‘But—’
‘I’ll call you another time, okay?’ She pressed the red button on her screen, her eyes fixed on Amir. She could not look away. The dusk sky created a dramatic backdrop to an already overpoweringly dramatic scene. With the falcon perched on his forearm, he looked every bit the powerful Emir. She held her breath as he began to move towards the palace, her eyes following every athletic step he took, her mind silently willing him to look towards her, to see her. And do what? She stared at him as though with her eyes alone she could summon him.
When he was almost beneath her, he looked up, his eyes sweeping the windows of her suite before locking to her. He stopped walking, and he stared at her as she had been staring at him.
Hungrily.
Urgently.
As though seeing one another were their sole means of survival.
He dipped his head a moment later, a bow of respect, and her heart stammered; he was going to go away again. She wanted to scream. Impatience and frustration were driving her mad. Since their kiss in th
e library, she’d barely seen him. Brief photo opportunities and nothing more. And at these interludes he was polite but went out of his way to keep a distance, not touching her, his smile barely reaching his eyes before he replaced it with a businesslike look.
But here, now, the same fire that had burned between them in the library arced through the sky, threatening to singe her nerve endings.
‘I...’ She said it so quietly she wasn’t sure he’d hear. And she had no idea what she even wanted to say. Only that she didn’t want him to walk away from her.
His eyes lifted, held hers a moment, and then he grimaced, as though he was fighting a war within himself. A moment later, he began to walk, disappearing from her view completely. She stamped her foot on the balcony and squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the railing tightly. Her heart was frantic and, ridiculously, stupid tears filled her throat with salt, threatening to douse her eyes. She blinked rapidly to ward them off, hating how he could affect her, hating how futile their situation was. Of all the men she had to meet, of all the men who had the ability to make her crazy with desire, why did it have to be a king who saw himself as her sworn enemy? A man who had every reason in the world to hate her family?
With a growling sound of impatience she stalked back into the beautiful suite of rooms she’d been appointed, deciding she’d take a cool shower. Three more days. She could get through this. And then what? Forget about Amir?
Her skin lifted with goosebumps. Unbidden, memories of the maze flooded her mind, filling her eyes with visions of him over her, his handsome, symmetrical face, she felt the movements of his body in hers, and she groaned, the shower forgotten. She closed her eyes, allowing the memories to overtake her, reliving that experience breath by breath until her skin was flushed and her blood boiling in her veins.
She would never forget about him. She would return to Taquul and he would return with her—a part of him would anyway. What they’d shared had been so brief yet in some vital way he’d become a part of her soul.
A knock drew her from her reverie. She turned her attention to the door, wondering what she must look like—a quick glance in the mirror confirmed her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling. She pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks, sucked in a breath and then opened the door.
If she’d been hoping for Amir—and of course, on some level, she had been—she was to be disappointed. A guard stood there, his impressive military medals on one shoulder catching her eye. Medals that had been won in the service of his army—against her country. Another blip of frustration. The war was over now, but the hurts went deep on both sides. Did this soldier hate her because of who she was and where she came from? It was impossible to tell. His face was impassive as he held a piece of cream paper towards her, folded into quarters.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, offering him a smile—perhaps enough smiles given genuinely and freely could turn hatred to acceptance, and eventually fondness.
She waited until the door was clicked shut again, then unfolded the note.
Come to the West Gate. A
Owing to her dyslexia and his hastily scrawled handwriting, it took her several moments to read it and when she finished, her fingertips were unsteady, her breathing even more so. She flicked another glance to the mirror, running her hands across the simple outfit she wore—loose pants and a tunic—then over her hair, which was loose around her shoulders. She reached for some pins and secured it in a low bun, added a hint of lipstick and then moved to the door.
Athena was coming in as Johara opened the door.
‘Your Highness? You’re going somewhere?’
‘I—For a walk,’ she said with a small nod.
‘Shall I accompany you?’
‘No.’ Johara’s smile was reassuring, when inside she was panicking. The company of her servant—even one she considered a friend, like Athena—was the last thing Johara wanted! ‘I’d like to be alone,’ she softened the rebuke, reaching out and touching Athena’s forearm. ‘Goodnight.’
The West Gate was not difficult to find. She had a vague recollection of it having been pointed out to her on her first day, when she’d been given a thorough tour of the palace. She retraced the steps she remembered, until she reached a wall of white marble that stretched almost impenetrably towards the sky, creating a strong barrier to the outside world. Halfway along the wall there was a gate made of gold and bronze, solid and beautiful, with ancient calligraphy inscribed in its centre.
As she approached it she slowed, scanning for Amir. She couldn’t see him. But to the right of the enormous gates there was a doorway, made to blend in completely with the wall. It was ajar. She moved towards it, then pushed at it. Amir stood waiting for her.
Her breath hitched in her throat. She’d come so quickly she hadn’t paused to consider what she might say to him when she arrived.
Neither smiled.
‘Thank you for coming.’