His stomach tightened. Because she was a Qadir? Why wouldn’t she feel like that, particularly after the things he’d said the night before? ‘They are not something we routinely display to foreign guests.’ He deliberately appeared to misunderstand her. ‘But would you like to see them?’
Her breath grew louder, her eyes uncertain. He could feel a battle raging within her, the same kind of battle that was being fought inside him. ‘I would,’ she said, finally, not meeting his eyes.
Without a response to her, he spun on his heel and stalked to the group. He addressed only Ahmed, giving brief instructions that the motorcade should wait twenty minutes—that he and the Princess were not to be disturbed.
It was a break from protocol, but nothing he couldn’t explain later.
Before he could see the look of disapproval on Ahmed’s face, Amir walked Johara towards a bank of elevators, pressing a button that immediately summoned a carriage. The doors swished open and he waited for her to step inside before joining her and pressing a gold button. Even the elevators were very old, built at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. It chugged slowly, and he tried not to pay attention to how close they stood in the confines of the infrastructure.
The doors opened and he felt relief—relief to be able to step further away from her, to stop breathing in her scent, to be able to resist the impulse to touch her, just because she happened to be standing right in front of him.
‘Many of these are relevant to your country,’ he said, indicating one tapestry that hung opposite the elevator, dimly lit with overhead lights to preserve its beautiful threads.
She studied the pictures, a look of fascination on her features. He led her through the area, showing some of his favourite pieces.
‘You sound as though you know this place like the back of your hand,’ she said after ten minutes.
He smiled. ‘I do. I came here often as a child. I loved to sit up here and read while my parents attended to business at parliament. I was fortunate that they indulged my every whim.’ He laughed.
Her tone was teasing. ‘Are you saying you were spoiled?’
‘Actually, I wasn’t.’ He grinned. ‘Only in this aspect—my mother found my love of books amusing.’
‘Why?’
‘Because for the most part, I preferred to be out of doors. I hated restriction. I liked to run and ride and swim and climb. In that way, I was cast in my father’s image. But then, here at the library, I saw the opening to all these other worlds and found a different way to run and be free.’
She was transfixed by his words, her expression completely engaged by what he was saying. ‘It was a catalyst for them. Seeing how I loved these texts, how they opened my eyes and mind—I still remember the conversation between them, travelling back to the palace one night, when my father remarked that every child should be able to lose themselves in a library as I seemed to want to.’
Johara paused, looking at a small book with a golden spine and beautiful cursive script.
‘They were right.’ Her voice was small.
‘Was this similar to your own childhood?’
A beat passed, a pause which seemed somehow unnatural. ‘I...spent my childhood undertaking ceremonial duties on behalf of the palace,’ she said calmly. But too calm, as though her voice was carefully neutralised to hide any real feeling. He didn’t speak, sensing that she would continue only if he stayed silent.
He was right. ‘My mother died when I was six. I have vague memories of attending events with her. But after she passed, I was expected to take on her role.’ Her smile was laced with mockery. ‘Something you know about.’
‘At such a young age?’
‘I didn’t question it at the time. My amalä had focussed a lot of my education on etiquette, socialising, on how to speak and be spoken to.’ She shrugged as though it didn’t matter. ‘It was second nature to me.’
‘But you were still a baby.’
She laughed. ‘I was old enough.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘There wasn’t much time for libraries and reading, nor even for studying. None of which was deemed particularly important for me anyway.’
Amir stopped walking, something like anger firing through him. ‘So your education was sacrificed in order for you to cut ribbons and make speeches?’
‘I sit on the board of many important charities and foundations,’ she contradicted defensively, then dropped her head in a silent sign of concession. ‘But yes. Essentially, you’re correct.’
‘And your brother?’ He couldn’t conceal his anger then. It whipped them both, drawing them closer without their knowledge.
‘Mal had an education similar to yours, I imagine. Well rounded, with the best tutors in various subjects being flown in to instruct him. He was taught to be a statesman, a philosopher, to govern and preside over the country from when he was a very young boy.’
Amir wanted to punch something! ‘That’s grossly unfair.’
Johara’s eyes flashed to his; he felt her agreement and surprise. ‘It’s the way of my people.’