is a great honour for me and my family that I have been entrusted with such a role. My mother is very pleased and proud,’ the Djalian brunette shared with a rueful laugh. ‘Of course, my parents are probably hoping that you’ll thrust me in the path of some eligible male but I have to tell you now...most of them are far too old for me. Too many of our young men died fighting Hashem and his troops.’
‘That’s sad,’ Molly recognised.
‘But the most important young man survived. Our King is revered for his bravery and his wisdom.’
‘He is pretty special,’ Molly muttered helplessly, reddening at Zahra’s knowing smile as she made that statement.
‘Yes. The King is the one person in Djalia who can unite all the different factions. He even keeps Prince Firuz on his side,’ Zahra pointed out with a grimace. ‘He’s an old horror but we don’t want to be at odds with our nearest neighbour and he did keep our current King safe from Hashem while he was still a boy.’
‘Yes,’ Molly conceded while thinking that Azrael had also paid a very high price for that protection with the punishments he had endured. A step ahead of her companion, she climbed into one of the air-conditioned rough-terrain vehicles parked in readiness outside the palace while the staff and luggage accompanying her piled into the two cars behind.
‘But Prince Firuz won’t even attend your wedding because Christian rites are being included. He is very rigid in his views,’ Zahra admitted and then she winced. ‘I’m being indiscreet. I should not be gossiping. My father would be ashamed of me—’
‘Then Azrael would be equally ashamed of me,’ Molly countered wryly. ‘I need to know what’s going on and I don’t want the sanitised version.’
The vehicle swept them only across the road to a flat plain where a helicopter awaited them. From the air, Molly peered out at the view of the palace from above and noted for the first time that there was a large, busy building site to the rear of it.
‘New offices and kitchens,’ Zahra informed her, but that was the entirety of their conversation during the flight because it was too noisy to chat.
They were set down in front of a large encampment of black tents and literally mobbed by a bunch of howling women the instant they appeared. Zahra explained to her that the howling was of a celebratory nature to welcome the bride. Her companion soon proved her worth by banishing the crowd, who wanted to see Molly bathe in the linen-lined copper bath she was confronted with.
‘I’ll stay at the entrance to make sure nobody comes in,’ Zahra proffered, politely turning her back as Molly shed her clothing and climbed with great difficulty into the deep bath, which clouded the air with the aroma of scented oils. ‘I have explained that in your culture bathing is always private.’
‘I expect there’s not much privacy in these tents between women,’ Molly conceded, determined not to make a fuss about the differences and to fit in to the best of her ability, but very grateful not to be forced to put her naked body on show.
Having already bathed at the palace and washed her hair, Molly only made superficial use of the ceremonial bath and clambered out into a fleecy towel. Her wedding gown and lingerie awaited her in a connecting tent and she wasted no time in getting dressed, with Zahra well able and willing to hook up the back of her dress.
‘It’s a beautiful dress,’ Zahra sighed, admiring the long lace sleeves and the slender silhouette of the elegant design Molly had chosen. ‘Some brides here already wear Western gowns as one of their bridal changes. Photographs of you in this will encourage the fashion.’
A big silver box arrived to much fanfare.
‘The bridegroom’s gift to his bride,’ Zahra explained.
‘So, it’s a tradition.’ Less pleased by the awareness that Azrael was only doing what was expected of him rather than what he actually wanted to do, Molly opened the box and gazed down in awe at a fabulous set of emerald jewellery.
‘These are royal jewels, passed from mother to son for the next generation. The King’s mother, Princess Nahla, only wore them once when she married Prince Sharif.’ Nimble fingers brushed Molly’s nape as Zahra clasped the stunning necklace and passed her the glistening drop earrings.
Molly felt as though she were living history when she was escorted into yet another tent where Azrael awaited her, tall and grave in his traditional robes. His beautiful eyes were dark and serious below his lush screening lashes and she suspected that she was still unforgiven for her reaction to the possibility of a pregnancy. It really didn’t matter, she admitted wryly to herself, because with one glimpse at Azrael the dulled ache between her thighs throbbed in wanton recollection, her entire body now shamefully attuned to his in the most mortifying way. The rising colour in her cheeks had nothing to do with the temperature.
The celebrant was an American minister and the service was short and sweet. Azrael’s cool fingers slid a gold ring onto her wedding finger and, for the first time, Molly truly felt like a married woman.
In silence, Azrael admired the dress, which faithfully followed Molly’s lush curves but which revealed barely any skin. He concentrated his attention on the rusty little marks scattered below her collar bone, trying to look on them as imperfections while recalling that the same freckles extended the stippling over her full creamy breasts. Unhappily for him he loved her freckles, and the urgent pulse at his groin infuriated him at so formal an occasion and when they had parted on such poor terms. How could he still hunger for a woman who did not want his child, who did not want to create a family with him? Who rejected a future of any kind with him? Who expected him to discuss what it was pointless to discuss? Her callous attitude, after all, had said all he needed to hear.
Molly had barely spent ten minutes in Azrael’s presence before she was swept off again to be dressed appropriately for the signing of the marriage contract, which was the main event as far as her companions were concerned. Freed from the limitations of her Western wedding gown, Molly followed Zahra’s advice and simply let the attendants dress her up as a traditional Djalian bride. Her hands and feet were ornamented with elaborate swirling henna patterns, her nails painted, her face made up with a much more dramatic application of cosmetics than she would personally have used. Finally, swamped in emerald-green brocade with a richly embroidered, buttoned blue under tunic sewn with pearls, she saw herself in a mirror and she didn’t recognise her reflection because even her hair was hidden below an elaborate headdress. Throughout photos were taken by a female photographer. She wondered if Azrael would prefer her in such garb and whether it would bring a smile to his lean features.
She saw Azrael again in the presence of the solemn imam with the marriage contract laid out on a table and with Zahra and Butrus acting as witnesses. Coached by Zahra, she knew to allow the imam to ask her three times before she accepted and signed her name. She was settled down then into an elaborate wooden chair and then, to her dismay, hoisted high by a bunch of men and borne off into a big tent where a crowd awaited them. A drum was beating out a tattoo and women were wailing in apparent happiness. Molly pinned a fixed smile to her tense face as she was seated on a stage and watched Azrael brought in with loud drumming and even more pomp and ceremony. Kneeling at her feet, Zahra explained every stage, pointing out the tray of seven spices and the seven foods for purity arranged on a low table. She was brought a rose water and pomegranate cordial to drink and she was abstracted, marvelling at how stunning Azrael looked in his rich golden attire.
‘I first saw his picture at the embassy in London,’ she shared reflectively with Zahra. ‘I didn’t know who he was back then but I noticed him.’
‘Women
