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Her stomach lurched, and she threw back the covers and swung her legs from the bed.
Calm down, she told herself, going to the living room to the French doors and opening them to welcome in the cool, sweet air. He might be disappointed, but he’ll have done his duty and you’ll both survive.
Manar arrived early with breakfast and coffee and elaborate plans to help Rou prepare for her ceremony. “In my country we henna the bride’s hands and feet,” she said, smiling as she poured Rou’s coffee and served her a selection of flaky pastries from the tray. “I think you would find it wonderful and unusual.”
Rou gratefully sipped her strong coffee. “You’re not from Sarq?”
The maid shook her head. “I am from Baraka, a country not far, and while not terribly different, we do celebrate marriage differently.”
“How did you get to Sarq?”
Manar smiled, dimpling. “My husband. He is one of Prince Khalid’s men, and I met him while he accompanied the prince to Baraka on business.”
“Do you return home often?”
The maid shook her head. “It is too far and quite costly to travel.”
“Don’t you miss your family?”
She shrugged. “I would miss my husband more if I was not with him.”
Jesslyn appeared in the arched doorway. “Am I interrupting?” she asked.
“No, not at all. Please come in, Your Highness.” Rou rose and went to greet Jesslyn with a kiss on each cheek. “How are you?”
“Excited for you.”
A lump filled Rou’s throat. Jesslyn was so good and kind. “Thank you.”
“I have brought you a gift for your wedding day,” the queen added, holding out a small, tissue-wrapped package. “Every bride must have something borrowed, something blue, and this is both. I thought perhaps you could tuck it inside the strap of your bodice, or maybe your purse.”
Rou sat and opened the small gift. It was a fine white handkerchief embroidered with an elaborate S and F in dark blue thread.
“It was Sharif’s,” Jesslyn said with an uncertain smile. “He was quite a fan of yours and I thought this would be a way to include him. It’s borrowed, and it’s kind of blue.”
Rou clutched the handkerchief in her hand, the square of starched fabric more precious than Jesslyn knew. “You will make me cry.”
Jesslyn’s eyes were already pink with tears. “He’d be so happy for you and Zayed. He loved both of you and the fact that you have found each other…” She shook her head, her voice drifting off. “I’m sorry. I promised I wouldn’t break down. I don’t want to be sad, and I don’t want to make you sad on your special day.”
Rou reached out and took Jesslyn’s hand. “You’ve made it special, Your Highness—”
“Jesslyn, please. We are to be sisters. And friends, I hope.”
Rou squeezed her hand gently. “Yes. With all my heart.”
Jesslyn leaned forward and gave Rou a swift hug and then rose. “I won’t keep you. I know you’re busy. But know you can come to me for anything, and—” She broke off, hesitating, dark brows tugging together in consternation. “And don’t listen to rumors. The palace is full of them, especially when it comes to Zayed. He’s a bit of a mystery around here and there are many staff members who don’t really understand him. He certainly isn’t cursed, no matter what they say.”
Cursed.
That word again, and this time from Jesslyn herself.
Rou’s mouth went dry, and she reached for her glass of guava juice and took a small sip. “People can be ignorant, can’t they?”
Jesslyn nodded. “They can be, and it’s so unfair. He was so young, just a boy, and hopelessly romantic. If he committed a crime, it was of being naive, and yet the consequences were so severe, so vile it’s more than the mind can take in.” Her expression softened. “Sharif has worried about him for years, and so to see Zayed here, now, taking his place as the head of the family, is bittersweet. Bitter, because Sharif isn’t here, but sweet because Zayed deserves so much more than he’s known.”
And then Jesslyn was kissing her cheek and hurrying out the door, leaving Rou even more conflicted than she’d been before.
So there was a curse. And something terrible had happened. Zayed had suffered, as did the family. But why? What had happened?
Manar appeared with towels on her arm. “My lady, I’ve drawn your bath. It’s time for you to begin preparing for your wedding. The ceremony is in less than two hours.”
The ceremony was short and simple, neither religious nor sentimental. She and Zayed stood next to each other in the palace reception room for the exchange of vows and rings. It was essentially a civil ceremony with fifteen witnesses, immediate family and a few visiting heads of state, with the rest of the guests to join them later for the luncheon.
Zayed had surprised her with another dress, this one for the wedding. He hadn’t brought it to her personally, but one of the palace staff carried it to her room and it was perfect. The long silver-gray skirt had a fitted matching top with snug three-quarter sleeves. The glamorous yet understated design reminded Rou of Hollywood fashions in the 1940s, and Manar knew exactly what to do with Rou’s hair, twisting and putting it up like a 1940s pinup.
Her only jewelry was her wedding ring and her own simple pearl stud earrings, but it was enough, and now with the service concluding, and the Sarq Minister of Justice giving them the traditional Sarq blessing, it was over.
They were married.
She darted a nervous glance at Zayed as they turned to face their guests. He looked so calm, so strong, and she wondered at his composure in light of what he had said last night.
What was this curse hanging over his head? And what had he done to bring such shame to his family? It must have been significant for palace staff to still gossip about it so many years later.
His gaze caught hers
, and he smiled faintly, but there was no time for words as they were being swarmed by Jesslyn and Sharif’s children eager to give their uncle and new aunt hugs and kisses.
The greetings and congratulations continued through lunch. Close to seventy attended, with many international names and faces, including a former American president, an ex-British prime minister, and a host of royal figureheads along with some of the region’s most powerful men, like the Sultan of Baraka, Malik Nuri; Nuri’s younger brother, Kalen; and their friend and neighbor, the desert chieftain, Sheikh Tair.
Sitting at the head table, Rou’s gaze drifted around the room, puzzling a little over the number of powerful men in attendance, men without their wives.
“What’s the matter?” Zayed asked, leaning toward her to whisper in her ear.
“All these men…they’re so famous, and powerful. Aren’t they all heads of state?”
“Most, yes.”
She gave her head a shake. “But why are their wives not here? Why are they here alone?”
“They’ve come for the coronation and the wedding, but the coronation is for men only.” Zayed looked into her eyes. “But you knew that, right?”
“No.” She frowned and then ducked her head. “Am I not allowed to be there, either?”
“No, laeela. I am sorry.”
“Ah.” She looked up, managed a smile. “It’s probably quite boring.”
His gaze held hers. “Sometimes the laws are very archaic. I am sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter.” But she could see from the sympathy in his eyes that he knew she was disappointed. “Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be emotional here, not in front of everyone.”
His lips curved, his long black lashes dropping to conceal his deep gold eyes, eyes that always seemed to see too much. “I like your fiery side. When you’re passionate, your eyes blaze and your lips tighten and you become so very righteous. It’s exciting.”
Under the tablecloth she slipped her foot on top of his and pressed down, pinching his foot beneath hers. He let out a little oath and looked at her, surprised, and she lifted her eyebrows. “Let that be a warning. You don’t want to provoke me.”
