Most of them, anyway.
Jalal had less favorable views. Of course.
Jalal. Another reason he was considering this.
His twin was another candidate for the throne, after all.
Then there was Rashid. His and Jalal’s best friend turned bitterest rival. And yet another candidate.
Was it any wonder he was tempted?
Trouncing those two blowhards was an end unto itself.
So whether it was duty, redemption or rivalry that drove him, each reason was imperative on its own.
But none of them was the true catalyst that had him Azmahar-bound now.
Roxanne was.
She was back in Azmahar.
He took it as the fates nudging him to stop trying not to think of her. As he’d done for eight years. Eight years.
Way past high time he ended her occupation of his memories, her near monopoly of his bitterness. He had enough unfinishable business. He would lay the ghost of her share of it to rest.
He would damn well exorcise it.
“… repercussions and resolutions, Ms. Gleeson?”
Roxanne blinked at the distinguished, silver-haired man looking expectantly at her.
Sheikh Aasem Al-Qadi had been her liaison to the interim government since she’d started this post two months ago. And she had to concentrate to remember who he was, and what he—hell, what she—was doing here.
She cleared her throat and mind. “As you know, this affects the whole region and many intertwining international entities, each with their own complexities, interests and ideas about how to handle the situation. A rushed study would only cause more misinformation and complications.”
The man raised an elegant hand adorned with an onyx-set silver ring, his refined face taking on an even more genial cast. “The last thing I intend to do is rush you, Ms. Gleeson.” And if he did, he knew nothing about her if he thought an inperson nudge would make her step up her efforts. She and her team had been flat out digging in that sea. “I’m merely hoping for a more hands-on role in your investigations, and if it’s available, a look at a timeline for your intended work plan.”
“I assure you, you’ll be the first to know when a realistic timeline can be set.” She tried on the smile she’d long practiced, formal and friendly at once, which always gained her cooperation. “And my team could certainly do with the highlevel insider’s perspective you’d bring to the table.”
After much cordiality and what she felt was a reaffirmed faith in her effectiveness, Sheikh Al-Qadi left her office.
She leaned against the door she’d closed behind him, groaned.
What was she doing here?
So this post was a politico-economic analyst’s holy grail. And she had been bred for the role. But it had brought her back to where she could stumble upon Haidar.
She’d been certain she wouldn’t. She’d kept track of him, and he’d never come back to Azmahar. And then, she was no longer the girl who’d fallen head over heels in love with him. She was one of the most sought-after analyst-strategists in the field now, Azmahar being her third major post. If the “ax lodged in the head,” as they said here, and she did meet him, she’d treat him with the neutrality and diplomacy of the professional that she was.
But she wouldn’t have risked it if not for her mother.
When all you had in the way of family was your mother, a word from her wielded unfair power. She hadn’t stood a chance when her mother had shed tears as she’d insisted that this post, an expanded version of her old job, was her redemption, the perfect apology for the way she’d been driven from Azmahar in shame.
When Roxanne had argued that they should have been reinstating her, she’d revealed she had been offered the job but didn’t want to come out of retirement. It was Roxanne who was building her career, who was in the unique position of possessing her mother’s knowledge along with her own fresh perspective and intrepid methods. She’d been the second on the two-candidate shortlist for this post, and the only one with the skill set to make a difference in it now.
She’d capitulated, signed on and packed up. And she’d been excited. There was so much to fix in Azmahar.
According to Azmaharians, the one thing King Nedal had done right since his joloos decades ago was arrange his sister Sondoss’s marriage to King Atef Aal Shalaan, winning them Zohayd’s alliance. Which had nearly been severed by Sondoss herself, the snake-in-the-grass mother of that premium serpent, Haidar.
Roxanne had no doubt Sondoss’s exile-instead-of-imprisonment verdict had been wheedled out of the Aal Shalaans by Haidar, who could seduce the stripes off a tiger.
But when Amjad had become king, everyone had thought the first thing he’d do was deal Azmahar the killing blow of letting go of its proverbial hand. He hadn’t owed his ex-stepmother’s homeland any mercy. Strangely enough, he hadn’t ended the alliance.
Then, one month after she’d arrived, all hell had broken loose.
The arrogant fool of a now ex–crown prince had voted against Zohayd for an armed intervention in a neighboring country in the region’s latest defense summit, snapping the tenuous tolerance Amjad had maintained for Azmahar. And the kingdom that had been held together by the glue of its ally’s clout had come apart.
Just as Azmahar was gasping from the alienation, catastrophe struck. An explosion in one of its major oil drills caused a massive spill off its shores. Unable to deal with the upheavals, in response to the national and regional outcry, the overwhelmed and disgraced king had abdicated.
His brothers and sons, held as responsible, would no longer succeed him. Azmahar was in chaos, and Roxanne was one of those called upon to contain the situation, internally and internationally, as the most influential clans started fighting among themselves.
Out of the anarchy, consolidations had formed, splitting the kingdom into three fronts. Each backed one man for new king.
One of the candidates was Haidar.
Which meant he would come back. And she would stumble upon him.
She wanted that as much as she wanted a hole in the heart.
Then again, he’d already pulverized hers.
She cursed under her breath. This was ancient history, and she was probably blowing it out of proportion, anyway. She’d been a twenty-one-year-old only child who’d been sheltered into having the emotional resilience of a fourteen-year-old.
And man, had he been good. Phenomenal wouldn’t do him justice.
It had only been expected that she’d gotten addicted, physically, emotionally. Then she’d woken up. End of story.
She’d moved on, had eventually engaged in other relationships. One could have worked, too. That
