‘He wanted genocide,’ Amir said quietly, but with a ruthless undercurrent to the words. ‘And it is best if we do not discuss Johar.’ The name was said with disgust.
She nodded. He was right. There was nothing she could ever say that would pardon her uncle’s sins; nor did she want to. She judged him as harshly as Amir did.
‘I am sorry,’ she said quietly.
That drew his gaze, and the look in the depths of his obsidian eyes did something funny to her tummy—tying it in a bundle of knots.
‘It was not your fault, Johara.’
He said her name quietly, without a hint of the anger he felt for Johar.
She expelled a soft breath. ‘I mean that I’m sorry you had to go through that. The grief...’
He pressed a finger to her nipple and drew an imaginary circle around it. She could barely concentrate. His touch was sending little arrows of need darting beneath her skin.
‘Why did you send for me tonight?’
He lowered his mouth, pressing a kiss to the flesh just above her nipple. She shivered.
‘I shouldn’t have.’ He lifted his head to smile. ‘I told myself—after the library—that I would stay away from you. But then I saw you looking at me and I knew you felt the inevitability of this.’ He lifted a finger, tracing her cheek. ‘I knew that if I sent for you and you came, it would be because you didn’t care about how forbidden and impossible this is.’ He brought his mouth to hers. ‘I sent for you because I found myself unable to resist.’
She moaned as he kissed her, her hands seeking his body once more, a new hunger growing inside her. She gave herself to the power of that, falling back against the cool granite of the tower as their bodies became one once more.
‘It’s best if I leave you at the West Gate.’
They hadn’t spoken since leaving the ruins. It was as though each step of the powerful horse brought them closer and closer to the palace and the reality that awaited them. Out there, in the wildness of the desert, nothing had seemed impossible, but the constraints of who they were grew more apparent as the palace loomed into sight.
‘Where will you go?’
‘I’ll take him to the stable yard.’
‘You’re afraid of being seen with me?’
She felt his harsh intake of breath. ‘We discussed this. What we just did has to be kept secret.’
‘I know.’ She swept her eyes downwards, studying the horse’s thick mane, wondering at the cloying sense of tears.
‘There are a thousand reasons we cannot let anyone know what we’re doing.’ He brought the horse to a step and leaned forward, pressing a hand to the side of her face, drawing her to look at him.
His teeth clenched as he saw the raw emotion on her features.
‘Johara...’
‘I know. The war. The peace treaty. I’m a Qadir, you’re a Haddad.’
‘Yes,’ he said, gently though, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to hers. ‘But it’s so much more than that. You are supposed to be marrying Paris. What would the press make of an affair with me while you are all but engaged?’
‘I’m not engaged,’ she said stiffly.
‘In the media’s eyes—and I believe your brother’s eyes—you are. Your reputation would be damaged beyond repair.’
‘This isn’t the eighteen hundreds, Amir. No one expects a sacrificial virgin at the altar.’
‘No, but you are a princess and people expect you to be perfect.’
She pulled away from him, jerking her face in the opposite direction.
‘And I suppose you have similar concerns,’ she said darkly.