had imagined herself capable of handling most things life threw at her. She was stunned to discover Karim’s brusque tone had the power to hurt.
She blinked, reminding herself that to hurt she would have to care about him, and she’d stopped caring long ago. She’d meant nothing to him. All the time he’d pretended to be interested in her he’d had other plans. Plans she hadn’t understood and which hadn’t included her. At best she’d been a smokescreen, at worst an amusement.
Safiyah lifted her chin and looked him full in the face, determined to get this over as soon as possible.
‘I want you to take the Assaran crown.’
‘YOU WANT ME to become your Sheikh?’
Karim’s brow knitted. Before today he’d have said not much had the power to surprise him.
How wrong he’d been.
He’d assumed only self-interest would have budged Safiyah from the Assaran royal palace at such a time. He’d imagined she’d come here to dissuade him from accepting the sheikhdom.
Surely having him as her King would be the last thing she’d want? Shouldn’t she be looking for ways to preserve the crown for her son?
‘Yes. That’s exactly what I want.’
Karim stared at the poised, beautiful woman before him. The whole day had been surreal, but seeing Safiyah again was the most extraordinary part of it.
The moment she’d walked into the room Karim’s blood had thickened, his pulse growing ponderous. As if his body, even his brain, worked in slow motion.
He wasn’t surprised that the shy young woman he’d known had disappeared. He’d long since realised her doe-eyed glances and quiet ardour had been ploys to snare his interest. The real Safiyah had been more calculating and pragmatic than he’d given her credit for.
Yet the change in her was remarkable. The way she’d sashayed into the room as if she owned it. The way she’d all but demanded he play by the rules and offer her a seat, as if they were polite strangers, or perhaps old friends about to enjoy a cosy chat.
But then life as an honoured and adored queen would give any woman confidence.
To Karim’s chagrin, it wasn’t merely her manner that got under his skin. Had her hourglass figure been that stunning when he’d known her? In the old days she’d worn muted colours and loosely fitting clothes, presumably to assure him that she was the ‘nice’ girl his father had assured him she was. The complete antithesis to the sultry sirens his brother had so scandalously bedded.
Safiyah’s dress today might cover her from neck to shin, but the gleam of the fabric encasing those generous curves and tiny waist made it utterly provocative. Even the soft, sibilant shush of sound it made when she crossed her legs was suggestive.
Then there was her face. Arresting rather than beautiful. Pure skin, far paler than his. Eyes that looked too big as she stared back at him, as if hanging on his every word. Dark, sleek hair with the tiniest, intriguing hint of auburn. Lips that he’d once—
‘Why do you want me to take the throne? Why not fight for your son’s right to it?’
‘Tarek is too young. Even if the Council could be persuaded to appoint a regent for him, I can’t imagine many men would willingly take the role of ruler and then meekly hand it over after fifteen years.’
A man of honour would.
Karim didn’t bother voicing the thought.
‘Why not leave the decision to the Royal Council? Why interfere? Are you so eager to choose your next husband?’
Safiyah’s breath hissed between pearly teeth and her creamy skin turned parchment-pale.
Satisfaction stirred as he saw his jibe hit the mark. For he hated how she made him feel. She dredged up emotions he’d told himself were dead and buried. He felt them scrape up his gullet, across his skin. The searing hurt and disbelief, the sense of worthlessness and shock as his life had been turned inside out in one short night. At that crisis in his life her faithlessness had burned like acid—the final insult to a man who’d lost everything.
Nevertheless, as Karim watched the convulsive movement of her throat and the sudden appearance of a dimple in her cheek, his satisfaction bled away. Years ago she’d had a habit of biting her cheek when nervous. But Karim doubted nerves had anything to do with Safiyah’s response now. Maybe she was trying to garner sympathy.
Yet he felt ashamed. He’d never been so petty as to take satisfaction in another’s distress, even if it was feigned. He was better than that.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.
‘I’m not…’ she paused after the word, her chin tilting up as she caught his eye ‘…looking for a new husband.’
Her voice was low, the words barely above a whisper, yet he heard steel behind them.
Because she’d loved Abbas so deeply?
Karim found himself torn between hoping it was true and wanting to protest that she’d never loved her husband. Because just months before her marriage to the Assaran King she’d supposedly loved Karim.
He gritted his teeth, discomfited by the way feelings undermined his thought processes. He’d been taught to think clearly, to disengage his emotions, not to feel too much. His response to Safiyah’s presence was out of character for a man renowned for his even temper, his consideration of others and careful thinking.
‘That’s not how things are done in Assara,’ she added. ‘The new Sheikh will be named by the Royal Council. There is no requirement for him to marry his predecessor’s widow.’
Was it his imagination, or had she shivered at the idea? She couldn’t have made her disdain more obvious.
Which was tantamount to a lance, piercing Karim’s pride. Once she’d welcomed his attentions. But then he’d been first in line to a royal throne of his own. The eldest son of a family proud of its noble lineage.
‘What will happen to you when the new Sheikh is crowned?’
‘To me?’ Her eyes widened, as if she was surprised he’d even ask. ‘Tarek and I will leave the palace and live elsewhere.’
Tarek. Her son.
He’d imagined once that she’d give him a son…
Karim slammed a barrier down on such sentimental thoughts. He didn’t know what was wrong with him today. It was as if the feelings he’d put away years before hadn’t gone away at all, but had festered, waiting to surge up and slap him down when he least expected it.
Deliberately he did what he did best—focused on the problem at hand, ready to find a solution.
‘So if you have no personal interest
