Forged in the Desert Heat

“But you need to rule?”

“I was born to rule. It is my rightful place, stolen from me. I was exiled, banished, and I will not live the rest of my days that way. The throne of Al Sabah is mine now, and I mean to take it.”

“Even if you have to hold me to do it?”

“You will be kept in a palace, surrounded by luxury that rivals anything your darling fiancé could produce for you, so I doubt you’ll feel to put upon. Consider it a spa retreat.”

She looked around them. “Shall I start with sand treatment? Good for the pores, or what?”

“All right, the retreat portion of the vacation starts tonight. For now, consider yourself still on the desert tour. Only this is one-on-one. And you’re now with a man who knows the desert better than most people know the layout of the city they grew up in.”

“I don’t know whether to ask questions about the rocks or the dirt. The beauty is so diverse out here.”

“The landscape in Shakar is similar. Perhaps you should rethink your upcoming marriage if the best you can muster for your surroundings is a bit of bored disdain.”

“I’m sorry to have insulted your precious desert. I’m in a bad mood.”

“Your mood is the least of my worries, habibti. Now—” he put the bundle of tent back onto the horse, took the skin from her hand and refixed it to the saddlebags “—get on the horse, or I shall have to assist you again.”

She looked up at the horse and then back at him, genuine distress in her blue eyes. “I can’t. I wish I could. But my legs feel like strained spaghetti. It’s not happening.”

“It’s no matter to me. I held you all night. Putting my arms around you again isn’t exactly a hardship.” Her cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red and it had nothing to do with the sun. He didn’t know why he’d felt compelled to tease her that way. He didn’t know why he’d felt compelled to tease her at all. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever felt the least desire to engage in humor or lightness of any kind.

But beneath that was something darker. Something he had to ignore. A pull that he couldn’t acknowledge.

“Do what you must,” she said, defeated.

He locked his fingers together and lowered his hands, creating a step for her. “Come on,” he said.

She looked down and squinted. “Oh, fine.” She put one hand on the horse’s back and one on his shoulder, placing her foot into his hands and pushing up. He lifted her as she swung her leg over the horse and took her position.

“Front or back, habibti, it’s no matter to me.”

She looked genuinely troubled by the question. And then as though she was calculating which method would bring her into the least contact with his body.

“I...front.”

He found the position a bit more taxing, but the alternative was to have her clinging to his back, thighs shaped around his, her breasts pressed to his back. The thought sent a strange tightening through his whole body. His throat down to his stomach, the muscles in his arms, his groin.

No. He had no time for such distraction. She would remain untouched. Protected. He swore it then and there. A vow made before the desert that he would not break.

Fiancée or not, a man who would take advantage of a woman in her position was the basest of creatures.

And are you not more animal than man after your time out here?

No. He knew what was right. And he would see it done.

Right was why he was returning now. Back to a palace that was, in his mind, little more than a gilded tomb. A place that held ghosts. Secrets. Pain so deep he did not like to remember it.

But this had nothing to do with want. Nothing in his life had to do with want; it was simply duty. If doing right meant riding into hell, he would. While the palace wasn’t hell, it was close. But there could be no hesitation. No turning back.

And no distractions.

He got on behind her, gripping the reins tightly. “Hold on.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. “If we’re going to make it back to the palace today, we have to go fast.”

* * *

Fast was an understatement. They made a brief stop at the oasis, a pocket in a mountain that seemed to rise from the earth, shielding greenery and water from the sun, providing shade and relief from the immeasurable heat.

Sadly, they didn’t linger for very long and they were back in the sun, the horse’s hoofbeats a repetitive, pounding rhythm that was starting to drive her crazy.

By the time the vague impression of the city, hazy in the distance, came into view, Ana was afraid she was going to fall off the horse. Fatigue had set in, bone deep. She felt coated in a fine layer of dust, her fingers dry and stiff with it.

She needed a bath. And a soft bed. She could worry about everything else later, as long as she had those two things as soon as humanly possible.

This was not her life. Her life was cosseted in terms of physical comforts. A plush mansion, a private all-girls school with antique, spotless furniture and women’s college dorms that rivaled any five-star hotel.

Hot baths and soft beds had been taken for granted all of her life. Never again. Never, ever again. She was wretched. She felt more rodent than human at the moment. Like some ground-dwelling creature rooted out of her hole, left to dry out beneath the heat.

As they drew closer she could see skyscrapers. Gray glass and steel, just like any city in the United States. But beyond that was the wall. Tall, made of yellow brick, a testament to the city that once had been—a thousand years ago.

“Welcome to Bihar,” he said, his tone grim.

“Are you just going to ride in?”

He tightened his hold on her. “Why the hell not?”

He was a funny contradiction. A man who was able to spout poetry about the desert, soliloquies of great elegance. And yet, when he had to engage in conversation, the elegance was gone. On his own, he was all raw power and certainty, but when he had to interact...well, that was a weakness for sure.

“Seems to me a horse might be out of place.”

“In the inner city, yes, but not here on the outskirts. Not on the road to the palace. At least not the road I intend to take.”

They forged on, through the walls that kept Bihar separate from the desert. They went past homes, pressed together, stacked four floors high, made from sun-bleached brick. Then on past an open-air market with rows of baskets filled to the brim with flour, nuts and dried fruit. People were milling about everywhere, making way for Zafar without sparing a lingering glance.

She turned and looked up at him. Only his eyes were visible. Dark and fathomless. His face was covered by his headdress. No one would recognize him. It struck her then, how funny it was.

The sheikh riding through on his black war horse, a captive in the saddle with him. And no one would ever know.

They continued on, moving up a narrow cobbled street, past the dense crowds, and through more neighborhoods, the houses starting to spread out then getting sparser. The cobbles turned to dirt, a path that followed the wall of the city, in an olive grove that seemed the stretch on for miles. Then she saw it, a glimmer on the hilltop, stretching across the entire ridge: the palace. Imposing. Massive. Beautiful.

White stone walls and a sapphire roof made it a beacon that she was sure could be seen from most points in the city. Bihar might have thoroughly modern buildings that nearly touched the sky, but the palace seemed to be a part of it. Something ethereal or supernatural. Unreal.

Zafar urged the horse into a canter and the palace rapidly drew closer. When they arrived at the gate, Zafar dismounted, tugging at the fabric that covered his face, revealing strong, handsome features. Unmistakable. No wonder he traveled the way that he did. There was no way he would go unrecognized if he didn’t keep his face covered. No way in the world.

He reached into the folds of his robes and pulled out...a cell phone. Ana felt like she’d just been given whiplash. Everything about Zafar seemed part of another era. The man had ridden a freaking black stallion through the city streets, and now he was making a call on a cell phone.

It was incongruous. Her brain rejected it wholly, but it couldn’t argue with what she was seeing. Her poor brain. It had tried rejecting this entire experience, but unfortunately, the past week was reality. This was reality.