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‘And so you took a job working at a hotel, trying to chip down a massive debt by waiting on demanding guests?’
‘They weren’t all demanding,’ she corrected.
‘If the debt is the size you’re implying, surely that would have been a fool’s errand?’
‘What were my other options?’ she pushed, a hint of steel touching the words. ‘To accept defeat? To let him win?’
Her fierce fire stirred something to life in him.
‘Many would have.’
‘Not me.’
‘No, not you.’
She swayed forward a little, but not enough. He remembered the way she’d felt that afternoon, her soft curves against his hard edges, and he wanted, more than anything, to feel that again. And then what?
The flicker of flames would convert to so much more. They would touch and he would kiss her, and then carry her to his bed where he’d spend the entire night reminding her that, aside from her pregnancy and their marriage, there was something between them that was all their own. But there couldn’t be. All his life he’d understood the danger that came from caring for one’s spouse. His father had been destroyed by his mother’s death. Sariq would never care for anyone enough to feel their loss so keenly. His country deserved such sacrifice—his duty demanded that of him.
And perhaps she intuited the strengthening of his resolve, because she blinked, her huge eyes shifting to his with a look he couldn’t comprehend, and then she stepped backwards, wrapping a single arm across her torso. ‘It’s late and I’m tired. Goodnight, Your Highness.’
She was gone before he could remind her to call him Sariq.
CHAPTER TEN
HE READ THE intelligence report with a frown on his face that gave little of his anger away. But inside, a fury was unravelling that would know no bounds. ‘And they were arrested at the border this morning?’
‘Two security agents intercepted their vehicle as it crossed into the old town of Rika.’
‘Armed?’
‘To the teeth.’
Sariq’s expression was grim. ‘Where are they being held?’
‘In the catacombs.’
‘Fine.’ He scraped his chair back. ‘We shall go there now.’
Malik’s displeasure was obvious. ‘But, sir, the ball begins in an hour...’
‘The ball will wait.’ The words were louder—harsher—than he’d intended. With an effort, he brought his temper under control. ‘These men were intending to kill m
y wife, were they not?’
‘That is the charge, yes, Your Highness.’
‘Then before I parade my wife in front of a slew of people, I would like to ascertain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they have no links to anyone in attendance this evening.’
‘The guards will investigate this.’
Sariq held a hand up to silence his oldest, most loyal advisor. ‘That is not sufficient. In this, I will not delegate.’ He stalked towards the door. ‘Come, Malik.’
Daisy wasn’t sure what she’d expected. In the hotel in America, the ballroom was impossibly grand, with tall columns and exceptional art, but even that was nothing to this. A wing of the palace stood vacant of all furniture. The walls were gold, and each was decorated with an ancient piece of art. Flower arrangements were placed on marble pillars at regular intervals, so the air was rent with sweetness. At the end of the enormous room, glass doors had been thrown open to reveal a dance floor made of white marble tiles. While there were fairy lights strung across it, nothing dimmed the beauty of the desert night, the brightness of the stars that shone down on them. The music was traditional, lyre, flute and sitar combining to create an atmospheric and intriguing piece.
Daisy hovered above it all, waiting in the wings, safe from being seen, her anxiety at the role she must play increasing with every moment that passed.
‘He won’t be much longer,’ Zahrah, standing a little way away, murmured soothingly.
