she reached for her tea, and sipped from the cup. The tea was lukewarm. It tasted bitter. But it wet her throat and she sipped the drink slowly, as the men continued talking.
Sheikh Azizzi was speaking now. His voice was deep and low. His delivery was measured, the pace of his words deliberate.
He’s sentencing me, she thought, stomach cramping. He’s giving the judgment now. She looked quickly at Mikael, trying to gauge his reaction.
But Mikael’s expression was blank. He sipped his tea, and then again. After what felt like an endless silence, he answered. His answer wasn’t very long. It didn’t sound very complicated, but it did sound terse. He wasn’t happy.
Jemma didn’t know how she knew. She just knew.
Both men were silent. Sheikh Azizzi ate a dried apricot. They sipped more tea. There wasn’t any conversation at this point.
Mikael placed his cup on the table and spoke at last. His voice was quiet, and even, but there was a firmness in his tone that hadn’t been there earlier. Sheikh Azizzi replied to Mikael. A very short reply.
A small muscle pulled in Mikael Karim’s jaw. His lips thinned. He spoke. It sound like a one syllable reply. A fierce one syllable reply.
She glanced from Azizzi to Mikael and back. The two men stared at each other, neither face revealing any expression. After a moment, Sheikh Azizzi murmured something and rose, exiting the room and leaving Mikael and Jemma alone.
THAT DID NOT go well.
Aware that Jemma was looking at him, aware that she’d been waiting patiently, exceptionally patiently for the past hour to know her fate, Mikael finally glanced at her.
Shadows danced on the walls, stretching tall across the tiled floor. He didn’t like her. Didn’t admire her. Didn’t feel anything positive for her.
But even in the dim lighting, he recognized her great beauty.
She wasn’t merely pretty, she was stunning. Her face was all hauntingly beautiful planes and angles with her high regal brow, the prominent cheekbones, a firm chin below full, generous lips.
She was pale with fatigue and fear, and her pallor made her eyes appear even greener, as if brilliant emeralds against the ivory satin of her skin.
Sitting so close to her, he could feel her fatigue. It was clear to him she was stretched thin, perhaps even to breaking.
He told himself he didn’t care, but her beauty moved him. His mother had been a beautiful woman, too, just as Mikael’s father’s second and third wives were both exquisite. A king could have any woman. Why shouldn’t she be a rare jewel?
Jemma was a rare jewel.
But she was also a rare jewel set in a tarnished, defective setting.
He now had a choice. To save the jewel, or to toss it away? It was up to him. Sheikh Azizzi had given Mikael the decision.
“Well?” Jemma whispered, breaking the tense silence. “What did he say?”
Mikael continued to study her, his thoughts random and scattered. He didn’t need her. He didn’t like her. He’d never love her.
But he did desire her.
It wouldn’t be difficult to bed her.
He wondered how she’d respond in bed. He wondered if she’d be sweet and hot or icy and frigid.
His gut told him she’d be hot and sweet. But first, all the Copeland taint would have to be washed away. “I am to decide your punishment for you,” he said finally. “I’ve been given a choice of two sentences and I must pick one.”
“Why?”
“Because Sheikh Azizzi knows me, and he knows I wish to do what is right, but what is right isn’t always what is popular.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I am to decide if I should follow ancient law, and tribal custom, or choose a modern punishment for you.”
“And have you made up your mind?”
“No.”
“What are the choices given to you?”
“Seven years house arrest here in Haslam—”
“Seven years?”
“Or I take you as my wife.”
“That’s not funny. Not even remotely funny.”
“It’s not a joke. It’s one of the two choices presented to me. Marry you, or leave you here in Haslam to begin your house arrest.” He saw her recoil and her face turn white. “I warned you that Sheikh Azizzi would not be lenient. He is not a Copeland fan either. He knows what your father did to my mother, and he wanted to send a message that Saidia will not tolerate crime or immorality.”
“But seven years!” She reached for the edge of the table to steady herself. “That’s...that’s...so long.”
“Seven years, or marriage,” he corrected.
“No. No. Marriage isn’t an option. I won’t marry you. I would never marry you. I could never marry you—”
“You’d rather be locked up for seven years?”
“Yes. Absolutely!”
Mikael leaned back, studying her pale face and bright eyes. She was biting down, pressing her teeth into her lip. “I don’t believe you.”
“Not my problem.”
“I’m a king. I can provide a lavish lifestyle.”
“Not interested.” Her eyes burned at him, hot, bright. “Seven years of house arrest is infinitely better than a lifetime with you.”
He should have been offended by her response. Instead he felt vaguely amused. Women craved his attention. They fought for his affections. Ever since he’d left university, he’d enjoyed considerable female company, company he’d turned into girlfriends and mistresses.
Mikael enjoyed women. He was quite comfortable with girlfriends and mistresses. But he was not at all open to taking a wife, despite the fact that as king it was his duty to marry and produce heirs.
Something he was sure Sheikh Azizzi knew. But Sheikh Azizzi, like much of Saidia, was eager for the country’s king to marry as quickly as possible.
Sheikh Azizzi also knew that nothing would pain the Copeland family more than having the youngest daughter forced into a marriage against her will.
It was fitting punishment for a family that believed itself to be above the law.
But
