it was raw, and took minimal comfort in the fact that Harun would never know how he’d made her cry.
But as she scrubbed herself to bleeding point she vowed she’d never make a fool of herself for an el-Kanar man again. No, she’d show Harun nothing, no emotion at all. She’d be a queen before him at all times, damn it! And one day he’d come to her, on his knees, begging for her …
If only she could make herself believe it.
CHAPTER THREE
Three Years Later
‘MY LADY, the Lord Harun has requested entrance!’
Startled, Amber dropped the papers she was reading and stared at her personal maid, Halala. Barely able to believe the words she’d heard, she couldn’t catch her breath. All the ladies were in a flutter of excitement … and hope, no doubt.
She could almost hear the whispers from mouth to ear, flying around the palace. Will he come to her bed at last?
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment at the common knowledge within the palace of the state of her marriage, the tag of bad-luck bride she couldn’t overcome, but she answered calmly enough. ‘Please show my husband in, and leave us. I need not remind you of what will happen if you listen in,’ she added sternly, holding each of her ladies-in-waiting with her gaze until they nodded.
As the room emptied she smoothed down her dress, her hair, while her pulse beat hard in her throat. What could he want? And she had no time to change out of one of her oldest, most comfortable dresses—
Then Harun entered her rooms, tall and broad-shouldered, with skin like dark honey and a tiny cleft in his chin; she’d long ago become accustomed to the fact that her husband was a quiet, serious version of her dashing first crush. But today his normally withdrawn if handsome face was lit from within; his forest-at-dusk eyes were alive with shimmering emotion, highlighting his resemblance to Alim more than ever. ‘Good morning, Amber,’ he greeted her not quite formally, his intense eyes not quite looking at her.
He doesn’t care what I’m wearing, Amber thought in sullen resentment. How foolish she’d been for wishing to look pretty for him, even for a minute. I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Or why it still hurts after all this time.
Why had her father wanted her to wed this—this robot? He wasn’t a man. He was barely human … at least not where she was concerned. But, oh, she’d heard the rumours that he was man enough for another.
She tamped down the weakness of anger, finding strength in her pride. ‘You need something, My Lord?’ she asked, keeping her tone meek, submissive, but just as formal and distant as his. ‘It must be important for you to actually come inside my rooms. I believe this is the first time you’ve come here willingly in three years.’
He looked at her then—with a cold flash in his eyes that made her feel like a worm in dirt. ‘Since you’re taking the gloves off, my wife, we both know it’s the first time I’ve been in here willingly at all, not merely since our wedding night.’
The burning returned in full measure to her cheeks, a stinging wave of embarrassment that came every time she thought of that awful night. Turning from him with insulting slowness, as if she didn’t care, she drawled, ‘You never did explain yourself.’
Yes, she’d said it well. As if it were a mere matter of curiosity for her, and not the obsession it had been for so long.
She marvelled that, in so long, there’d never been an opportunity to ask before—but Harun was a master at making certain they were never alone. His favourite place in the palace seemed to be his office, or the secret passageway between their bedrooms—going the other way, towards his room. Only once had she swallowed her pride, followed him out and asked him to come to her—
‘I’m sure you’ve noticed that my life is rather busy, my wife. And really, there’s no point in coming where you aren’t welcome.’
The heat in her cheeks turned painful. ‘Of—of course you’re welcome,’ she stammered. ‘You’re my husband.’
He shrugged. ‘So says the imam who performed the service.’
Knowing what he’d left unsaid, Amber opened her mouth, and closed it. No, they weren’t husband and wife, never had been. They hadn’t even had one normal conversation, only cold accusation on her part, and stubborn silence on his.
Didn’t he know how much it hurt that he only came to her rooms at night when the gossip became unbearable, and that he timed the hour and left, just as he had on their wedding night? Oh, she’d been cold and unwelcoming to him, mocking him with words and formal curtsies, but couldn’t he see that it was only because she was unable to stand the constant and very public humiliation of her life? Every time he was forced to be near her she knew that soon, he’d leave without a word, giving her nothing but that cold, distant bow. And everyone in her world knew it, too.
‘I didn’t come here to start an argument.’ He kept his gaze on her, and a faint thrill ran through her body, as delicious as it was unwelcome—yet Harun was finally looking at her, his eyes ablaze with life. ‘Alim’s shown up at last,’ he said abruptly.
Amber gasped. Alim’s disappearance from the clinic in Bern three years ago had been so complete that all Harun’s efforts to find him had proven useless. ‘He’s alive?’
Harun nodded. ‘He’s in Africa, taken by a Sudanese warlord. He’s being held hostage for a hundred million US dollars.’
Her hand fluttered to her cheek. ‘Oh, no! Is he well? Have they hurt him?’
The silence went on too long, and, seeing the ice chips in his eyes, she realised that, without meaning to, she’d said something terribly wrong—but what?
Floundering for words when she couldn’t know which ones were right or wrong, she tried again, wishing she knew something, anything about the man she’d married. ‘Harun, what are you going to do about it?’
‘Pay the ransom in full, of course. He’s the true Sheikh of Abbas al-Din, and without the contracts from the oil he found we’d have very little of our current wealth.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I’m going to Africa. I have to be there when he’s released, to find out if he’s coming home. And—he’s my brother.’
She’d expected him to say that, of course. From doing twelve hours of mind-numbing paperwork to meeting dignitaries and businessmen to taking up sword and gun, Harun always did what was right for the country, for his people, even for her, at least in public—but she hadn’t expected the catch in his voice, or the shimmer of tears in those normally emotionless eyes. ‘You love him,’ she muttered, almost in wonder.
He frowned at her. ‘Of course I do. He’s my brother, the only family I have left, and he—might come home at last.’
The second catch in her stranger husband’s voice made her search his face. She’d never seen him cry once since Fadi’s death. He’d never seemed lonely or needy during the years of Alim’s disappearance, at least not in her presence. But now his eyes were misty, his jaw working with emotion.
Amber felt a wave of shame. Harun had been missing his brother all this time, and she’d never suspected it. She’d even accused him once of enjoying his role too much as the replacement sheikh
