a corner, and Daphne saw the famous gold double doors. They stood nearly ten feet tall and were heavily embossed with a scene of several young women frolicking at an oasis.
One of the guards stepped forward and opened the door on the left. The rest marched her inside.
When the men released her, she thought briefly about making a dash for freedom but knew she would be caught and returned here. So she accepted her fate with dignity and a vow that she would find her way out as soon as she could.
The guards left. She heard the heavy clang as the doors closed behind them and the thunk of the gold cross bar being locked into place. Low conversation from the hallway told her that someone would be left on duty to watch over her.
“This is just like you, Murat,” she said as she placed her hands on her hips. “You might be an imperial, piggish prince, but I can stand it. I can stand anything to keep you from marrying Brittany.”
Daphne looked for something to throw, but the thick, cream-colored walls were completely bare. The only decoration was the brightly colored tile floor.
She moved through the arched entryway, into the large open living area. Dozens of chairs and sofas filled the vast space. The doorway to the left led to the baths, the one on the right led to the sleeping rooms. She recognized this part of the palace from her explorations ten years before. Recognized and fumed because of it.
Dammit all, if Murat hadn’t locked her in the harem.
Murat stalked toward the business wing of the palace. Fury quickened his steps. After all this time Daphne Snowden had dared to return to Bahania, only to once again disrupt his world.
Had she come modestly, begging his apology for her unforgivable acts? Of course not. He swore silently. The woman had stared him in the eye, speaking as if they were equals. She had defied him.
Murat swept past the guards outside his father’s business suite and stepped into the inner office.
“She is here,” he announced as he came to a stop in front of the large, carved desk.
The king raised his eyebrows. “You do not sound happy. Has your fiancée displeased you already?”
“She is not my fiancée.”
His father sighed, then stood and walked around the desk. “Murat, I know you have reservations about this engagement. You complain that the girl is too young and inexperienced, that she can never be happy here, but once again I ask you to give her a chance.”
Murat stared at his father. Anger bubbled inside of him, although he was careful to keep it from showing. He’d spent a lifetime not reacting to anything, and that practice served him well now.
“You misunderstand me, Father,” he said in a low voice. “Brittany Snowden is not here in the palace. She is flying back to America even as we speak.”
The king frowned. “Then who is here?”
“Daphne.”
“Your former—”
Murat cut him off with a quick, “Yes.”
One of the many advantages of being the crown prince was the ability to assert his will on others. Ten years ago, when his former fiancée had left without so much as a note, he’d forbidden any to speak her name. All had obeyed except his father, who did not need to pay attention to the will of the crown prince.
“She attempts to defy me,” Murat said as he walked to the window and leaned against the sill. “She stood there and told me she would not permit me to marry her niece.” He laughed harshly. “As if her desires matter at all to me. I am Crown Prince Murat of Bahania. I determine my fate. No one, especially not a mere woman, dares to instruct me.”
His father nodded. “I see. So you complain that Daphne wants to prevent you from marrying someone whom you did not want to marry in the first place.”
“That is not the point,” Murat told him as he folded his arms across his chest. “There is a principle at stake. The woman did not respect my position ten years ago and nothing has changed.”
“I can see how that would be difficult,” the king said. “Where is she now?”
Murat glanced down as one of his father’s cats stood on the sofa, stretched, then curled back up and closed its eyes.
“I have offered her a place to stay while this is sorted out,” he said.
“I’m surprised Daphne would want to remain in the palace. She has delivered her message.”
Murat stared at his father. “I did not give her a choice. I had the guards deliver her to the harem.”
Very little startled the king, so Murat enjoyed seeing his father’s mouth drop open with surprise.
“The harem?” the older man repeated.
Murat shrugged. “I had to detain her. Although she has defied me and spoken with disrespect, I was not willing to lock her in the dungeons. The harem is pleasant enough and will hold her until I decide I wish to let her go.”
Although that section of the palace hadn’t been used for its intended purpose for more than sixty years, the rooms themselves were maintained in their original splendor. Daphne would be surrounded by every luxury, except that of her freedom.
“It is her own fault,” he added. “She had no right to interfere and keep her niece from me. Even though I was never interested in Brittany and only agreed to meet with her to please you, Daphne was wrong to try to foil me.”
“I understand completely,” his father said. “What do you intend to do with her now?”
Murat hadn’t done anything but react. He had no plan where she was concerned.
“I do not know,” he admitted.
“Will you order the plane to return Brittany to Bahania?”
“No. I know you wanted me to consider her, but in truth, Father, I could not be less interested.” While Murat accepted that he had to marry and produce heirs, he could not imagine spending the rest of his life with a foolish young wife.
“Perhaps I will keep Daphne for a few days,” Murat said. “To teach her a lesson.”
“In the harem?” his father asked.
“Yes.” He smiled. “She will be most displeased.”
She would argue and fume and call him names. She would continue to defy him. Despite all that had gone on before—what she had done and what he had yet to forgive—he found himself looking forward to the encounter.
Daphne discovered her luggage in one of the largest bedrooms in the harem. The sleeping quarters consisted of several private rooms, reserved for those in favor with the king, and large dormitory-like rooms with ten or twelve beautiful beds lined up against the thick walls.
She doubted there was any
