How had he failed to notice the signs though? Her familiarity with the maze. A dress made of spiders’ silk. Both such obvious signs of her place within this family. Yet he’d been blinded by her, and by the attraction he felt. It was the only answer.
‘Likewise.’ Her accent. It was so American—naturally he’d assumed she was a foreigner, here in Taquul just for the ball. But now he recalled the biographical details he’d been furnished with prior to this treaty: that her mother had been American, that she’d gone to school in America for some time, and had lived there for several years.
‘You look flushed. Do you feel well?’ It was Paris, to her left. Something else flared in Amir’s mind.
The man my sister is to marry.
‘I’m fine.’ At least she had the grace to look ashamed.
‘Your Highness? They’re ready.’
It was a blur. Johara stood between her brother and Paris as the peace accord was announced. Fireworks burst overhead to celebrate the occasion, and answering displays were seen across the countries. Peace had come—she could only hope that it would hold.
And all the while, those in attendance smiled and nodded with rapt faces, and finally cheered, so Johara smiled along with them and nodded as her brother spoke. But it was when Amir began to address the crowd that everything inside her dissolved into a kind of never-ending tumult.
‘For too long we have seen our people die. We have fought over nothing more significant than on which side of the mountains we were born; this war has been a plague on both our countries. Our people were once unified and great, strong in this region, capable of anything. Our prosperity was shared, our might universally known. It is time to set aside the last one hundred years. It is time to forge a peace between our people, a lasting peace—not into the next century, but the next millenium.’ She was captivated, staring at his deep, dark eyes as he scanned the crowd.
‘I
t will take work. It will require us to actively forget how we have been taught to feel. We will need to look behind the masks of what we believe our peoples stand for, to see the truth of what is there. A baker in Ishkana is no different from a baker in Taquul. We see the same stars, worship the same god, dance to the same songs, have learned all the same tales. We can be unified once more.’ He turned to look at Malik, but his eyes glanced over Johara, so she was sure he must have seen the effect his rousing speech had on her.
She couldn’t hide her admiration, she was sure of it.
‘Tonight begins a new way of life for us, a life of peace.’
Silence lasted for several seconds and then applause broke out, loud and joyous. If Johara had been in any doubt as to how desperately the people wished for peace, the proof was right before her now. And for Amir to take what was largely a crowd of Taquul dignitaries and have them eating out of his hand—it showed the magnetism he had.
Not that she needed any further indication of that.
The official requirements of the evening were at an end. She left the makeshift stage gratefully, giving a brief farewell to Paris before slipping through thick gold curtains that hung along the edge of the ballroom. She moved quickly, desperately needing air, space, a way to breathe. She found her way to a long marble corridor and moved through it until she reached glass doors at the end.
The cool desert air glanced across her skin as she pushed them open, onto a small Juliet balcony that overlooked the Sheikh’s aviary, where his prized falcons were kept. In the evening, the stark outline of trees was striking. Beyond it, the desert lay, and the light breeze stirred the sand, so when she breathed in she could smell that acrid clay that was so reminiscent of her childhood. How she’d loved to carry bottles of water into the desert and pour it over the sand to make little streams, turning the sand into a malleable substance from which she could build great structures.
For a child who could barely read, making things with her hands had been her own source of satisfaction.
‘Your Highness.’
She stiffened, curving her hands over the railing of the balcony as his voice reached her ears. Had she known he would follow? No. And yet, she was hardly surprised.
She turned slowly, bracing for this—or at least attempting to. Nothing could prepare her for what was to come. Without his mask, alone on the balcony, so close she could touch him. And more than that, the coldness in his face. The anger. Oh, he was trying to control it but she felt it emanating from him in waves so she rushed to say, ‘I didn’t know who you were. I had no idea.’
She knew, even as she spoke the words, that it wasn’t completely true. Their connection had defied logic and sense. Perhaps she might have been able to resist him, but not if he’d set his mind on seducing her.
‘So you simply took the chance to sleep with another man behind your fiancé’s back?’
‘I...’ She frowned. ‘I don’t have a fiancé.’
That surprised him.
‘There is a man my brother wishes me to marry,’ she stressed, ‘but that’s not quite the same thing. Last time I checked, I still have some say in the matter, so no, I didn’t “cheat” on anyone.’
He dipped his head forward. ‘I apologise. I was misinformed.’
She was surprised by the instant apology, and more so how he could deliver it in a way that was both genuine and infused with icy coldness. If she turned to the right, she’d see the edge of the maze. She couldn’t look that way. She’d likely never look at it again, certainly never walk within its verdant walls.
‘You’re named for him.’
She frowned, but only for a second. She should have remembered sooner, the awful, bloody death in her family’s—and his family’s—history. ‘My uncle Johar? Yes.’