Now, five years on, and at thirty-seven years of age, he felt the weight of responsibility had never been greater, or so willingly carried.
Power was everything to Zakari.
Finding the jewel his sole mission now.
So why, Zakari demanded of himself, couldn’t he concentrate on doing just that?
* * *
The day was long. Zakari had disappeared after breakfast and Effie had set about cleaning, happy to be busy so that she didn’t have to think about the events of yesterday!
There was a lot to be done.
He might make his own food and drinks but he didn’t wash a plate or cup. Clothes and towels littered the carpeted floors, and Effie set about picking up and washing and cleaning, indulging in a teeny fantasy of doing such a good job, of being so unobtrusive, yet so breathtakingly efficient, that Zakari might, on return to the palace, select her to replace Christobel as his personal housekeeper—for housekeeping duties only, though, Effie amended, her face suddenly on fire!
Only late in the day did she summon the nerve to prepare his sleeping area, her blush returning as she entered his room.
She set about sweeping the floor and dusting the dark ornate furniture, before finally pulling the endless pillows and cushions from his vast bed and changing the silk sheets. No matter how she tried not to think about it—in fact, the more she tried not to think about it—over and over she did. She just couldn’t banish that image of King Zakari from her mind.
Effie knew her place and, unlike many, there wasn’t a resentful bone in her body. Her mother had raised her to adore the royals. They had been generous to her, Lydia had explained. Her hard work at the palace when she was younger had been rewarded by a generous package when she had left, and with wise investment it had meant they had a home and a moderate income despite Lydia never working.
Effie had never questioned it.
Just as she didn’t question why some should have everything, while others had nothing. She felt privileged to work in the palace. Even if she only got to clean the fineries, still she could gaze upon them. Even if she only polished the silver and jewels, still she got to hold them in her hands.
It could never be hers.
She accepted that.
Just as the man she had glimpsed in naked, sensual beauty could never, would never, lavish his attention on her.
Yet there was this unfamiliar thrill in the pit of her stomach as she recalled what she had witnessed. She bit on her lip as she dragged off the sheet. The flurry of the silk had his masculine scent lingering in the air, and, just for a moment, for a tiny daring, fleeting moment…Effie wished.
For the first time ever, she wished it could be that the treasure she had surveyed might be hers for even a little while. Burying her face in the sheets he had graced, she inhaled him to her very soul.
Wished she were as slim and as beautiful as Christobel.
Wished the King had been waiting for her.
Wished she didn’t disappoint.
Still, she wasn’t being paid to dream, so Effie got on with her work, and over the next couple of days an easy routine developed between them.
Zakari rose at sunrise as Effie prepared breakfast. He usually ate in silence in the morning. Occasionally he might ask if she’d slept well, or murmur a brief thank you, but generally he was sullen, pensive and silent. In fact, for Effie it was almost a relief, really, when he wandered off to the desert, to return after sunset.
Only it was a different Zakari that returned.
He would bathe and change, then eat the meal she had prepared alone. Afterwards, when he sat on the low cushions and drank his coffee as Effie cleared away his meal, he would start talking to her.
Mindful of Stavroula’s harsh warning and the mistakes she had already made, Effie tried to hold on to her tongue, but Sheikh King Zakari Al’Farisi was such engaging company in the evenings that it was all too easy to unbend, to talk about her family, to chatter and linger for a little while longer. Her reward—that unscrupulous face broke into his heart-stopping smile when she offered a silly joke, and, most surprisingly of all, he didn’t silence her when occasionally she bantered with him.
Sheikh King Zakari despised the Aristan royals, yet Effie adored them, and refused to bend to his thinking.
‘The Aristan royals looked after my mother well,’ Effie said stoutly one night as she stacked some plates. ‘I’m saving up my money to go to Aristo for Prince Alex’s coronation in January.’
There would be no coronation for Prince Alex in January if he found the jewel, Zakari thought darkly. Not that Effie would know about such things. The only thing the two royal families did agree on was that the fact the jewel was missing must remain a fiercely guarded secret.
‘You really think that Alex will make a good king?’ Zakari poured scorn on her words. ‘His brother Sebastian was the one raised to be king, yet he denounced the throne to marry a woman who wasn’t suitable.’
‘But that’s lovely,’ Effie insisted.
‘That is weak!’ Zakari dismissed her sentiment. ‘The people of Aristo are worried by this behaviour. They know that Alex and his new wife do not really want to take the role and all that it will entail.’
‘Well, I’m not worried.’
‘You live in Calista,’ Zakari pointed out, ‘so you have no need to be. Their turmoil does not affect you—you have a strong king.’
‘I do!’ Effie flushed. ‘I have a wonderful king, who I am proud to serve, but I still care about Aristo and I think, under Queen Tia’s guidance, that Prince Alex will make a wonderful king!’
Effie remained adamant, and Zakari could only admire her loyalty as instead of backing down she gave him a brief smile, and wished him goodnight before heading out to the staff area.
She had made a good point too, Zakari reflected, lying back on the cushions and closing his eyes for a moment. His body was exhausted from his long day, but his mind was still alert. Queen Tia was, as far as he was concerned, Aristo’s only saving grace. An elegant, dignified woman, she had stood loyal and demure by Aegeus’s side and had poured herself into her children and charities and had, Zakari reluctantly admitted, raised her children well. Zakari had always admired Prince Sebastian, at least until he had turned his back on his people for a woman.
Effie was interesting to talk to, though, and with the night stretching ahead of him Zakari considered calling her back. He actually missed her when she retired, missed those sparkling, lively blue eyes, and the way she blushed just a little when she laughed, but he stopped himself. Maybe it was cabin fever that was causing it, but Zakari was starting to realise that he spoke too much when she was around. Under her steady gaze, it was all too easy to forget the rules, to forget the discretion, the distance that was usually carved into every shred of his DNA.
So, instead of calling her, he retired too, not to his luxurious bed, but outside, preparing a fire, then stretching out beneath the stars and listening to the call of the desert, remembering Effie’s place, because he could never, ever forget his.
Yet on the sixth night, as he sat on the low cushions and the table was cleared and there was no reason for her to remain, he asked her to join him.
‘You do not live in the palace?’
‘I have a small cottage.’ Effie nodded, colour roaring up her cheeks as she tentatively took a seat on the cushion beside him. ‘Well, it was my mother’s.’
‘You said she was a palace maid, though—how could she afford it?’
‘She was a maid before I was born,’ Effie said, ‘but she saved her money well and invested it wisely. It’s only a tiny cottage, but with her savings, well, they lasted almost till she died. She never had to work again.’
She was so naive. Zakari smothered a smile. The only single mothers who owned real estate in Calista worked extremely hard for their money! Still, it was sweet, Zakari reflected, that she genuinely didn’t seem to know that she believed the lies her mother must have fed her.
‘You miss her a lot?’
‘Terribly.’ He saw a sparkle of tears in her eyes that she rapidly blinked back. ‘You must miss your mother too,’ Effie said. ‘Or, rather, mothers.’ He didn’t scold her this time, just gave a curt nod at her observation. Losing his mother at the age of eleven had been hard, but losing Anya five years ago had been just as bad. Zakari had never been particularly close to his father; they had respected each other, but there had never been any real conversation, let alone affection. With Anya it had been different. She had doted on him as if he were her own flesh and blood, had helped him navigate the terrifying prospect that one day he would be ruler and King, as well as confiding in him as to her own fears and pain. Zakari was only half listening as Effie chatted on, but he frowned her to silence when next she spoke. ‘…and with what happened to your youngest brother too…’
‘That is not for discussion.’ This time Zakari did speak sternly. He wanted to hear about her, not to discuss how he might feel about things. ‘So, it is nice that you have your own home…’ But she wasn’t so receptive now. No matter how he tried to cajole her to freely talk, the easiness between them had gone as Effie answered with only the minimum of responses.