to dodge the question?”

  He laughed. “No. I have brought some women here. But I think Matir likes you best.”

  “Well, he’s only human.” She shook her head, surprised by how relaxed she felt with this man. Perhaps it was the way Sabra had spoken of him, with such obvious affection, that filled her with a corresponding sense of happiness. “What was your meeting this morning?”

  “We have a delegation of Princes from neighbouring palaces visiting. I was catching up with Malakhi to discuss the objectives of the conference.”

  “Which are?”

  He shook his head. “Complicated and confidential.”

  “I see.” She bit down on her lip, so, so tempted to ask more about Malakhi. But she couldn’t do it. To her lover or this man, who had been kind to her and deserve better than to be used as a conduit of information. “You’ve worked for the royal family for a long time?”

  “Yes.” Pride radiated from his handsome face. “It is the way of my people. Holding a position within the royal household is not simply a job; it is a vocation. A calling. The trust bestowed on us by the family is seen as a great honour. My father held this job before me –this is how I knew Sabra and Malakhi. I grew up with them. I was favoured by the late Sheikh, and he invited me to partake in classes with them at the palace.” His smile was indulgent. “I think he wanted his children to form friendships with people from all walks of life.”

  “Progressive,” she said gently.

  “Indeed. He was a great man. As is his son.”

  She nodded, her throat constricting. “I suppose we should be getting back …”

  “You suppose right. I don’t want word to spread that I’ve kidnapped you.”

  She laughed. “You have a willing hostage, if that’s the case.”

  “Good. Perhaps you will join me again?”

  “Any time,” she said honestly, standing swiftly. “I don’t have any friends here. Well, besides Amira, but I suspect I’ve already got her into trouble. It’s nice to have someone I can talk to.”

  And talk they did, the whole winding, steep drive back to the palace gates.

  He pulled his car to a halt in a small space by one of the side gates and once again opened her door for her.

  “I’ll walk you back.”

  “I’d tell you not to bother but honestly? I still get lost when I’m anywhere but the family quarters.”

  He laughed. “It is an enormous building. Perhaps I shall bring you a map?”

  “Actually, that really would be useful…”

  His eyes were kind when he smiled. “Consider it done.”

  He waited for her to precede him into the hallway.

  “I was thinking about them, when you arrived,” she said slowly, as they turned a corner of the corridor.
>
  He didn’t pretend not to comprehend her meaning. “Yes?”

  “Sabra and Dave, I mean.”

  He nodded. “I know. What were you thinking?”

  They stopped walking by silent but mutual consent. Evie searched her brain for the right words. How could she explain the odd presentiment Sabra had felt? And was she betraying some kind of secret by sharing it?

  Conversation reached them, derailing her thoughts completely. For she could detect Malakhi’s deep, exotic voice even when he spoke words she didn’t comprehend, in his own language. She turned her head in surprise; Fayaz did likewise.

  Malakhi was walking with two other men, both dressed in robes similar to his, though neither lent them quite the same air of broad masculinity.

  She smiled on autopilot; her heart was pounding in her chest.

  His eyes bore into hers with an emotion she could not comprehend before moving to Fayaz.

  She opened her mouth to say ‘hello’, but he came to a stop in the space before her and turned his back to her. He spoke only to Fayaz, and purposefully in their own language. The conversation was brief. A few words, and then one of the other men spoke.

  Evie stood behind Malakhi, confusion and embarrassment mingling in her gut. She inched away by degrees, her eyes showing her hurt as he continued to speak as though she wasn’t there.

  She watched, powerless, as the three men moved on, leaving Fayaz on the other side of the corridor to her. When they were a fair distance past, Malakhi stopped walking, turned and came quickly back to them.

  He spoke quickly to Fayaz, and Fayaz alone, and then turned to rejoin his companions.

  Evie’s heart was racing; her blood was fired by indignation and confusion.

  “Evie?” Fayaz closed the distance between them, scanning her face. Why hadn’t this beautiful, exotic woman told him the truth? To think of how they’d spent the last two hours bred shame and mortification inside Fayaz. “Are you involved with him?”

  She swept her eyes closed as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. What had she expected? Not for Malakhi to throw his arms around her and kiss her passionately on the lips. But to include her in a brief conversation? Why not? Was that so unreasonable? She could never have predicted that he would blank her in that manner. Wounds that had been inflicted in the preceding days began to fester more deeply.