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Most conscious of all though of Amir as he moved down the stairs towards her, his eyes not leaving her face, his face so familiar, so achingly familiar, that she could barely remember to act impassive.

It took all her self-control to stay where she was, a look of polite calm on her face. He extended a hand in greeting; she placed hers in it. The world stopped spinning all over again. Arrows drove through her skin. Her mouth was dry, breathing painful. She stared at him in bewilderment—she hadn’t thought he’d still be able to affect her like that. She’d thought knowing who he was and how he felt about her might have changed...something.

She pulled her hand away as though he’d burned her, with no idea if the photographer had succeeded in capturing a suitably friendly photograph—and not particularly caring.

‘Welcome, Princess,’ he murmured, and, though it was a perfectly acceptable thing to say, she felt her skin crawl, as though he were condemning her title just as he had her name on that last night. ‘Johara.’ He’d spat it at her and she felt that again now.

‘Thank you.’ She didn’t flinch.

‘Smile for the camera,’ he said quietly, leaning down so only she caught the words. She looked in the direction he’d nodded, eyeing off the photographer and lifting her lips in a practised smile. They stood there for a moment before the Sheikh put his hand to the small of her back, to guide her to the palace. It was too much. She wanted to jerk herself away from the simple contact, or she wanted to throw herself at his feet and beg him to do so much more.

She did neither.

Her upbringing and training kicked in; she put one foot in front of the other until she reached the top of the steps and then beyond them, into the cool corridor of the palace. Then, and only then, when out of sight of photographers, did she casually step beyond his reach.

If he noticed, or cared, he didn’t show it. ‘How was your flight?’

Like you care. The acerbic rejoinder died on the tip of her tongue. This would never work if she went out of her way to spar with him. ‘Fine. Easy.’

‘Easier still when we can repair and reopen the mountain roads; the drive will take a matter of hours.’

Johara looked towards him. ‘That’s what you intend?’

He began to move deeper into the palace and she followed after him. ‘Why not? There were always easy links between our people. It’s only as a result of the conflict that these have been shut down.’

‘And trade?’ she prompted.

‘Naturally.’

She nodded, considering this. ‘Even as the peace seems so tenuous?’

‘I expected it would.’ He shrugged. ‘Surely you didn’t truly believe it would be smooth sailing simply because Malik and I signed an accord?’

Her brow furrowed as she considered that. ‘I...had hoped.’

‘Yes.’ The word was delivered enigmatically. ‘You had hoped.’

‘You’re still cynical about this?’

They reached a pair of thick, dark wood doors, at which four guards stood sentinel. He gestured for her to precede him. She did so, without looking where she was going, so when she stepped into the space she was completely unprepared for what awaited her. She drew in a sharp breath, wonderment filling her gaze. She hadn’t been paying attention; it had felt as though they were moving deeper into the palace, yet this room was a sanctuary of green. A stream ran in front of them, covered by dark timber bridges. The walls were dark wood, but filled with greenery. Vines had tentacles that reached across everything. Johara reached out and ran her fingers over the velvety surface of one of the plants.

Amir watched Johara.

‘What is this?’ She turned to face him, a smile unknowingly lifting her lips. It was impossible to feel anything but uplifted in this room.

‘A private hall, now just for my use. It’s one of the oldest spaces in the palace.’

She nodded, looking upwards, where several openings showed views of the sky. She could only imagine how stunning it would be in the evening.

‘I’d never heard of it. It’s not in any of the information we have.’ Her cheeks grew hot. ‘The texts, I mean.’

He lifted a brow. ‘You’ve been studying my country?’

‘As children, my brother and I were taught much about Ishkana.’

‘And how to hate us?’

Her eyes flashed. ‘As you were taught to hate us.’


Tags: Clare Connelly Billionaire Romance