her because she felt really free for the first time within the royal walls with no one watching over her.
The shade on the roof terrace took what she believed to be a rather odd form. A giant tent had been set up at one corner. Within it opulent floor cushions surrounded a fire pit and there was an array of the implements she assumed were required to brew the traditional tea. Walking out of the bright sunshine, Polly sank down with relief on a cushion to enjoy the view. It was fifteen minutes before Rashad appeared through another entrance onto the terrace.
‘We are breaking rules,’ he told her with a sudden flashing smile of such charisma that her heart jumped inside her. ‘This is not allowed.’
‘Sometimes it’s fun to break rules,’ sensible Polly heard herself say dry-mouthed because for the first time Rashad was wearing traditional clothing, a muslin cloth bound by a gold rope hiding his black hair, a pristine white long buttoned robe replacing Western clothing. And that cloth merely accentuated his stunning dark eyes and arresting bone structure, so that breathing was barely an option for her as he sank with fluid animal grace down opposite her.
‘And sometimes there is a price to pay for breaking those rules,’ Rashad murmured with wry amusement. ‘Why did you want to speak to me?’
‘I want to leave the palace and start my holiday,’ Polly told him simply, even though she knew that somewhere down deep inside her she really didn’t want that at all. It was the rational thing to do, she reminded herself doggedly. She did not belong in a royal palace.
Rashad linked long brown fingers and flexed them. ‘I’m afraid I can’t agree to that.’
He even had beautiful hands, Polly was thinking abstractedly before she engaged with what he had actually said and it galvanised her into leaping upright in disbelief. ‘So, I am a prisoner here?’ She gasped in horror that her sister could have been correct in her far-fetched suspicions.
‘Do not lose your temper,’ Rashad urged levelly. ‘Allow me first to explain the situation we are all in—’
‘The only person in a situation here is me!’ Polly exclaimed angrily.
‘There is great unrest in Kashan. You would not be safe...you would be mobbed. While no one would wish to harm you in any way, excited crowds are very hard to control.’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘Sit down, listen and I will explain,’ Rashad instructed with quiet strength.
‘No, you can explain while I stay standing,’ Polly responded, determined not to give way on every point.
‘Very well.’ Rising as gracefully as he had sat down, Rashad stepped back out of the tent and strode over to the rail bounding the terrace. ‘A century ago—’
‘A century ago?’ Polly practically screeched at him, gripped by incredulity that that could possibly be the starting point of any acceptable explanation for her apparent loss of all freedom.
‘Close your mouth and sit down!’ Rashad raked back at her in sudden frustration, his dark deep voice startlingly like a whiplash in the silence. ‘If you refuse to listen, how can I speak and explain?’
Polly compressed her lips and sat down with a look of scornful reluctance on her heart-shaped face. ‘Well, if you’re going to shout about it—’
‘I must make you aware of the most powerful legend in Dharian history. A hundred years ago, my great-grandmother, Zariyah, came to Dharia with the fire-opal ring and gave it to my great-grandfather, who then married her. My people think it was love at first sight,’ Rashad advanced. ‘But in actuality it was an arranged marriage, which was very popular and which ushered in a long period of peace and prosperity for Dharia—’
‘That name,’ Polly whispered with an indeterminate frown. ‘Zariyah. That’s the name I was given at birth.’
‘The ring is also invested with enormous significance in the eyes of my people. The name on your passport was noticed. It may even be the reason why you were singled out for the drug screening process we have begun. You also brought the ring back to Dharia—’
‘Not to give to you!’ Polly objected vehemently.
‘You are much given to interruption,’ Rashad fired back at her rawly.
‘And you are much given to being quietly listened to.’
‘My country endured dark times for over twenty years. My people suffered greatly under the dictator, Arak,’ Rashad told her in a curt undertone. ‘They are very superstitious. Your appearance, your name and your possession of the ring has led to a hysterical outpouring of sentiment in the streets. At this moment in Kashan, people are waving signs bearing the name Zariyah because my great-grandmother was very much loved. If you left the palace, you would be mobbed and it would be extremely dangerous.’
Polly stared back at him with a dropped jaw. She could barely get her head around what he was trying to tell her. ‘You mean, the coincidence of me having that name and the ring is sufficient—?’
‘To cause all that excitement? Yes,’ Rashad confirmed heavily.
Polly stared numbly into the fire pit, genuinely bemused by what he had explained. People were demonstrating in the city and waving those placards on her behalf? It was beyond her comprehension and her lashes flickered over blue eyes widening in growing amazement.
‘But I don’t understand. What do they want from me?’ she queried numbly.
‘In a nutshell, they want you to marry their King,’ Rashad replied very drily. ‘A single monarch, a single woman with the name of a famous queen...in their eyes it’s a simple equation.’
‘They want me to marry you?’ Polly cried incredulously.
‘And everything about you plays into their fantasy conclusion,’ Rashad imparted with an edge of bitterness because the more he watched those crowds waving flags in the streets, the more his sense of duty warred with his brain. ‘You are very beautiful. What man would not wish to marry such a beauty? And while you could have followed some inappropriate career as a stripper or a lap dancer, which would admittedly have doused their enthusiasm somewhat—’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Polly exclaimed furiously, jumping upright again.
‘Instead you work in a homeless shelter helping the underprivileged,’ Rashad completed. ‘Yes, our media are every bit as given to spying as your own. You have been framed even in the newspapers as the perfect wife in the eyes of my people.’
Polly bolted out of the shade of the tent to stand by the rail in the golden sunshine, staring out at the lines of the shallow sand dunes gradually shifting into larger ones in the distance. ‘I’m mortified—’
‘I am trapped,’ Rashad traded without sympathy, raging at the fates that had created such a disturbing and difficult situation. When he was crowned he had sworn to do whatever it took to make the people of Dharia secure and happy and he had never once considered that sacrifice of freedom as a personal constraint. Only now when it came to the question of his marriage was he finally appreciating the true cost of that pledge. But it also gave him a great deal to think over, he acknowledged, studying Polly and wondering what it would be like to go with the flow of popular sentiment rather than sit
