‘Ten out of ten, Jazz,’ he murmured.
He motioned for her to follow him into the cool interior of the largest tent, which stood some distance away. Dipping her head to enter, she gave an audible gasp as she gazed around the deceptively vast interior where intricate bronze lamps hung from the ceiling and silken rugs were scattered over the floor. A large day-bed of silver brocade stood beside an exquisitely carved table, on which reposed tiny glasses studded with the rainbow colours of what looked like real jewels.
‘Oh, Zuhal—it’s beautiful,’ she breathed, unable to conceal her wonder or her delight. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite so beautiful.’
‘Not even at the Granchester Hotel,’ he questioned sarcastically.
A smile played at the edges of her lips. ‘Not even there!’
He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Please, sit,’ he said formally.
A little saddle-sore after the long ride, Jasmine obeyed, sinking into the heap of cushions he was indicating, while Zuhal called out something in his own language before lowering himself down beside her.
‘What is this place?’ she asked, as one of the servants appeared at the door of the tent, bearing a large stone jug and dispensing cool liquid into two tiny jewelled glasses.
‘It is my refuge,’ he said slowly, once the servant had left. ‘It was my brother’s refuge too, and our father’s before him. It is traditionally the place where kings have come to escape from the pressures of court and palace life.’
Jasmine nodded as she took a sip of the refreshing drink. She had been treading on eggshells for days, afraid of driving him away with her curiosity and trying to establish some kind of trust between them, but something told her that now was the time to dig a little deeper. ‘What was it like?’ she asked, putting her glass down and leaning back against the soft nest of cushions.
‘What?’ he queried obliquely.
‘Growing up in a palace.’
‘You’ve experienced something of that yourself,’ he answered carelessly. ‘You will have noted the presence of servants. Of days which are governed by form and by structure. Of the innate need for formality—despite your single-handed mission to disrupt that formality by having our son eat his lunch with us.’
Jazz felt an inner glow because it was the first time he’d ever said our son. ‘You can’t deny that he’s been very well behaved!’ she defended.
‘No, I cannot deny that,’ he agreed gravely.
There was a pause before, encouraged by his relaxed demeanour, she asked a little more. ‘So how did being a royal impact on your family, when you were a child?’
He shrugged. ‘I never knew anything different. My blood is blue on both sides. My father came from a long line of desert kings and my mother was a princess from the neighbouring country of Israqan.’
Her voice was cautious. ‘So was it an arranged marriage?’
‘Unfortunately, no. It was not,’ he answered repressively. ‘If it had been there might have been a chance it might have worked. As it was, they met at the Razrastanian embassy in New York and fell in love.’
Jasmine registered the unmistakable contempt which had coloured those last three words. ‘And was that so bad?’
‘It was disastrous,’ he said, his lips twisting with derision. ‘Experience has taught me that love is nothing but an illusion which justifies desire and such…passion cannot possibly be sustained. At first it is an explosion—but explosions inevitably destroy whatever is around them. And then there is drama. Endless drama—with scenes and fights and tears. How I hate drama,’ he added bitterly.
‘And is that what happened—to your parents?’
‘That is exactly what happened.’ His black eyes glittered. ‘It quickly burnt itself out
and all that was left were two people who were essentially incompatible and who hated one another.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she offered, pausing for a moment before asking, ‘So how did they deal with it?’
Again, he shrugged. ‘My father sought comfort elsewhere and my mother threw all her energies into preparing my brother for his accession to the throne, in order to make him the finest ruler this land has ever known.’
‘Did she indulge him?’ she asked sharply.
‘You could say that.’ He took a last mouthful of juice before putting the jewelled beaker down. ‘He grew up feeling he was capable of anything. That he was indestructible.’
‘And where did you come in all this?’ she questioned suddenly. ‘Where did you fit in, Zuhal?’
Zuhal’s eyes narrowed. Perceptive of her. But also perhaps a little too close to the bone. He prepared to bat away her question with flippancy before something stopped him and he frowned as he became aware that he had never admitted this to anyone. He’d never really been in a position to before, because he hadn’t seen the point in confiding in any of his lovers, knowing that to do so would have been a potential security breach.