if I married you…’
Was it her imagination or did his voice slow on the words?
‘Your son wouldn’t be disinherited. That would satisfy any elements concerned at him being replaced by a foreigner. It would ensure the long-term continuity of the current dynasty.’
Safiyah sat in stunned silence, thinking through the implications of his words. ‘You mean Tarek would be your heir? You’d adopt him?’ The idea stunned her.
Emotion flickered across Karim’s unreadable expression. ‘I’m not a man who’d happily rip away someone’s birthright, no matter what the constitution allows.’
There was something in his tone of voice, a peculiar resonance, that piqued her curiosity. Safiyah sensed there was more to his words than there seemed. But what?
She was on the verge of probing, till she read his body language. His hard-set jaw and flared nostrils revealed a man holding in strong emotion. Now wasn’t the time to pursue this—not if she wanted him to take the throne.
Which was why she didn’t instantly refuse. She needed time to persuade him.
‘Are you saying if I agree to marry you…’ she paused, fighting to keep her voice even ‘…you’d take the crown?’
His gaze sharpened. She felt it like an abrasive scrape across her flesh. The grooves bracketing those firm lips deepened, as if hinting at a smile, yet there was no softening in that austere, powerful face.
‘I’m saying that if you agree to marry me I’ll consider changing my mind about accepting the sheikhdom.’
Well, that put her in her place. Safiyah felt the air whoosh from her lungs, her chest crumpling with the force of that outward breath. Even if she agreed to marriage, it might not be enough to persuade him.
She’d never thought herself a particularly proud woman, but she hated that Karim had the power, still, to deflate her. To make her feel she was of no consequence. That incensed her.
For years she’d fought to maintain her self-respect and sense of worth, married to a man who adhered to the traditional view that a wife was merely an extension of her husband’s will. Particularly a wife who’d been exalted by marrying a royal sheikh.
Fury surged at Karim’s off-hand attitude. How dared he on the one hand ask her to marry him and on the other make it clear that even such a sacrifice on her part might not be enough to sway him?
Not that he’d asked her to marry him. He’d put it out there like some clause in a business contract.
Safiyah felt hot blood creep up her throat and into her cheeks. She wanted to let rip. To tell him he was an arrogant jerk, despite his royal blood. Her marriage had taught her that royals were no more perfect than anyone else. If anything, their ability to command not only great wealth, but the obedience of everyone around them, could amplify their character flaws.
But she didn’t have the luxury of plain speaking. This wasn’t about her. It was about Tarek’s future, his safety. As well as the future of their country.
‘What do you say, Safiyah? Is your country’s wellbeing enough to tempt you into marriage again?’ He sat back, relaxed in his chair, as if he didn’t care one way or the other.
‘There’s something else.’
She’d hoped to persuade Karim without telling him of her fears, knowing he might well dismiss them since she had no proof. But what proof could she have till it was too late? The idea curdled her stomach.
‘Another important reason for you to accept the throne. Hassan Shakroun—’
Karim cut her off. ‘No more! I’ve already heard everything I need from the official envoy.’
As if she, the Queen of Assara, had no insight to offer! Perhaps he believed as Abbas had—that women weren’t suited for politics. Or perhaps he was simply impatient that she hadn’t leapt at the chance to marry him.
Safiyah was convinced Tarek would be in danger if Shakroun took the throne. She’d never liked the man, but the things she’d learned recently made her blood freeze at the idea of him in the palace. He wouldn’t leave a potential rival sheikh with royal blood alive, even if that rival was a mere toddler.
Her throat closed, making her voice husky. ‘But you must listen—’
‘No.’
Karim didn’t raise his voice, but that decisive tone stopped her.
‘No more arguments. I don’t have to listen to anything. You came to me, not the other way around.’
His words stilled her instinctive protest.
‘I’m not inclined to accept the throne, but I’ll consider it more thoroughly if you’re willing to marry.’
Safiyah drew a deep breath, frantically searching for a semblance of calm. She couldn’t believe the direction this conversation had taken. What had begun simply had become a nightmare.
She was about to ignore his warning and spill out her fears, but the stern lines of his expression stopped her. Karim didn’t look like Abbas, but she recognised the pugnacious attitude of a man who’d made up his mind. Not just any man, but one raised to expect unquestioning obedience.
She’d learned with her husband that defiance of his pronouncements, even in the most trivial, unintended way, only made him less likely to listen. Safiyah couldn’t afford to have Karim reject the crown.
Carefully she chose her words. ‘I need time to consider too.’
Karim raised one supercilious eyebrow, obviously questioning the fact that she hadn’t instantly leapt at the chance to marry him.
Except the thought of being tied in marriage to any man, especially Karim, sent a flurry of nervous dread through her.
‘You need time?’
His tone made it clear he thought it inexplicable. He was right. Any other woman, she was sure, would jump at the chance to marry him.
‘It seems we both do.’ She held his gaze, refusing to look away. She might be reeling with shock inside, but she refused to betray the fact.
‘Very well. We’ll meet tomorrow at nine. A lot rides on your answer, Safiyah.’
‘I LIKE IT,’ Ashraf said over the phone. ‘Accepting the Assaran crown is a perfect solution.’
Karim frowned at his brother’s words as he wiped the sweat from his torso. The morning’s visits had left him unsettled, and he’d sought to find calm through a workout in the gym, only to be interrupted by Ashraf’s call.
‘Solution? I don’t see that there’s a problem to be solved from your perspective—and especially not from mine.’
