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All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.
The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.
First published 2015
(c) Clare Connelly
Photo Credit: dollarphotoclub.com/sakkmesterke
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PROLOGUE
Twenty three years earlier
“Don’t cry, Zamir.” She crouched down, her body slim, her hair plaited into a perfect style that wrapped around her head. “Please don’t cry, darling one. I’ll be back soon.”
The four year old boy with his spectacular complexion and enormous amber eyes did his best to stave off any more tears. “But you are always going, mama.”
“I know,” she smiled wistfully and took one of his hands in hers. With her other, she reached behind him, to the far more stoic and seemingly unaffected Ra’if. Only two years older, he was cut from an entirely different cloth to his brother. Where Zamir felt all things deeply, Ra’if had always possessed an ability to hold a tight reign over his emotions.
“Why must you?” Zamir muttered, using her grip to lift her arm around his waist so that he could sidle close to her. She smelled like jasmine and magnolia.
“Because it is my job.”
His jutted lip was petulance itself. “You don’t have a job. You are the Queen.”
Cait swallowed her smile. “True, but I have duties I must carry out. There are thousands of people waiting for me in Pilati,” she explained quietly, referring to the capital city of Dashan.
“You’ll come back tonight?”
“Yes, I’ll come back tonight.” She joined the two brothers’ hands together and smiled to encompass them both. “Ra’if will keep you company until then. I promise to come and give you a goodnight kiss as soon as I am back.”
Zamir sniffled miserably. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Zami,” she laughed indulgently, standing and ruffling his thick black hair. “You always say that.”
“And you always go,” he countered.
“Yes. But I always come back.”
She could have had no idea, of course, that this would be the one and only time when she wouldn’t.
That her beautiful boys, watching her walk elegantly down the long marbled corridor of the Central Palace, would never see her again.
If she had, she would have stayed longer. She would have hugged Zamir and Ra’if so tight, and listened to the beatings of their hearts.
