Scandal: His Majesty's Love-Child

The words rolled like thunder in Tahir’s brain.

The brute who’d ruled his people and his family so corruptly was gone for ever.

The tyrant who’d betrayed his wife with a string of whores and mistresses. Who’d ruled his tribe by fear. Who’d thrashed Tahir time and again to within an inch of his life. Then had his thugs take over when Tahir grew old enough to defend himself against his father.

The man who’d exiled his youngest son when he’d finally done what the old Sheikh had probably secretly wanted and overstepped the mark completely.

Tahir had never been able to please his father, no matter how he tried. He’d spent his boyhood wondering what fault of his inspired such hatred.

But he’d long ago given up caring.

Tahir turned to look across the elegant room and its throng of late-night pleasure-seekers. In his mind’s eye it wasn’t the glamorous crowd he saw, the flirtatious and curious glances or the opulent display of wealth. It was Yazan Al’Ramiz’s bloodshot eyes, his bristling moustache flecked with spittle as he ranted and bellowed. The violent pounding of his clenched fists.

Surely Tahir should feel something, anything, at the news his tyrant father was dead? Even after eleven years’ absence the news must evoke some response?

A yawning void of darkness welled inside where once emotions had lodged.

He supposed he should have questions.

When? How? Wasn’t that what a child asked about a father’s death?

‘Still, I don’t feel a burning desire to return to Qusay.’ His tone was as blank as his mood. There was nothing for him in the land of his birth.

‘Damn it, Tahir. Stop playing the arrogant unfeeling bastard for a moment. I need you here. Things are complicated.’ Kareef paused. ‘I want you here.’

Something unfamiliar roiled deep in Tahir’s belly.

‘What do you need?’ Kareef had always been his favourite brother. The one he’d looked up to, in the long-ago days when he’d still tried to emulate his elders and betters. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘No problem,’ Kareef said in a curiously strained voice. ‘But our cousin has discovered he isn’t the rightful king of Qusay. He’s stood aside and I’m to take his place on the throne.’ He paused. ‘I want you here for my coronation.’

Tahir walked slowly to the roulette table.

Kareef’s news was momentous. To discover their cousin had been made King in error was almost unbelievable. He was no blood relation to the old King and Queen, but had been secretly taken in by them while they grieved the death of their real son. If it had been anyone other than Kareef telling the story Tahir would have doubted the news.

But Kareef would never make such an error. He was too careful, too responsible. He would make the perfect King for Qusay. Either of Tahir’s older brothers would.

Thank merciful fate their father wasn’t alive to inherit the throne! As brother to the old King and leader of a significant clan he’d been too powerful as it was—too dangerous. Having him rule the whole nation would have been like letting a wolf in amongst lambs.

A heart attack, Kareef had said.

No wonder. Their father had liked to indulge himself and hadn’t limited himself to one vice.

Tahir approached the gaming table. He saw his barely touched champagne and the two women waiting for him, both undoubtedly eager to give him whatever he desired tonight.

His lips curled. Perhaps he was more like the old man than he realised.

‘Tahir!’ Elisabeth’s voice was a shriek of delight. ‘You’ll never believe it. You won! Again! It’s unbelievable.’

The babbling crowd hushed. Every eye was on him, as if he’d done something miraculous.

Before him, piled high, were his winnings. Far larger than before. The croupier looked pale and rigidly composed.

Eager feminine hands reached for Tahir as his companions sidled close. Their eyes were bright with avarice and excitement.

Tahir slid some of the most valuable chips to the croupier. ‘For you.’

‘Merci, monsieur.’ He grinned as he scooped his newfound wealth safely into his hand.

Tahir lifted his glass, took a long swallow and let the bubbles cascade from the back of his tongue down his throat.

The wine’s effervescence seeped into him. He felt buoyant, almost happy. For once fate had played things right. Kareef would be the best King Qusay had known.

He put the glass down with a click and turned away.

‘Goodnight, Elisabeth, Natasha. I’m afraid I have business elsewhere.’

He’d taken but a few steps when the babble of voices stopped him.

‘Wait! Your winnings! You’ve forgotten them.’

Tahir turned to face a sea of staring faces.

‘Keep them. Share them amongst yourselves.’

Without a backward glance he strode to the entrance, oblivious to the uproar behind him.

The doorman thrust open the massive doors and Tahir emerged into the fresh night air. He breathed deep, filling his lungs for the first time, it seemed, in recent memory.

A hint of a smile played on his lips as he loped down the stairs.

He had a coronation to attend.

Tahir skimmed low over the dunes of Qusay’s great interior desert.

Alone at the helicopter’s controls, he put the effervescence in his blood down to the freedom of complete solitude. No hangers-on. No business minions seeking direction. No women with wide eyes and grasping hands. Not even paparazzi waiting to report his next outrageous affair.

Perhaps the barren glory of the desert had lifted his spirits? He even, for this moment, put from his mind what awaited him in Qusay.

His family. His past.

Yet he’d visited deserts in the last eleven years. From North Africa to Australia and South America, motor-racing, hang-gliding, base-jumping—always searching for new extreme ways to risk his neck.

Finally he recognised his mood was because he flew over the place he’d called home for the first eighteen years of his life. The place he’d never expected to see again.

But this realisation came as an almighty gust buffeted the chopper, slewing it sideways. Tahir grappled with the controls, swinging the helicopter high above the dunes.

The sight that met him sent adrenalin pumping through his body. The growing darkness filling the sky wasn’t an early dusk, as he’d thought.