AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Is he unhappy with her?’
‘What?’
‘Mary. Is your father unhappy about her being a woman?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Well, then.’
And that, it seemed was the end of the conversation.
* * *
The armoured limousine glided through the palace gates with more grace than Mason could have thought possible when she’d first spied the vehicle waiting for them on the tarmac of the landing strip.
She’d been slightly disappointed that the private airfield was so close to the palace, having wanted to see Aram, a city she’d once heard so much about. But the moment the gleaming transport arrived at its destination outside the main palace entrance, all her yearning was forgotten.
‘Karl, we’re supposed to be using the left wing’s entrance.’
‘Sorry, Your Highness, but the sheikh and his Queen requested it.’
Mason was sure that the growl vibrating through Danyl’s compressed lips was holding back a barrage of frustration and took perverse enjoyment that someone was playing Danyl at his own game for once.
The driver came round to her side to open the door, Danyl having swung his open and emerged from the dark interior before the driver could do anything but shrug his shoulders. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright light she had been shielded from by the limousine’s tinted glass. So her first gaze upon the palace was one that slowly came into focus through a white glare, as if she was to be both physically and emotionally stunned.
It took her breath away. Quite literally. The large, sprawling palace before her was outlined in Moorish architecture. She caught glimpses of manicured gardens off to the left and right of the palace, and even from here she could smell honeysuckle and ginger, and see the riot of incredible colours coming from the immaculately cultivated gardens. The heat of the sun was gentle, but then they were that far from Australia now, where it was the height of summer.
‘I don’t know how you could have borne being away from this for so long,’ she said, the words escaping her mouth unbidden.
‘While I was in New York?’ he queried. ‘I knew this would always be waiting for me.’
So did I, her mind responded.
‘And besides, you only see what the royal family want you to see. Not the hard work, the duty, the practicality of running a small kingdom alongside a prime minister and surrounding countries who either want to steal your country’s products, or buy them at an undervalued price.’
‘I thought you would have liked the cut and thrust of it, the power games and winning,’ she returned.
‘I’m good at it,’ he replied. Which said enough.
The light from the sun, although more wintry, suited the pink ochre of the palace walls. Turrets, which Mason was pretty sure might not actually be called turrets, sprang up at different twists and turns of the building that sat above three layers of circular steps. At the top of which stood...
Oh, God, it was Danyl’s parents.
The moment she caught sight of them she was plunged into ten-year-old fantasies. It was like a glimpse at a possible future that had never happened, and hurt all the more for it. Something she’d wanted so, so much that could never be. They would have come here, they would have been met by his parents, she would have been welcomed as his fiancée.
Her hand reached out to grasp the door handle, whether anchoring her to the past, or keeping her in the present, she could no longer tell. She saw her white knuckles, but couldn’t feel anything past the blood rushing in her ears.
It was so much worse because back then she hadn’t allowed herself to imagine this moment, as if self-delusion had attempted to protect her from what this moment would mean, how it would make her feel.
Danyl spoke her name, and when she looked at him she realised that he, too, was thinking the same thoughts. Because the compassion in his eyes was almost too hard to bear. Compassion and something horribly like accusation.
This is your fault, a little voice prodded at her conscience. And then she soothed it with a response. It was no one’s fault. She’d done what she’d had to do. For both of them.
A uniformed member of staff somewhere behind the royal couple at the top of the stairs twitched as if she had made them all wait too long, as if she was indulging in negligent etiquette. The Queen’s smile hadn’t moved an inch, but her eyes darted between Mason and Danyl.
She felt Danyl’s hand on her arm, guiding her up the stairs to meet the older couple. She’d seen pictures of them in the press throughout the years, and remembered them from photos that Danyl had once shared with her, a gleam of pride that even he couldn’t disguise shining in his eyes.
And Mason felt a thread of awe and self-consciousness that she’d never experienced in Danyl’s presence. Sheikh Hashid Nejem Al Arain, tall like his son, stood in a military stance that had him looking as if he were almost made of stone. But his eyes hid a deeper emotion. Hashid was polite, regal, but there was a gentleness about him that softened the rigidity of his appearance. Danyl’s mother, Elizabeth, while poised and, Mason considered almost instantly, the true definition of exquisite, was, in almost direct contrast to her husband, what could be described as touchy feely. Mason found herself in a warm embrace, one held for a beat too long. Mason cast a frowned glance at Danyl over her shoulder, who seemed as unsettled by Elizabeth’s warm welcome as Mason felt.
