Hot Arabian Nights

‘You know, I never did understand why you were so set on going anywhere, Azhar. Everything you could wish for is here, but you were always determined to shake the sands of Qaryma from your feet, weren’t you?’

‘It was never my intention to leave for good. If he had granted me permission to travel before I reached my majority, I would have honoured any conditions he set on my return. But he would not give me permission, forcing me to wait until I no longer required it, on my twenty-first birthday. He could not deny me the right to leave, but he could deny me the right to return, and that is what he did. When I left, our father made it clear that the price for my wanderlust would be permanent exile.’

Kamal snorted. ‘He said that out of desperation to keep you here. He never gave up hope that you’d come crawling back on your hands and knees. You’d have thought that he’d be pleased to have a second son on hand to inherit, a son who, unlike his firstborn, was obedient and respectful and who actually wanted to rule, but, no—it was you he wanted. It was always you. All I was fit for was to send a summons to you upon his demise. He had Council witness it too. He could not have made his desire to exclude me clearer.’

‘If that is true, why then did he insist the summons was sent after his death? He appointed you as Regent. Why not summon me to fulfil that role?’

‘Ten years without a word from you, Azhar. Ten years!’ Kamal said bitterly. ‘Don’t you think you’d made it very clear by then that you would never return while he was still alive?’

‘He knew I didn’t want this. He knew I have never wanted it. He could not bend me to his will while he was alive. That summons was his attempt to do so from beyond the grave.’

‘A successful one too,’ Kamal said with malicious relish. ‘Our father could certainly be both capricious and vindictive. Perhaps by deliberately denying you the opportunity for any sort of reconciliation he was punishing you for turning your back on Qaryma and, more importantly, on him. Now it is too late to be forgiven, and you will have to live with that on your conscience. Poor Azhar.’

Anger warred with hurt at his brother’s sarcastic tone. Pride kept both firmly under control. ‘I have no desire for forgiveness, having committed no crime,’ Azhar said curtly, getting to his feet. ‘You overstep the mark, Brother.’

‘Forgive me.’ Kamal fell to his knees, and Azhar made no move to prevent him. ‘It has been a somewhat difficult time, trying to protect your interests here, not knowing how long it would be before you returned.’

‘I have been remiss, I should thank you for running the kingdom in the interim,’ Azhar said, indicating that Kamal should rise.

‘Yours will be the only thanks I receive,’ his brother replied. ‘You cannot have failed to notice yesterday how pleased the people are to see you.’

He had in fact tried very hard indeed to take no notice of anything on his arrival. Azhar waved his hand dismissively. ‘A show of respect, nothing more.’

‘They will be anxious to see you crowned.’

‘Because a coronation requires to be celebrated, and most lavishly.’ Azhar said wryly. ‘The best things come to those who wait. I have only just returned.’

‘But until you are crowned, there are certain powers which you cannot exercise. The authority invested in me as Regent...’

‘Can continue, I am sure, for the time being.’

‘Of course, if that is your wish, but—but I assumed you would take immediate control.’

Kamal looked puzzled, as well he might. Azhar wasn’t too sure himself what he meant, save to buy himself some time. He turned away to gaze out of the window, at one of the sixty-five palace fountains. He had counted them once. Odd, that such a useless fact should stick in his mind. His journey here had been fuelled by a sense of urgency, a need to finally sever the ties of duty that bound him to this place. But the urgency had dissipated with his arrival. He had no doubts about his course of action, but he needed to consider how best to implement it.

All he needed was a little time. Time to satisfy himself that Kamal was fit to govern or, if necessary, time to ensure that he could be moulded to be so. ‘I require time,’ Azhar said, turning back to his brother. ‘Whether you believe it or not, my inheritance has come as a shock to me, and my absence has been a long one. The coronation must perforce wait. I require time to reacquaint myself with the kingdom. In the interim, you will continue to rule, while I decide how best to implement the handover of power.’

‘How long do you envisage this interim period to be?’

He had no idea. ‘I will inform you and the Council of my plans tomorrow.’

‘And the woman?’

Julia. The thought of her was as refreshing as plunging into the cool, clear water of an oasis. Julia, his connection to the real world, his touchstone. Yesterday, reeling from the shock of his revelation, exhausted by the pace of the long day’s travel, she had clung to his sleeve, begging him not forget her amid all the hubbub of his return. As if that was possible.

‘Madam Trevelyan is an English botanist.’ Cornish, Azhar corrected himself silently.

‘What is she to you?’

‘I found her alone at the Zazim Oasis. Her dragoman and his men had absconded in the night, taking everything with them.’

‘Stupid foreigners, what do they expect! The desert is no place for a woman travelling alone. What was she thinking?’

Azhar’s fists clenched. ‘I am more concerned with your own thoughts. A nefarious deed was perpetrated at one of our biggest oases. Those thieving brigands should not have dared cross our borders, never mind dishonour our lands in such a way.’

Colour stained Kamal’s cheeks. ‘A kingdom without a king is weakened and open to abuse. How can I be expected to command respect without a crown?’

Earn it, Azhar thought bitterly. Respect cannot be demanded. But there was nothing to be gained by antagonising his brother still further. ‘I could not leave Madam Trevelyan alone and without resources, so I brought her here. Any man of honour would have done the same.’

Kamal shrugged. ‘As you pointed out, the Zazim Oasis is one of our biggest, and therefore a busy and popular stopping point. Someone else would have come along soon enough. As Crown Prince of Qaryma, I would have thought you had more pressing matters to occupy you.’

‘As Crown Prince of Qaryma, I am responsible for the well-being and safety of everyone in this kingdom, whether citizen or visitor.’ Suddenly weary of Kamal’s company, Azhar clapped his hands loudly. The door opened instantly. ‘Until tomorrow, Brother,’ he said, leaving Kamal no option but to bow himself out. Azhar smiled inwardly. His privileged position was not without its advantages.

* * *

Having spent a blissfully comfortable night in the lavish quarters assigned to her, wallowing in the luxury of a hot bath before collapsing on to the huge divan, Julia had spent the morning anxiously waiting for some word from Azhar. She knew he would have weighty matters to attend to, but he had promised not to forget her. She was therefore both relieved and delighted when a servant arrived and silently bid her follow him. Perhaps he was to take her to the souk to purchase essential supplies. The sooner she began her work again the better.

She followed along behind as the servant led her through a series of marble-panelled corridors illuminated by glass skylights. The man walked quickly, forcing her to take a little running step every now and again in order to keep up. Through open archways she could hear the muted sound of voices. Silence emanated from other forbidding-looking, heavy doors where sentries stood in plain white robes, scimitars hanging from their leather-belted waists. What were they guarding—or who? How many lives were being lived out in this palace, in this city within a city? Where was this man taking her? And to meet whom? Completely disoriented, Julia followed him around another right-angled turn, to find the passage terminated in another of those huge, guarded doors.

‘What is this place?’ she asked, though she knew it was futile. Even if he understood her, the servant was the strong silent type. He was already backing away, and the guard at the door was ushering her forward with a face that seemed to Julia would brook no argument. Taking a deep breath, she stepped past him and entered the room.

Save that it was not a room. She was on a low terrace leading on to one of the most beautiful gardens she had ever seen. Cypress trees grew in shady groves. Mosaic walkways meandered through manicured beds ablaze with exotic flowers. Tall marble pillars stood at the head of a long pool full of brightly coloured fish. Water gushed from the mouths of the playful stone dolphins in the fountain at the far end. Her senses swam with the profusion of scents and sounds. In one corner another fountain fed an oasis-like space proliferating with cacti and other succulents, some of which Julia had never before encountered. Another sinuous pathway took her through a gate to a rose garden, the blooms, like the stars in the night sky, so much bigger and brighter than those on view at home. Beneath her feet, she could feel the gurgle of the complex subterranean irrigation system. Turning a corner at the edge of the garden, she found groves of orange, lemon and lime trees, more marble pillars and rustic bridges crossing the irrigation streams which had been allowed to bubble to the surface. Tucked away, almost hidden from view, was a small marble kiosk in the classical style, rather like a Greek temple, though on a much smaller scale. And standing at the entrance, looking very like he’d just stepped down from Mount Olympus, was Azhar.

He was dressed in loose trousers and a long dark-blue tunic fastened at the neck with black frogging. The simple lines of the tunic emphasised the breadth of his shoulders and chest. He wore no headdress, the sunlight making his night-dark hair shine like silk. He really was an extraordinarily good-looking man.

Prince. Not man, Prince. Crown Prince, no less. She would do well to remember that rather significant fact. She dropped a hasty curtsy. ‘Your Highness.’

‘Azhar is quite sufficient when we are alone, Julia.’

Emboldened by his smile, she gave in to the allure of the welcoming shade and the entrancing man, and joined him on the terrace of the kiosk. ‘I’ve never seen such a wonderful garden. The sheer profusion of species quite takes my breath away. The irrigation system must be quite ingenious to allow such different varieties as roses and succulents to grow in the same soil, under this unforgiving sun. My father would be astonished, and most envious.’

‘Ah, yes, I recall you said your father was a botanist, as well as a—how did you put it—a benevolent autocrat?’

‘You must think me most disrespectful. I was somewhat overwrought.’

‘You had just cause. In fact I can think of no woman I have ever met who would have been less overwrought, all things considered. Please, sit down and take some mint tea with me.’

‘Thank you.’ She did as he bade her, sinking gratefully on to a low, padded chair while fanning her face. ‘I am honoured that you have found the time to grant me a personal audience.’

‘You are not one of my subjects, Julia, this is not an audience. I have not forgotten my promise to help you.’

Because she had clung to his sleeve and begged him not to do so. Julia’s toes curled and her cheeks heated at the memory. ‘I embarrassed you in front of your subjects. When I awoke this morning, I was mortified to have behaved with so little decorum.’

‘I should have given you some warning of what was to come. It was unfair of me.’

‘A little,’ she agreed, ‘but honestly, Azhar, it was obvious that you were finding your return difficult enough, without having to explain yourself to a troublesome Englishwoman.’

‘Cornish woman,’ Azhar said with a small smile. ‘You see, I do remember.’