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When it was over, Raschid's attention was claimed almost instantly. As he turned to speak to the several men who had come up to him, Ranya appeared at Evie's side. 'Come,' she said quietly. 'We must go this way.' 'But-' Evie did not want to leave Raschid; glancing around her, her eyes caught sight of him standing several feet away. Her hand went out, anxious to catch his attention, but even as she did so the group of men closed in around him, and Ranya's hand on her arm was firmly guiding her away through a door that led into frighteningly unfamiliar territory. Not a corridor, but another dimly lit room which then led through to another and another. All were richly furnished; all wore the stamp of eastern luxury. At a fourth door, Ranya paused and turned what Evie presumed was supposed to be a reassuring smile on her before she was knocking on the door. Someone called out in Arabic. A man's voice. A sudden sense of dreadful foreboding shot like a steel rod along her spine. Ranya opened the door and stepped inside with Evie in tow.
After the eastern splendour of all the rooms they had passed through, Evie was expecting to find herself stepping into yet more of the same. She was therefore surprised to find herself standing in a big but definitely old-fashioned library that could have been transported right out of Victorian England. It was all oak panelling lined with shelves upon shelves of leather-bound books. Richly coloured Persian rugs covered the polished wood floor and there was even a large polished oak fire surround with a log fire burning in the grate-although it did so behind a shield of heat-reflective glass.
The chairs and sofas were of old English dark red velvet, and several huge desks were groaning under the weight of the books and papers scattered across them. And it all felt so very strange, as if she had just walked into her grandfather's study on one of those duty visits she used to make to his home with her mother when she was a child.
Her grandfather had been a stem, sombre man who'd married very late in life and never seemed to quite understand how he had produced someone as beautiful and sophisticated as Lucinda.
But this wasn't England, this was not her grandfather's Victorian study, she reminded herself. This was Behran, and the man who was at this precise moment carefully pushing himself up from one of the wing-backed chairs was most definitely not her grandfather.
'I bring Raschid's wife to you as requested, Father,' Ranya quietly announced. And it was at that precise moment that Evie froze. Eyes cold and fixed, the breath catching in her throat, Evie found herself staring at the tall and lean figure off the enemy.
An enemy that could be no other person than Raschid's father, simply because looking at him was like taking a glimpse into the future and seeing exactly how Raschid was going to look thirty years from now. Even the eyes were the same colour-though this pair was guarded as they studied her stiff form. He seemed to be waiting for her to do something. Make some gesture in respect of his high station maybe. But for the life of her - call it pride if you will - Evie could not offer this man any kind of gesture of respect.
Instead her chin came up, her eyes glassing over in a way Raschid would have instantly recognised if he had been here to see it happen. His ice-princess was still alive and flourishing.
But Raschid wasn't here, and the slick way she had been separated from him had her turning those cold eyes on Ranya in accusation. The other girl's lovely cheeks flushed slightly in response, her soft lips mouthing a silent sound of apology.
'Thank you, Ranya,' Crown Prince Hashim murmured coolly. 'You may leave us.' .
'No!' It was sheer self-preservation that forced the protest from Evie's throat. 'Don't leave me alone with him,' she pleaded with Ranya.
Ranya looked uncertain suddenly. 'Papa .. .' She turned anxious eyes on him. 'Go!' he commanded. The voice was strong, dictatorial, yet right on the back of that harsh command came a sudden weariness. 'Please, child,' he added heavily. 'Trust me. Give me some privacy to do what I have to do.' With a rustle of silk and a touch of her hand to Evie's arm in mute apology, Ranya obeyed without further hesitation. The door closed softly behind her, leaving a stifling silence behind.
Neither moved. Neither spoke. Evie felt that tension in her back increase to tingling proportions. Once again, the Crown Prince seemed to be waiting for her to say something, but once again Evie refused to utter a 'word until she knew exactly what it was she was dealing with here.
'SO’ he said at last 'you are the golden icon my son was willing to forfeit his illustrious heritage for.'
'I love your son,' Evie threw back coolly. 'Too much to expect him to do anything so drastic for me.'
'A moot point,' the old man said. 'For he was prepared to do it with or without your blessing.' 'I'm sorry if that hurt you,' Evie murmured stiffly. But, as you and I both know, Raschid has a mind and a will of his own.'
'Too true, too true,' he ruefully acknowledged. 'A fact that was brought home to me in the severest way possible. Call me arrogant if you wish, but I did not expect my son to defy me as he did,' he confessed. 'It came as a shock to discover he had grown strength of will that by far outstretched my own.' He paused then to study her curiously, as if he was trying to discover what it was about her that had given his son such strength of will. Evie could have told him, but she was refusing to give this man anything. Maybe he understood that. 'Still,' he shrugged. 'Who am I to complain when Raschid is proving to be the kind of man I always prayed he would become? And I am sorry for frightening you with my unfair tactics while my son taught me this salutary lesson. There,' he concluded. 'Does that clear the air between us a little?'
'Not if you've brought me here to repeat the offer' she said.
To her surprise he smiled. And it was like watching Raschid come
to life in this older version. That smile flipped her heart over. 'No.' Ruefully he shook his covered head. 'A lesson learned so painfully is usually an unforgettable one.'
He went quiet for a moment, his eyes clouding over with what Evie could only interpret as remorse. 'The child is safe?' he asked suddenly. 'Your health is quite recovered?' Evie gave a stiff nod in reply to both questions. But mistrust in his sincerity kept her lips tightly shut on the return query as to his own health.
His half smile told her he knew exactly why she was refusing to ask that question. 'If you give my son this much trouble when he does something you do not like, then I pity him,' he drawled. 'Please .. .' he then said suddenly. 'Will you come and sit?'
Evie's instinct was to refuse. She had no wish to move one inch away from this door behind which lay relative safety. But it suddenly struck her that he wasn't standing so tall as he had been, as if the strength was slowly seeping out of him. Like his son, she realised, good manners were bred into him. Love her or hate her, he could not bring himself to sit while a lady remained standing.
And, determined though she was not to soften her feelings towards him, neither could she keep a sick man standing when it wasn't necessary. So she moved warily across the cluttered room to the other wing-backed chair set across the fireplace from the one the Prince had been sitting in when she arrived. He waited until she sat down on the edge of it before he lowered himself carefully into the other one.
'Thank you,' he sighed, easing himself back into the chair then wearily closing his eyes.
An uncomfortable feeling of concern began to gnaw at her. 'Are you all right?' she felt constrained to ask. 'Would you like me to get someone?'
'No, no.' He refused the offer. 'I can sit, I can lie, but I must not stand for long periods,' he explained. Then his eyes suddenly flicked open, homing in like two sharp golden lances on her face. 'I offer you this information because I understand that you are loath to request it,' he said with a small wry smile that made her rather disturbingly aware of just how easily he was seeing through her.
Just like his son. Then his eyes were suddenly darkening into true gravity. 'Despite your opinion of me, I am not a barbarian,' he grimly announced. 'I do not kill babies.'
Instantly Evie's chin came up, her lavender-blue eyes filled with damning scepticism.
'You may believe that or not.' He coolly dismissed her expression. 'For as it stands I am guilty as charged of attempting the subtle bribe to get you out of my son's life,' he admitted. 'But the other suggestion presented to you was most definitely not sanctioned by me.'
