secured for all time through her marriage to the emir.
But when you put three Skavanga sisters into the mix, with Britt’s business brain calling foul on the suggested arrangement between a very wealthy Kareshi and a less well-off Qadar, and Eva ranting that no one in their right minds could possibly want to spend the rest of their lives with a man they hadn’t even been to bed with, backed up by a chorus of concern from Leila, you were left, not with a melodious chorus of agreement and support for her decision, but with a rowdy chorus of dissent.
And then there was Tyr.
And Sharif.
And the fact that, far from being happy on her tiny gilt chair squashed in between all the heavy hitters and fashion press in the front row of every show in town, Jazz was thoroughly fed up. If she had to watch another unlined, asymmetric rag passing itself off as a work of art, she might have to resort to wearing a hemp sack for her wedding.
Her wedding.
It was definitely time to go back to Kareshi before she lost her nerve to go ahead with what she still stubbornly believed was the best thing she could do for her country. Wedding negotiations between Kareshi and Qadar must be close to complete by now, surely? And even that sounded wrong. How could two countries get married?
She was planning to marry a country?
Heaving a sigh so loud it made Jazz’s neighbours on the gilt chairs turn to look at her with surprise, she confronted the marriage plans she’d thought made such sense and realised they were full of holes. How could she help her country if she was stuck away in Qadar? She needed to get away from the flashing lights and loud music to the quiet of the desert, where she could rethink her plans for the future. Bringing out her phone, she was just about to start making travel plans when a message from Eva flashed up.
Tyr is working at Wadi village.
And?
And good morning to you, Princess Prim.
Eva? What do you want me to say???
Is sexual frustration hindering your ability to think straight? If so, please call this helpline now—
EVA!
Just thought you’d like to know. Fashion shows treating you well?
Zzzzzzzzzzz
Why are you still there?
My thoughts exactly.
Jazz paused a moment before asking the question drumming at her mind.
What’s Tyr doing in Kareshi?
Not looking for a patsy to perform the dance of the seven veils for him in his harem like the Evil Emu of Qadar, that’s for sure.
EVA!!
What good are you to Kareshi if you’re trussed up in feather handcuffs?
Not sure the emir would go for that.
Are you prepared to take that chance?
There was a long pause while Jazz digested this and squirmed uncomfortably on her chair.
OK, I give in. *big sigh* Tyr’s setting up an Internet connection at Wadi village, so if you hurry...
What’s that got to do with me?
He needs fizzers and gum to keep him sane. You can take them with you.
But I’m not going to Wadi village.
Yes, you are.
There was a very long pause and then Jazz tapped in a message.
Miss you, Eva.
Miss you too, brown eyes. See you in Kareshi?
Never say never to a billowing Bedouin tent J xx
She could be part of Eva’s world, and part of the new world Sharif was working so hard to build in Kareshi, or she could become Princess Prim—embittered old spinster, twisting around in her own web of gloom, Jazz concluded as she put her phone back in her bag. The alternative was marriage to a man she didn’t know. And if the emir did decide to shut her away in his harem, Eva was right: What use would she be to Kareshi then?
The least Eva had done was make her think. Excusing herself politely before the lights went up on the second half of the show, Jazz picked up the hem of her flowing silk robe to brave the hazard of big bags and small feet as she made her escape from fashion fantasy island to the reality she had been avoiding for far too long.
* * *
Jazz knew she had made the right decision in coming back to Kareshi the moment the royal helicopter lifted her high above the rolling plain of verdant green immediately surrounding Sharif’s principal palace smack bang in the middle of the desert. ‘A garden in the desert’ was how the world’s press described this area, and that was all thanks to her brother’s vision.
Sharif was her idol. Her brother was Kareshi’s idol, and one day she hoped to equal his achievements.
And she wouldn’t do that in Qadar.
But she still had that niggling sense of guilt, because she had always chosen duty over self-indulgence every time, and coming back here to Kareshi seemed like the biggest self-indulgence of all when there was nowhere else on earth she would rather be. But if, by staying in Kareshi as the unmarried sister of the sheikh, she became a burden to Sharif, she would never forgive herself. So, wouldn’t it be easier to go along with the emir’s plan?
Easy was not an option for Jazz Kareshi, or for her brother, Jazz reminded herself. When Sharif took the throne there had been endless conflict until he proved himself a worthy leader. Their dream was for all the people of Kareshi to live together in harmony, and now Jazz wondered if perhaps she had taken her personal crusade a step too far. Sharif had never asked her to appease the traditionalists by marrying the ultra-conservative Emir of Qadar. When had that idea seemed the only sensible solution? Now she was back in Kareshi, the answer seemed clear. She had to stay here, to work here; this was where she belonged.
As she rested back in her seat to consider this change of plan, the royal helicopter soared high over Wadi village, where Eva had said Tyr was staying.
Tyr.
Tyr had a special affinity with the desert that had brought
