Hot Arabian Nights. Marguerite Kaye
to make a better prince than my illustrious and much-loved elder brother? Do not ask me how that is to be done, for I have no idea. This has all been a tremendous shock to me. It was always simply a matter of time for you, but for me—it simply never occurred to me that I would find myself thrust into the public eye.’
Azhar shook his head vehemently. ‘You are wrong, I never expected to inherit either.’
Kadar looked startled. ‘I know that you were always at loggerheads with your father, but you are the first born, how could you have expected anything else?’
Azhar ushered his friend into his sitting room, ordering refreshments to be brought. It was not in his nature to lie, but while he did not doubt Kadar’s discretion, he found himself reluctant to confide in him. ‘For a man whose life has changed for ever, you seem remarkably sanguine,’ he said.
‘It is not in my nature to rail against the fates,’ Kadar replied. ‘What will be, will be.’
‘But in the past, you cared for nothing save your precious books. You will find you have little time for scholarly pursuits, now you have a kingdom to rule.’
‘No less than you will have for foreign travel, now that you too have a kingdom to rule,’ Kadar retorted with a flash of anger that was quickly suppressed. ‘At least I know I can rely on you as a staunch ally. We will be able to visit each other as often as our fathers did back in the old days.’
‘Peace and politics aside, our friendship is one of the most valuable things to emerge from those state visits,’ Azhar said warmly. ‘I remember the first time I saw you on a horse, a wild stallion from my father’s stable, I thought it would be sure to throw you in less than ten seconds.’
‘I believe it took all of forty,’ Kadar said, laughing.
‘You lasted twenty more than I would have done, and even at the age of eleven, I considered myself something of an expert horseman. Until that day, I had taken Butrus’s word for your devotion to your books and little else. You were an abject lesson to me not to make assumptions, and I confess, the excuse I needed to avoid your brother’s company on future visits. I know that your people worshipped him, thought him a perfect paragon of a prince, but I’m afraid he was also a terrible bore.’
Kadar laughed. ‘Exactly what Butrus himself said of me.’ His smile faded quickly. ‘All the same, he was an excellent prince, while I—but there, enough of that. I am glad that you are back, Azhar. I am glad that we will once again be friends as well as allies.’
Azhar smiled uncomfortably. The situation was extremely awkward. Kadar had more than sufficient cares of his own to deal with, without being privy to his. Time enough for him to learn that his ally would not be Azhar, but Kamal. Though now he thought about it, Kamal had always been disparaging of this bookish second son of Murimon. So perhaps not such a staunch ally after all.
The servant brought them refreshments, and for a while the talk turned to old times, but Kadar too seemed to be aware of how much the intervening years had changed both of them. ‘Much as I’d like to, I cannot linger,’ he said. ‘My brother’s untimely passing bequeathed me not only a kingdom, but also his affianced bride. I have no intentions of taking on both, and am on my way to terminate the matter with her family’s representatives. Since I had to pass through Qaryma, I thought to pay my respects to the new ruler. And to bring you this.’
He handed Azhar a small package. ‘You sent out word through your agents that you were looking to reclaim any property stolen from the Englishwoman. In particular jewellery, and a customised trunk? Our port sees a good deal of illegal trade and contraband, unfortunately—or in this case, fortunately for you. This was confiscated from a known rogue trader. I cannot be sure it belongs to her, but it is certainly English.’
Azhar unwrapped the object and read the inscription inside before setting it down on the table. For some reason, he was reluctant to touch it. ‘Yes, there can be no doubt it is hers,’ he said. ‘It was very kind of you to take the trouble to bring it in person. Madam Trevelyan will be extremely grateful. She will wish to thank you herself.’
‘For recovering her property, which a bunch of barbarous thieves who are my countrymen thought to profit from,’ Kadar said grimly. ‘That kind of trade, we can well do without.’
‘Indeed. I have been putting considerable energy into tightening our own border controls,’ Azhar said. ‘That the theft took place within Qaryma still rankles with me.’
‘Perhaps that is something upon which we can collaborate in the future. Please pass on my apologies to Madam Trevelyan. I am sorry not to be able to make her acquaintance. She must be a remarkable woman, to have captured your attention so.’
‘What precisely have you heard?’ Azhar asked sharply.
‘An Englishwoman travelling alone through the desert gathering plants is fuel enough for idle gossip,’ Kadar replied mildly. ‘One with hair the colour of fire, who is the confidante to a future king—you must know perfectly well that will give rise to a great deal of speculation.’
‘I had not thought of it,’ Azhar said stiffly. ‘Julia—Madam Trevelyan—has been—she is—there is nothing—her presence here relates to a matter of private business.’
His friend clapped his shoulder warmly. ‘Unfortunately, you will learn soon enough for yourself that a ruler is afforded no privacy. I brought the matter to your attention only because I thought you should be aware of it. Another unfortunate fact—although our people love to gossip about us, they dare not gossip with us. Now I really must go. I hope that you will not permit another ten years to elapse before we meet again.’
The door closed behind him and Azhar sank on to the couch, picking up the pocket watch that Kadar had brought, opening the case to read the inscription once more. To our beloved son Daniel Adam Edward Trevelyan on the occasion of his coming of age. He set the time and wound the mechanism. The watch ticked as sedately and fastidiously as Azhar imagined its owner to have been.
He snapped the case shut and put it back on the table, eyeing it distastefully. He had not forgotten that Julia was a widow, but he had somehow forgotten that she had once been a wife. The wife of the man who had owned this watch. A man who had singularly failed to appreciate her. Who had thought of Julia, clever, witty, brave, determined Julia, as a mere amanuensis. His dogsbody. His chattel. A man who had denied her the right to speak for herself, had imbued her with the belief that her thoughts were irrelevant, and to add to those heinous crimes, who had denied her the pleasures of the flesh.
Such flesh. Such pleasure. And not nearly enough time to indulge in it. In the last five days, between Azhar’s commitments and her completing her cataloguing, they had scraped only a few precious hours together. Azhar closed his eyes, reliving last night. When they were together he could lose himself in her delightful company, forget the mountain of work he must get through on Kamal’s behalf before he left.
Though he had also come to enjoy discussing that mountain of work with her. In fact it was becoming something of a habit. He had never discussed his business with anyone before. It was not that he needed Julia’s advice, nor even her affirmation but—but it was simply that he enjoyed her company. No, not only that. There had been several occasions when discussing a thorny matter with her had served to both clarify and resolve it, and a number of times her proposed solution was better than his. And the odd thing was, he didn’t mind.
Azhar stared down at the watch. Its relentless ticking seemed to be mocking him, reminding him that his time with Julia was rapidly coming to a conclusion. Tick-tock. Less than two weeks left before she left for England. The day he had looked forward to for so long, when he would leave Qaryma for ever was also approaching at a frightening rate. Tick-tock. So little time to accomplish so much. Precious little to spend with Julia. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that he would miss her, but he would. There was no other woman like her. Daniel Adam Edward Trevelyan had not appreciated Julia, but Azhar did.
Tick-tock. Azhar pushed the watch away from him with the tip of his index finger. In the days they had left together, he would do his