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‘Dad!’ Kaliah leapt back out of her chair. ‘You’re not seriously asking me that question?’ she cried. ‘What I do in my private life is none of...’
Khan put up a placating hand to interrupt her latest disrespectful diatribe. ‘Okay, okay, Liah. Calm down. I’m just trying to establish the facts, that’s all.’
It was obvious from the pained look on the Sheikh’s face, though, that he knew what Kamal had told him was the truth, because his daughter had yet to deny it.
Kamal sat rigidly in his chair, ignoring the confusion and the fury bubbling like acid under his breastbone. Not to mention the low-grade arousal that was always there when he was within two feet of Zane Khan’s unruly daughter.
He waited for Khan to state the obvious—that a marriage would have to be arranged—but, instead of doing so, Khan turned to Kamal, his expression strained but resolute.
Kamal didn’t like that look one bit because he had seen it many times before. In the face of Uttram Aziz when he had announced Kamal would have to marry to secure the throne. In the face of his commanding officer, during his first desert campaign, when he had been ordered to take his troops into bandit country with no cover, and only himself and four of his men had come out alive. In the face of Hamid, when his employer had unwound his belt to give him another brutal beating—unlike the staff at the orphanage, or his first drill sergeant when he had entered the Zokari army, Hamid had been a bully who’d enjoyed exploiting the power he’d held over that defenceless boy.
He also remembered that look from his earliest memory—when a tall man had told him to be a good boy then walked away, leaving him on the steps of the orphanage. He hated that look because he knew it meant only one thing—he was about to get shafted.
‘Here’s the thing, Prince Kamal,’ the Sheikh said with an apologetic note in his voice, despite the determination in his eyes. ‘While the Law of Marriage of the Sheikhs is an honourable tradition, meant to protect women—and I can totally understand why you, as a conscientious and clearly honourable man, would want to adhere to it—in Narabia it’s not something we would insist upon any more, unless both parties are one hundred percent amenable.’
Kamal’s anger rose in his chest, but he kept his gaze on Khan and refused to let any of the emotions churning in his gut—everything from indignation to fury—show. Because that would just give this man the upper hand.
‘What does this mean, exactly?’ he asked, determined to make Khan spell it out.
‘That you have no obligation to marry my daughter just because you took her virginity last night,’ he said. ‘It’s fairly clear from what my wife and I have just witnessed that there’s no love lost between the two of you,’ the man continued, the tinge of paternal condescension making the fire in Kamal’s gut burn. ‘And I very much doubt you wish to be shackled to Liah any more than she wishes to be shackled to you.’
‘Gee, thanks, Dad,’ Kaliah muttered, but Kamal could hear the relief in her tone and wanted to punch a wall.
They were telling him his honour, his country’s honour, did not matter. And he could not accept that. But, worse, they were suggesting the responsibility he now felt for Kaliah was of no significance too.
Khan let out a deep sigh, then grasped the hand his wife had laid on his shoulder while he’d spoken.
Something about that gesture, the visceral connection between this man and his wife—supportive, generous and fierce—only made Kamal feel more alone. And more isolated.
The fire leapt in his gut. Damn them. He didn’t need anyone’s support. He had always survived on his own.
‘So, basically, I think we can all just pretend this never happened. And the details of last night’s...’ Khan cleared his throat uncomfortably ‘...last night’s events will never leave this room, so no one’s honour need be challenged. You’ve fulfilled your obligation by coming here and proposing, Kamal, and I appreciate it. But I’m not about to require you to marry a woman you don’t love,’ he finished.
Love?What on earth was the man talking about? An emotion as fickle, fanciful and foolish as love had no bearing on any of this. And Kamal certainly did not require love. Not from anyone. He never had and he never would. He had himself—that was all he required.
‘I hope you will stay for the rest of the weekend?’ Khan added. ‘As our honoured guest.’
Kamal had no intention of staying after being insulted so comprehensively. But he needed time to think before he made his next move. He had come to Khan this morning expecting this to be fairly straightforward. Clearly the man was even more indulgent of his wayward daughter than Kamal had realised. But he would find a solution once he could unknot his brain enough to think clearly.
‘As you wish.’ Kamal stood, too furious to say more or even to look at the woman who was the cause of this disaster. His pride was burning, but what was far worse was the way the pain in his gut had morphed into the gruelling hollow ache he remembered so well from much of his adolescence—every time he’d faced another rejection, another put down, another cruel dismissal, because he’d never been strong enough, never brave enough, never important enough to matter.
He gave a shallow bow and strode out of the room.
He was not that sad, rejected boy any longer.
And he would prove it by showing Kaliah Khan that Crown Prince Kamal Zokan was good enough for any woman. And certainly one as wild, spoilt and wilful as Narabia’s future queen.
CHAPTER FIVE
LIAHSWIPEDTHEangry tear from her cheek as she spurred Ashreen over the rocky escarpment. She glanced over her shoulder in the gathering dusk. The minarets of the Golden Palace had disappeared behind the mountain ridge.
The crushing weight that had been sitting on her chest ever since she had been ambushed by Prince Kamal in her father’s study finally lifted a little. But, as she tugged on the reins to slow Ashreen before they headed down the rocky slope to the oasis, the knots in her gut refused to ease.
She’d never been more humiliated in her whole entire life than she had been that morning. And that was saying something for someone who seemed so adept at screwing up on a regular basis.
She’d trudged back to her room, packed a small bag and had waited—while regretting every single wrong, foolish decision that had led to the worse mistake she’d ever made last night by deciding to sleep with that man. No one had come to ask her to attend any of the day’s events, and she knew why. She suspected her parents were keen to keep her away from Kamal—and stave off a diplomatic incident.
As soon as the sun had dipped towards the horizon, making the weather cool enough to ride out to the oasis, she had sneaked down to the stables, saddled Ashreen and escaped, leaving a note with one of the stable hands to deliver to Malik, her father’s head of household. She didn’t want her parents to worry, but at the same time she very much doubted they’d be sad to see the back of her right now.
