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Zayed sat heavily on the bed and raked his hands through his hair. After the success of the dinner with Serrat, he had hoped for better. Hell, he’d expected it.
‘Did he say why?’
‘He gave no reason, My Prince.’
Zayed nodded slowly. ‘There will be others.’ But it was a blow—a big blow—that woke him from the stupor of grief and fear he’d been in for the last two days.
‘You should return to Rubyhan,’ Jahmal urged. ‘Speak to Serrat and reach out to Sultan Hassan again, before Malouf hears of these developments and grows even bolder.’
‘But Olivia...’ The words died on Zayed’s lips as he caught sight of his aide’s face, and the flicker of something almost like contempt that went across it. He was a prince—would be the King when he could return to Arjah and be crowned. He was a leader of men, of a people, a country, and he had a duty to them, to the memory of his family...and that came before any duty he had to his mistaken bride. Besides, Olivia was getting better, and the greatest danger was past.
He gave Jahmal a terse nod. ‘Be ready to leave within the hour.’ Zayed did not miss the relief that broke across Jahmal’s face before he turned away.
After washing and dressing in a fresh thobe, Zayed went in search of the doctor.
‘She seems better,’ he said, part-statement, part-question, and the man nodded.
‘Yes, the worst is past. But it will be some days before I can discover whether there has been lasting damage.’
Zayed’s stomach clenched. ‘What kind of lasting damage?’
‘To organs, muscles, even the brain. I am hopeful, my Prince, that the venom did not spread so far, but I can make no promises at this juncture.’
‘Of course.’ Dread swirled in his stomach at the thought of Olivia facing such damage...and it would be his fault. His fault for bringing her here, for kidnapping her in the first place. ‘Give her the best care,’ he instructed. ‘And, when she is well enough, arrange for her transport back to Rubyhan.’
The man nodded. ‘It will be done.’
Jahmal was waiting in the Jeep when Zayed slipped into Olivia’s room for a private farewell. She was asleep, her face pale, her dark hair spread over the pillow, her lashes sweeping her cheeks. Her breathing was steady and yet so very light; she was barely a bump under the covers, her body fragile and slight.
Zayed sat next to her and took her limp hand in his. A dozen different memories ran through his mind in a bittersweet reel: that first explosive night; the way she’d cared for the women and children after Malouf’s attack. Seeing her in the palace garden, Lahela’s baby on her lap, looking so happy. The way she’d given herself to him, so freely and utterly. The stormy blue of her eyes, the sudden surprise of her smile. His insides twisted in an agony of indecision. Love hurt.
He didn’t want to leave her, but he knew he had to. And perhaps it was better this way; he’d never meant to love her, never meant to open himself to that kind of pain again. If he left now, he could gain the emotional distance he needed and so could she. Yes, it was better this way. Better for both of them.
Zayed squeezed Olivia’s hand gently and then brushed a kiss against her forehead. As he eased back, her eyelids flickered, but before she could open them properly she’d lapsed back into sleep.
With a wrenching pain feeling as if it were tearing him in two, Zayed backed out of the room and then headed for the Jeep, Rubyhan and the rest of his life.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
OLIVIA WOKE SLOWLY, as if she were swimming up to the surface of the sea, the light shimmering and sparkling in the distance. Someone was speaking to her, saying her name, and she felt fingers on her wrist.
Her eyelids felt heavy, as if someone had placed weights on them. As much as she tried, she could not open them.
Olivia... Olivia...
Waves of fatigue rolled over her, making it even harder to hear that voice. Every muscle in her body ached, so she felt as if she’d been ruthlessly pummelled and punched. All she
wanted to do was sleep, and so she did.
When she woke again the room was lost in twilit shadows, and although she still felt that overwhelming fatigue she was able to open her eyes. A man was sitting by her bed. In the shadowy darkness she thought it was Zayed and her heart leapt.
‘Zayed...’
‘No, Miss Taylor. I am Ammar Abdul, the Prince’s doctor.’
‘Oh.’ As her eyes adjusted to the dim room, she could see the man, tall and thin, looking nothing like Zayed. ‘Where...where is Zayed?’
‘Prince Zayed has returned to Rubyhan.’ There was a faintly repressive note to the doctor’s voice that made Olivia realise her question had been presumptuous.
