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More gates opened and closed, revealing a sprawling building washed in the palest pink. But as the car continued to travel, Emmeline discovered the palace wasn’t just one building, but a series of beautifully shaped buildings connected by trellises, patios, courtyards and gardens. No two were the same. Some had turrets and towers, others were domed, although each had the same smooth clay walls lushly covered in dark purple and white bougainvillea.
The car stopped before the tallest building, three stories tall with intricate gold-plated doors and massive gold, blue and white columns flanking the entrance.
Staff in billowy white pants and white jackets lined the entrance, smiling broadly and bowing low as Sheikh Al-Koury stepped from the car.
Having grown up in a palace, Emmeline was familiar with pomp, protocol and ceremony. Daily she’d witnessed the display of respect all were required to show the royal family, and yet there was something different about the sheikh’s staff.
They greeted him with warmth and a genuine sense of pleasure in his return. They cared about him, and she saw from the way he responded to each man, he cared about them.
Makin paused at the ornate entrance, waiting for her, and together they stepped through the tall gold doors, leaving the bright sunlight and dazzling heat behind.
The serene, airy foyer was capped by a high domed ceiling of blue and gold, the cream walls stenciled in sophisticated gold swirls and elegant patterns. Emmeline drew a slow breath, relishing the palace’s tranquility and delicious coolness. “Lovely,” she said.
The sheikh lifted a brow, and glanced enquiringly at her.
She flushed, remembering she was supposed to be Hannah and familiar with everything here. “The coolness,” she said. “Feels so good after the heat.”
He stared down at her a moment, expression peculiar. He seemed to be looking for something in her face, but what, she didn’t know.
And then he nodded, a short nod, as if he’d come to a decision. “I’ll walk you to your room,” he said. “Make sure everything is as it should be.”
Emmeline’s brow puckered at his tone. Something had happened. She was sure of it.
He set off, leaving her to follow, and they crossed the spacious foyer, through one of the many exquisitely carved arches that opened off the entrance, their footsteps echoing on the limestone floor.
He turned down a hallway marked by ornamental columns. Sunlight streamed through high windows. Mosaic murals decorated the ivory walls and large ornate copper lanterns were hung from the high ceiling to provide light in the evening.
They passed through another arch which led outside to a rose-covered arbor. The roses were in full bloom, a soft luscious pink, and the heady scent reminded Emmeline of the formal rose garden at the palace in Brabant. She felt a sudden pang for all that she’d lose once her parents knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t—marry King Patek, and why. They’d be scandalized. They’d insist she’d get an abortion, something she wouldn’t do.
There would be threats.
There would be anger.
Hostility.
Repercussions.
Makin paused before a beautiful door stained a rich mahogany and stepped aside for her to open it.
Hannah’s room, she thought, opening the door to a spacious apartment contained in its own building. The high-ceilinged living room spoke of an understated elegance, the colors warmer here than in the rest of the palace. The living-room walls were pale gold and the furniture was gold with touches of red, ivory and blue. She glimpsed a bedroom off the living room with an attached bathroom. There was even a small kitchen where Hannah could prepare coffee and make simple meals.
“The cook made your favorite bread,” he said, nodding at a fabric-wrapped loaf on the tiled kitchen counter. “The refrigerator also has your yogurts and milk, and everything else you like. If you won’t let Cook send you a tray for lunch, promise me you’ll eat something right away.”
She nodded. “I promise.”
“Good.” He hesitated, still standing just inside the doorway, clearly uncomfortable. “I need to tell you something. May we sit?”
She glanced at his face but his expression was shuttered, his silver gaze hard.
Emmeline walked to the low couch upholstered in a delicate silk the color of fresh butter, and moved some of the loose embroidered and jeweled pillows aside so she could sit down. He followed but didn’t sit. He stood before her, arms crossed over his chest, his gray linen shirt pulled taut at the shoulders.
He was without a doubt a very handsome man. He radiated power and control, but right now he was scaring her with his fierce expression.
“There’s been an accident,” he said abruptly. “Last night on the way to the airport, Alejandro lost control of the car and crashed. Penelope died on the scene. Alejandro’s in hospital.”
