Hajar's Hidden Legacy

“No one,” she said, her pledge to him.

“You will remain here.”

“What?”

“What did you imagine would happen?”

“I had thought … my father is ill. I had thought to return home.”

“Ah, and you do not think anyone will see that as strange? That my new wife has abandoned me?” He reached out and curled his fingers around her arm, just above her elbow, his black eyes burning into hers even as her flesh felt branded by his touch. “No one will know.”

She explored his face visually for a moment. The ravaged skin, the slashing scar that interrupted the shape of his top lip. He could not be called handsome, not now. But he was compelling, fierce. And for a moment she was almost overcome by the desire to skim her fingers over his ruined cheek, to feel the damage for herself.

She clenched her hand into a fist and kept it glued to her side. “You have my word, Sheikh Zahir.”

“As tradition dictates, you will stay here in the palace to cement the engagement,” he said. She could tell that cost him. That he truly didn’t want her here. She also knew that he wanted to keep up appearances.

She swallowed hard, feeling as though a judge had just lowered the gavel, sentencing her. At least it’s not a life sentence.

“I will stay.” It took every ounce of strength she had to speak, to not shrink away.

But she would use every shred of it that she had in her body to get through this. To see her country—her brother—through. To the other side. For freedom for her people. A new kind of freedom for herself. One where duty to the masses wasn’t so much more important than living her own life.

It was a dream. And yet it was a dream that kept her going. That spurred her on now. She would rest later. She would have the chance to, something she’d not thought possible.

“I was planning on staying,” she said. “For a while at least.”

“I know, I saw your procession of belongings coming in earlier.”

“It was too important. I wasn’t going to back down.”

“Why is it so important to you? Why are you the one who has to solve this? A matter of honor?” He regarded her closely, and she knew he truly wanted an answer.

“What would you do to ensure Malik’s success, Zahir? If he lived, what would you do to make sure that he was able to fulfill his destiny? To make sure he was safe?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed and she watched as his hands, both marred with scar tissue, flexed into fists. “Anything. I would give my life.”

“As I’m giving mine.”

He tilted his face up, angling the smooth side to her. “So noble of you.” She was struck again by how beautiful he was in part. By how handsome he had been. The reminder was there. That square masculine jaw, perfect olive skin. There was no light in his eyes though, no emotion to read.

“I don’t know about that.”

“Modesty does not become the sort of woman who would storm the palace of Hajar and take up residence without permission,” he said. And for a moment she thought she saw one side of his mouth curve upward. An expression of good humor. Although, that couldn’t be. It really didn’t seem possible.

“My apologies.”

“One thing you must understand, latifa. The palace runs in a certain order, I do things on a certain schedule. You will not interrupt that.”

No. Of course not. She wasn’t important enough to interrupt the Almighty Schedule. Though, why that should bother her at all, she wasn’t sure. Yes, she was. Common courtesy. She wouldn’t say that to a regular palace guest, let alone one she was engaged to be married to. Even if it was going to be strictly a legal marriage.

“It’s a big palace,” she said. “I’ll bet you can avoid me altogether if you like.”

“A theory I am tempted to test.”

“If we’re going to pretend this is real you’re going to have to work on treating me as though you want me around.”

He leaned in and she pulled away slightly. His masculine scent teased her, made her heart accelerate. He had a scent all his own. Sandalwood and spice mingled with the musky, unique essence of Zahir. It made her head feel fuzzy.

“And you are going to have to pretend you aren’t repulsed by me.”

“I’m not,” she said. It was the truth. He was scarred but all the nonsense about him being a beast, somehow something other than a man, that was just plain ridiculous. “I won’t lie and say I’m completely comfortable with you, but by the time we have an engagement party … “

“There will be no engagement party.” The light in his dark eyes was fierce, almost wild.

“There has to be,” she said. “It is tradition for brides in Austrich to … “

“You are in Hajar now,” he said, his voice hard, unyielding. “You have come into my country, and I am now your sheikh. You made this choice. Remember that.” He turned and walked out of her chamber, slamming the door hard behind him.

And for the first time since her plane had touched down in Hajar, she truly felt like she was in over her head.

CHAPTER THREE

KATHARINE finished pinning her hair in place and stared at her reflection. She was pale and red-eyed from lack of sleep. She looked like the walking dead. Very attractive. Fortunately her future husband didn’t seem to care how attractive or unattractive she was. And she didn’t care what he thought, either.

It was all about politics. All about what the union could bring both of them. Their countries.

She blew out a breath and turned away from the mirror, walking out of her room and into the vacant hallway. She wasn’t going to stand around all day.

She should call her father. She’d picked up the phone about eight times since getting out of bed, but she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. Not yet. It would make it all too real.

How ironic that now she’d achieved her goal she was having trouble accepting it.

It’s nothing more than a ceremony and a piece of paper. At least you’re not expected to stay with him forever, have his children.

Now that would have been a harsh reality. One she’d thought she’d been prepared to deal with, but one she was certain now she hadn’t been. Not if the thought of a marriage ceremony was affecting her this badly.

She headed down the long hall, the sound of her high heels echoing off the high, domed ceiling. The corridors were extensive, weaving through the massive palace. But she knew where Malik’s quarters had been, situated on the opposite end of the palace from where the women stayed. It was likely Zahir stayed in them now.

Yes, last night she’d spoken to him about avoidance. And then he’d tried to intimidate her by reminding her whose country she was in. But she wasn’t easily intimidated. She’d spent her life surrounded by strong men, holding her own against a father who expected the worst and never praised her for her best. She always had to show strength.

She would never inherit the throne of Austrich. She was a woman, and for some reason, her lack of male member made her ineligible. But she was involved in the politics of her country, and she did not have a reputation as a shrinking violet. She didn’t avoid conflict. She faced them head-on. And right now, she was looking for the tall, muscular conflict she’d tangled with the night before.

She looked into a couple of empty rooms before pushing open a door that revealed what could have been a modern, state-of-the-art gym. A lap pool, every sort of exercise equipment anyone could ever want.

And there was Zahir. Flat on his back on a weight bench, his breath hissing between his teeth as he pressed two massive dumbbells up over his chest.

She crossed the room tentatively, her mouth dropping open slightly at the sight of his body. Every muscle was chiseled, as though it were carved into rock, the only sign it could possibly be part of a real man, and not a statue, was the bunching and shifting that happened with each breath and movement.