Hajar's Hidden Legacy

by Maisey Yates

  She clenched her hand into a fist and kept it glued to her side. “You have my word, Sheikh Zahir.”

  “As tradition dictates, you will stay here in the palace to cement the engagement,” he said. She could tell that cost him. That he truly didn’t want her here. She also knew that he wanted to keep up appearances.

  She swallowed hard, feeling as though a judge had just lowered the gavel, sentencing her. At least it’s not a life sentence.

  “I will stay.” It took every ounce of strength she had to speak, to not shrink away.

  But she would use every shred of it that she had in her body to get through this. To see her country—her brother—through. To the other side. For freedom for her people. A new kind of freedom for herself. One where duty to the masses wasn’t so much more important than living her own life.

  It was a dream. And yet it was a dream that kept her going. That spurred her on now. She would rest later. She would have the chance to, something she’d not thought possible.

  “I was planning on staying,” she said. “For a while at least.”

  “I know, I saw your procession of belongings coming in earlier.”

  “It was too important. I wasn’t going to back down.”

  “Why is it so important to you? Why are you the one who has to solve this? A matter of honor?” He regarded her closely, and she knew he truly wanted an answer.

  “What would you do to ensure Malik’s success, Zahir? If he lived, what would you do to make sure that he was able to fulfill his destiny? To make sure he was safe?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed and she watched as his hands, both marred with scar tissue, flexed into fists. “Anything. I would give my life.”

  “As I’m giving mine.”

  He tilted his face up, angling the smooth side to her. “So noble of you.” She was struck again by how beautiful he was in part. By how handsome he had been. The reminder was there. That square masculine jaw, perfect olive skin. There was no light in his eyes though, no emotion to read.

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Modesty does not become the sort of woman who would storm the palace of Hajar and take up residence without permission,” he said. And for a moment she thought she saw one side of his mouth curve upward. An expression of good humor. Although, that couldn’t be. It really didn’t seem possible.

  “My apologies.”

  “One thing you must understand, latifa. The palace runs in a certain order, I do things on a certain schedule. You will not interrupt that.”

  No. Of course not. She wasn’t important enough to interrupt the Almighty Schedule. Though, why that should bother her at all, she wasn’t sure. Yes, she was. Common courtesy. She wouldn’t say that to a regular palace guest, let alone one she was engaged to be married to. Even if it was going to be strictly a legal marriage.

  “It’s a big palace,” she said. “I’ll bet you can avoid me altogether if you like.”

  “A theory I am tempted to test.”

  “If we’re going to pretend this is real you’re going to have to work on treating me as though you want me around.”

  He leaned in and she pulled away slightly. His masculine scent teased her, made her heart accelerate. He had a scent all his own. Sandalwood and spice mingled with the musky, unique essence of Zahir. It made her head feel fuzzy.

  “And you are going to have to pretend you aren’t repulsed by me.”

  “I’m not,” she said. It was the truth. He was scarred but all the nonsense about him being a beast, somehow something other than a man, that was just plain ridiculous. “I won’t lie and say I’m completely comfortable with you, but by the time we have an engagement party … “

  “There will be no engagement party.” The light in his dark eyes was fierce, almost wild.

  “There has to be,” she said. “It is tradition for brides in Austrich to … “

  “You are in Hajar now,” he said, his voice hard, unyielding. “You have come into my country, and I am now your sheikh. You made this choice. Remember that.” He turned and walked out of her chamber, slamming the door hard behind him.

  And for the first time since her plane had touched down in Hajar, she truly felt like she was in over her head.

  CHAPTER THREE

  KATHARINE finished pinning her hair in place and stared at her reflection. She was pale and red-eyed from lack of sleep. She looked like the walking dead. Very attractive. Fortunately her future husband didn’t seem to care how attractive or unattractive she was. And she didn’t care what he thought, either.

  It was all about politics. All about what the union could bring both of them. Their countries.

  She blew out a breath and turned away from the mirror, walking out of her room and into the vacant hallway. She wasn’t going to stand around all day.

  She should call her father. She’d picked up the phone about eight times since getting out of bed, but she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. Not yet. It would make it all too real.

  How ironic that now she’d achieved her goal she was having trouble accepting it.

  It’s nothing more than a ceremony and a piece of paper. At least you’re not expected to stay with him forever, have his children.

  Now that would have been a harsh reality. One she’d thought she’d been prepared to deal with, but one she was certain now she hadn’t been. Not if the thought of a marriage ceremony was affecting her this badly.

  She headed down the long hall, the sound of her high heels echoing off the high, domed ceiling. The corridors were extensive, weaving through the massive palace. But she knew where Malik’s quarters had been, situated on the opposite end of the palace from where the women stayed. It was likely Zahir stayed in them now.

  Yes, last night she’d spoken to him about avoidance. And then he’d tried to intimidate her by reminding her whose country she was in. But she wasn’t easily intimidated. She’d spent her life surrounded by strong men, holding her own against a father who expected the worst and never praised her for her best. She always had to show strength.

  She would never inherit the throne of Austrich. She was a woman, and for some reason, her lack of male member made her ineligible. But she was involved in the politics of her country, and she did not have a reputation as a shrinking violet. She didn’t avoid conflict. She faced them head-on. And right now, she was looking for the tall, muscular conflict she’d tangled with the night before.

  She looked into a couple of empty rooms before pushing open a door that revealed what could have been a modern, state-of-the-art gym. A lap pool, every sort of exercise equipment anyone could ever want.

  And there was Zahir. Flat on his back on a weight bench, his breath hissing between his teeth as he pressed two massive dumbbells up over his chest.

  She crossed the room tentatively, her mouth dropping open slightly at the sight of his body. Every muscle was chiseled, as though it were carved into rock, the only sign it could possibly be part of a real man, and not a statue, was the bunching and shifting that happened with each breath and movement.

  Golden skin, some smooth and perfect, some ravaged by injuries, all of it fascinating. Unlike any man she’d ever seen.

  She blinked and took a sharp breath. “Aren’t you supposed to have a spotter or … something?”

  He stopped midmotion and swung his legs over the side of the bench, sitting up quickly, his ab muscles putting on a show with the swift motion. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to find you.”

  “What made you think that would be well received?”

  “I didn’t really think it would be,” she said, fighting to keep her eyes on his face. She traced the scars on his cheek with her eyes, hoping it would keep her mind off his naked chest. “It didn’t really bother me.”

  The tendons in his neck stood out, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “It wouldn’t.”

  Her eyes drifted lower. “No … I … well, that’s not really the point … I … “
r />   “Seen enough?” He voiced the question in a near growl.

  Her eyes flew back to his face. His expression was cold. Closed. His lip curled into a sneer.

  “Yes,” she said, feeling heat creep into her face. It wasn’t that she’d never ogled a man before. But they weren’t usually this naked, and she’d never been caught. Or at least, the men in question had been too polite to say, because she was a princess after all. Zahir didn’t seem to care.

  He bent over and picked up a white T-shirt from the floor, his fingers trembling slightly as he held it out. And then her eyes were drawn to an intricate web of scar tissue, places where she knew he’d been hit with shrapnel, burned by fire, and her stomach tightened.

  He pulled the shirt on and covered her guilty pleasure and the pain that was threatening to steal every last rational thought from her head.

  “I thought you might show me around a little bit today,” she said. She hadn’t thought any such thing but now she had to say something because it was awkward.

  “You thought wrong, latifa. I have work to do.”

  “What sort of work?”

  “The kind rulers do—you must know something of that.”

  “Truly, not so much. The royal family makes appearances, and gives speeches.” It was a lie. She did a lot. Organized charities, budgets, fundraisers, and yet, it was what he seemed to think of her.

  “Ignorance isn’t your color,” he said.

  “Got me there,” she shot back.

  “I thought I might.”

  “I think we need to go over the original agreement drawn up by our fathers and make any alterations we see fit,” she said.

  “Do you?”

  “Better now than after the vows, don’t you think?”

  “Are you always like this?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’ve been told I’m impossible to deal with. I’m okay with that, actually, because I usually get my way.” In some circles anyway.

  He made a sound, short and harsh, that might have been a laugh. “I imagine you have your ways of making sure your needs are met.”

  She frowned. “If you’re implying what I think you were, don’t. I don’t use my body to get what I want. I use my mind. Or were you not aware that women were capable of that?”

  “I wasn’t making a commentary on women, only on you.”

  “Well, I don’t like the commentary.”

  “I’ve been told I’m impossible to deal with,” he said, repeating her earlier words back.

  “I’m imagining that’s very true.”

  “I always get my way,” he said, turning away from her.

  He was so broad. His shoulders, his back. All the better to carry the weight of the world on them. And he did. She sensed that. Mostly because she felt like she did, too, sometimes.

  “I promise you can get back to the business of ignoring me … after we go over the agreement. And after you give me a tour of the grounds because I’m tired of feeling like I’m lost.”

  He wanted her gone. That much was clear. But she was committed. To seeing this through, to doing the best she could.

  To proving she could do this.

  “I’ll go shower and I’ll meet you in my office.” He strode across the gym, headed to the shower, she supposed. He would uncover that amazing body again. For a moment she let herself envision it. Just for a moment.

  “I’ll see you there,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice just how delayed her response was.

  The woman didn’t take hints well. When he walked into his office, she was there, perched in the chair adjacent to his desk, her posture perfect, her legs crossed at those dainty ankles of hers. She didn’t wear nylons, though. Her legs were bare.

  That stuck out to him. Mostly because it was rare for a woman in her position. But then, it was much hotter here than it was in Austrich. It could also account for what seemed to be a wardrobe entirely populated by brief, fitted dresses. All very modest in the technical sense, but showing just enough to light his imagination on fire.

  It would almost have been better if she’d been dressed in something completely transparent. At least then the mysteries would be solved. If she was as pale and smooth all over as she looked, how full and round her breasts were without the aid of undergarments … important questions that were now overtaking his brain.

  If he had known that all it would take was the presence of a woman to reawaken his hibernating sex drive he might have brought one in a long time ago.

  To what end? To treat her to a front row show of your inner demons? To watch her run away screaming?

  Like Amarah had done.

  He couldn’t even blame her. He might be edging into beast territory now, but then … just after the attack … he had been nothing short of a monster.

  He pushed all thoughts of Katharine’s body to the side and chose instead to embrace the extreme annoyance, the muscle-clenching tension that crowded in on him when she was around.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said.

  “Like what?” He rounded his desk and sat in the plush leather chair that was positioned behind it. It was too short for him. Made for another man. His brother. He had never replaced it.

  “Like you’re shocked to see me here. I said I’d meet you here to discuss the agreement, and I am. It’s complicated stuff. With my father’s history of health problems there has always been the chance that whoever I married would have to stand in as Regent until Alexander reaches age, and that was, of course, taken into account when Malik was selected to be my … “

  “Let me see.” He held out his hand, palm up, and she produced a folded stack of papers, placing them in his hand.

  He skimmed the documents. Most of the information pertained to the marriage. Heirs. Alliances and trade agreements. Toward the end was the section talking about what might happen if the king died prior to his heir coming of age.

  “The decision-making power is yours. I don’t want it,” he said. “Write that in.” He pointed to the spot.

  She blinked rapidly, looking a bit like a stunned owl for a moment before shaking her head and leaning forward in her chair. “I can’t. Not without bringing it to parliament. And I would need my father’s permission and I … I don’t think you’ll get it.”

  “Is he too ill to hold a pen?”

  Color crept up her neck, into her cheeks. “He would rather have the power rest with you.”

  “He doesn’t trust you?”

  She sucked in a breath, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. “Well, I’m a woman.”

  “I fail to see why that should matter. You have more guts than most men I’ve met.”

  Her lips curved slightly and a strange, heated sensation, almost like satisfaction, spread through his chest. It was warm, almost too much after so many years of experiencing nothing more than bitter cold.

  She almost made him want to feel. Made him want to let go.

  “He’s a product of a different generation,” she said. “I don’t hold it against him.” And yet he could tell she did. That it lived in her, drove her forward. He knew about things like that. All too well. “This is my responsibility as far as he’s concerned. Protect the country by marrying a man capable of serving as Regent.”

  He looked at her face, so earnest, so determined. So beautiful. His pulse sped up, the heat spreading through him. “I have my own country to run, I would be absentee at best, negligent at worst.”

  “You couldn’t be as negligent as my cousin would be in your sleep.”

  “Austrich will be your responsibility, whether we write it in the paperwork or not.”

  “I … thank you.” She looked down at her hands, feigning an interest in her fingernails. “We have a parliament in place. It isn’t as though I can change laws or budgets or anything like that. It’s not terribly involved. Stand on the balcony and wave to the crowd.”

  The crowd.

  He closed his eyes and braced himself, a sharp flash, hazy, fast-moving images assault
ing his mind as reality, his office, the desk, broke away piece by piece to make room for the memories. The crowd. Thick and loud. Surrounding the motorcade. It took a moment to realize that the barricade had been broken. That the people surrounding them weren’t citizens offering their greetings to the royal family.

  It was all he could see. The sound deafening, roaring in his ears. The smell of smoke and sulfur filling his nose, the smoke choking him, his lungs burning. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

  “Zahir?” Her voice broke through the fog.

  He opened his eyes again and saw only his office. And Katharine, sitting there, looking at him. He could see concern in her clear green eyes. She had noticed. What had he done? He realized then that his fist was clenched tight, resting on the desk, so tight that his tendons were screaming at him.

  He had lost himself for a moment. Lost where he was.

  It didn’t happen as often now as it had. Because he knew better than to let his guard down now. Than to let emotion take over control. She had distracted him. And now she’d seen him … She had seen his weakness.

  “I don’t do that,” he said, his throat constricted. Dammit. “The crowd thing, I mean.” He took a breath and tried to reorient himself. “I have more of a face for radio.”

  She smiled again, this time the expression was tinged with a bit of discomfort, as if she wasn’t certain what the appropriate response was.

  “You can laugh, it’s okay,” he grated.

  She did then, a soft laugh, but it brought that feeling back, the warm one, stronger, spreading. He stopped it this time, cutting it off with the force of a tourniquet on a wound.

  “Well, I make a lot of appearances,” she said.

  “I know. You always seem to be in the news. Your fashion sense is much written about.”

  She nodded. “Of course. Although, I often wonder if anyone would care what color tie I wore if I was a man, but I can’t really complain. It’s nice to have my country featured in international news. Even if it is just for my shoes. It boosts tourism.”

  “Do you have a lot of tourism in Austrich?” He reached deep for control, for total control, to find that kind of blessed numbness he was so accustomed to.