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“Your daughter is my choice of bride,” Tarek said, without comprehension. “She is about to become the Queen of Alzalam, the toast of the kingdom. Yet you speak of your convenience?”
The man bristled in obvious affront. Tarek did not reply in kind, an example of his benevolence he suspected was lost on this small and unpleasant man.
“Rescheduling is such a nightmare,” the blonde on his arm breathed, her eyes on her husband.
“Excuse us.” Tarek’s tone was dark as he took Anya’s arm. “Let us leave you to contemplate your calendar. We will continue with the celebration.”
He steered Anya away from her scowling father, doing his best not to scowl himself, as that would only cause general agitation in the crowds all around.
“I cannot comprehend the fact I found you discussing your father’sinconvenience,” he said in a low voice. “As if he was not standing in the ancient palace of Alzalam’s kings, in the presence of a daughter who will become Queen. He should have been stretched out at your feet, begging your favor.”
And would have been even a generation ago, but the wider world tended to frown upon such things in these supposedly enlightened times.
Anya looked philosophical. Was Tarek the only one who could see the hurt beneath? And because he could see it, he could see nothing else.
“I suppose I should be grateful that no matter what he’s doing, no matter where he finds himself or who he speaks to, my father is always...exactly the same,” she said.
Tarek found himself even less philosophical as the night—and the week—wore on.
The kingdom overflowed with wedding guests and those who merely wished to use their King’s wedding as an opportunity to celebrate, now that the troubles of the past year were well and truly over. There were celebrations in and out of the palace, all over the capital city and in the farthest villages alike, as the people celebrated not just Tarek and the bride he was taking, but this new era of the kingdom.
Tarek was deeply conscious of this. He had promised them a new world, a bright future, and this was the first happy bit of proof that he planned to deliver. And in a far different way than any of his ancestors would have. His brother was in jail, the insurgents had been fought back, and Tarek had no fear of the world’s condemnation or attention—or he would not have been marrying this woman.
Now was a time for hope. His new Queen was the beacon of that hope.
Love grows in the most unlikely of places...the more easily swayed papers sighed, from London to Sydney and back again.
From Convict to Queen! shouted the more salacious.
But either way, choosing this thoroughly American career woman—all previously considered epithets to his people—was having precisely the effect on Alzalam’s image that Tarek had hoped it would. She was a success and their supposed love story even more so. All was going to plan, save his unfortunate obsession with the woman in question that he would far rather have coldly used as a pawn.
Yet no matter where he found himself in these endless parties, dinners, and the more traditional rituals prized by his people, and no matter the current state of his insatiable hunger for Anya herself, Tarek couldn’t keep himself from noticing that Anya’s father behaved more as if he was being tortured than welcomed into the royal, ruling family of an ancient kingdom.
“I told you,” Anya said one night, looping her arms around his neck as he carried her from her terrace into her bedroom. He had not yet moved her things into the King’s suite, in a gesture toward tradition—even if he did not intend to install her in the usual harem quarters. He wanted her much closer. “My father believes there is no greater more noble calling than his. What are kings and queens next tothe foremost neurosurgeon in all the land.”
Tarek threw her on her bed and followed her down. “He acts as if it is an insult that he is here at all.”
Anya had sighed as if it didn’t matter to her, yet Tarek was sure he’d seen a shadow move over her face. He hated it. “He has always been easily insulted. The real truth, I think, is that he’s used to being the center of attention. That’s really all there is to it.”
“At his own daughter’s wedding?”
“In fairness, if I was marrying almost anyone else he really would be the center of attention. Because the father of the bride commands a different part of the wedding where we come from. At the very least he would have stacked the guest list with his friends and associates, all of whom would be far more impressed with him than a collection of royals.”
“Anya,” Tarek had said, not exactly softly. “Why do you feel the need to treat this man with fairness when he feels no compunction to extend the same to you?”
She had looked stricken, then kissed him instead of answering.
Tarek understood that was an answer all its own.
Today there had been a gathering earlier for a wide swathe of guests, but the night featured a dinner for family only. Given the size of Tarek’s immediate family, this meant a formal meal in one of the larger dining rooms, with all of Tarek’s half siblings, their mothers, and their spouses invited to make merry. Compared to the other celebrations that had occurred this week, it was an intimate gathering. Tarek should have enjoyed introducing his bride to all his sisters and brothers—save the one, who no one dared mention.
But it was Anya’s father who once again had Tarek’s attention.
“It is a delight to welcome your daughter to the family,” said Tarek’s oldest half sister, Nur, smiling at the sour-faced doctor. Tarek wasn’t surprised that his sister admired his choice of bride. Nur had not taken the princess route as many of their other half sisters had. She had a postdoctoral degree at Cambridge, she had married a highly ranked Alzalamian aristocrat who also happened to be a scientist, and she had never been remotely interested in or impressed by poor Nabeeha, at large in Canada. “A real doctor in the palace at last. I fear I am merely a doctor of philosophy, myself.”
Anya smiled. “You’re very kind.”
Beside her, her father snorted.
