passed and it was time for Hannah to rest, time for him to face things, to come to his decision. He stood. The old man stayed sitting.
‘You will know what to do.’
He knew what to do now, and nothing could stop him.
Emir mounted his stallion and kicked him on, charged towards a land where he was not welcome uninvited. No one stopped him.
On his entering Alzirz, Rakhal’s guards galloped behind and alongside him, but no one attempted to halt a king propelled by centuries of fury.
King Rakhal was alerted, and as Emir approached he saw Alzirz’s King standing waiting for him outside his desert abode. His tearful wife was by his side, refusing to return to the tent; yet she would be wise to, for both men would draw swords if they had to—both men would fight to the death for what was theirs.
Emir climbed from his horse and it was he who made the first move, reaching not for his knife but deep into his robe. He took out the two precious stones that had been sent to taunt him and hurled them at Rakhal’s feet. ‘Never insult me again!’
Rakhal gave a black laugh. ‘How did my gift insult you? They are the most precious sapphires I could find. I had my people look far and wide for them. How could they offend?’
‘They arrived on the morning of Sheikh Queen Hannah’s death. The insult was for her too.’ He spat in the sand in the direction of the stones and then he spat again, looking to Rakhal as he told him how it would be. ‘I am marrying soon.’
‘I look forward to the celebrations,’ Rakhal said ‘Who, may I ask, is the fortunate bride?’
‘You have met her,’ Emir answered. ‘Amy.’
‘Congratulations!’ Rakhal answered, and then, because of course his wife would have told him, he smiled at Emir. ‘Shouldn’t you also offer congratulations to me? After all, Alzan will be mine.’
‘No.’ Emir shook his head.
‘What? Are you considering your brother as King when you step aside?’ Rakhal laughed. ‘That reprobate! Hassan would not stay out of the casino or be sober long enough to take the vow.’ Again Rakhal laughed. ‘Congratulations to me will soon be in order.’
‘Not in my lifetime,’ Emir said. ‘And I plan to live for a very long time. I am the King and I will die the King. Alzan will cease existing when I do.’ He watched the mocking smile fade from Rakhal’s face. ‘I pray for a long life for your son, who will inherit all that you pass on to him. I pray that the rules are kind to him and he marries a bride who gives him healthy children. I pray for a long life for her too—for your father was lonely when his wife died, was he not? But because of your rule he could not marry again. I will pray history does not repeat for your son.’ He heard Natasha really weeping now, but Rakhal stood firm.
‘Your people will not be happy. Your people will never accept—’
‘I will deal with my people,’ Emir interrupted. ‘And I will continue to pray for your son. I hope that his time in the desert proves fruitful, and hardens and prepares him for all he faces. Yes, my people will be unhappy when their King has gone. They will rise and fight as their country is taken.’ He watched as for the first time Rakhal faltered when he realised the burden being placed on his newborn son, the weight both Kings carried being passed onto one. ‘We are Kings, Rakhal, but without real power. For now I will rule as best I can, and do the best that I can for my children too.’
He meant it. Knew this was the right thing to do. He could no longer fight the predictions.
He rode back through the desert with rare peace in his soul. He could feel the peace in Hannah’s too, for now she could rest.
Suddenly Emir halted his horse so abruptly it rose on its hind legs for a moment—or was it the shock that emanated from his master that startled the beast? Emir’s realisation dawned: he had not yet discussed this with Amy. Yet surely his concern was unnecessary, he told himself. Surely no woman would refuse such a request.
But she was not from this land, and she was like no woman he knew. His last words to her had not been kind. He was back to being troubled as he realised she might not want to rule with him a people who with each passing year would grow more and more despondent. She might well prefer not to live in a land where her fertility or lack of it was a constant topic.
It dawned on him fully then—Amy might not say yes.
IT WAS hell being back in England.
It was lovely to see everyone, and it was good to be home, Amy told herself. Good to be at her mother’s.
For about one day, seven hours and thirty-six minutes.
But when she was told by her mother again that she’d warned her not to get too attached, as if the twins were like the hamsters she’d once brought home to care for during the school holidays, Amy knew that she had to move out.
It took her a week to find a small furnished rental while she looked around for something more permanent, something that might one day feel like home. Right now her heart still lived at the palace. At night she yearned to be next to Emir, and she still slept with one ear open for the twins. Her breasts ached as if she were weaning them, but she knew she had to somehow start healing—start over, start again. She’d done it once, she told herself. The next time would surely be easier. Right?
She tried to hold it together—she went out with friends, caught up with the news, bought a new London wardrobe and even went and had her hair done, in a nice layered cut with a few foils. Her friends told her she looked amazing. Those days swimming in the pool with the twins meant that she had arrived in the middle of a London winter with a deep golden tan.
She had never looked better—except her appearance didn’t match the way she felt.
‘You look great,’ her ex fiancé told her.
If she heard it again she thought she might scream. But he’d heard she was back and wanted to catch up, and Amy was actually glad for the chance to apologise.
‘For what?’ he asked.
For the year of bitterness she had needlessly carried. He’d been right to end things, Amy told him.
‘Are you sure about that?’ he asked, before dropping her home. Fresh from a break-up with a single mum, he had revised his paternity plans and suggested that they might try again.
She was sure, she told him. Because it wasn’t a logical love she wanted, Amy knew as she headed inside, it was an illogical one.
She knew what love was now.
Even if she did not understand it.
Even if it could never be returned.
She’d had her heart broken three times.
The accident, losing her fiancé, the aftermath—they didn’t even enter the equation. They had been tiny tasters for the real grief to come.
She
