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‘It was my mother’s,’ she added. ‘Made a long tim

e ago, and over the course of many years. A tribe to the west spent a long time harvesting the silk of spiders and spinning it using a special loom.’ She ran her hands over it then turned, so he could fasten the buttons at the back. ‘It’s virtually unbreakable. It’s supposed to signify strength and courage.’

His hands stilled a little at the small of her back before continuing with her buttons. ‘Do you need these things?’

She thought of what was ahead and nodded. ‘We all do, don’t we?’

He reached the top button and pressed it into place, then let his hands move over her shoulders without answering. She turned to face him, looked up into his face and smiled.

‘Thank you.’ It was a strange thing to say but she felt gratitude. They’d never see each other again but what they’d just done had been incredibly important to her.

He dipped his head in silent concession. ‘I have to go back.’

Her brow furrowed behind her mask as she looked to the entrance of the heart of the maze. ‘Me too.’

He took her hand in his. ‘Lead the way, inti qamar.’

My moon. She smiled at the casual term of endearment, pushing through the maze effortlessly.

‘You know the way well.’

‘Yes.’ She could have elaborated on that. She could have said that she used to come here to hide as a child, that the maze was hers alone. The gardeners who tended it had brought her treats for the days when she would come with a book and lie on the grass for hours on end. Not the kind of food that was served in the palace, all perfect and delicate and with the expectation that she sit with her back ramrod straight and make polite conversation with the children her parents had deemed suitable companions. No, here in the maze she’d feasted on food from beyond the palace walls, street food and market delicacies that the gardeners had brought in for her. Sticky pastries, figs that were sun-dried and exploding with flavour, spiced meatballs, marinated cheese, rice stuffed into vegetables and packed with spices. It was messy and organic, each mouthful a tribute to life and goodness. She could have told him that in this maze she’d spent some of her happiest times—and that tonight had simply added to that.

But instead, she simply nodded, already feeling as though the woman who’d just done such a daring and spontaneous thing was disappearing, being pushed deep inside Johara. The closer they moved to the start of the maze, the more she was reminded of the life that was ahead of her.

Rebellion aside, she couldn’t keep hiding in mazes for ever. She was a princess of Taquul and that brought with it obligations and expectations. She would do as her brother said. She would stand at his side tonight and welcome the peace accord and then, if he insisted on it, she would consider the marriage to Paris, even though the idea turned her blood to ice.

At the entrance to the maze, she paused, pulling her hand from his and rubbing her fingers together.

‘You go ahead of me,’ she said, simply. ‘It’s not worth the trouble of being seen coming out of the maze together.’

He seemed to consider that a moment and then nodded. She had no idea what else she could say.

‘If things were different,’ he murmured, lifting a hand to her chin, holding her steady beneath him, ‘I would have liked to see you again.’

Her answering smile was lopsided with wistfulness. ‘If things were different,’ she agreed, ‘I would have liked that too.’

Neither said what their commitments were and why it wasn’t possible. They didn’t need to.

‘Goodnight.’ He bowed his head low in a mark of deference and respect, something she was used to, so for a moment she wondered if perhaps he’d guessed at her identity. But, no. He was simply showing her what their assignation had meant to him; how he viewed her. Her heart felt as though it had exploded to three times its size. She kept a polite smile in place, used to maintaining an expression of polite calm when she felt anything but.

‘Goodnight...sir.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘GOODNIGHT, SIR.’

Her words hummed through his brain, flooding him with memories. His body felt as though it was infused with a special kind of energy. He emerged from the maze, stalking past the pool, deliberately evading anyone who might try to catch his eye. At the entrance to the ballroom though, he could no longer ignore his reason for coming to this place he’d always despised.

Ahmed, his long-time servant, stepped from the shadows. ‘Your Highness.’ He bowed low, and Amir stilled, pushing aside thoughts of the beautiful woman and what they’d just shared. The entire encounter had been like a dream and already the threads of it were drifting away, impossible to catch.

‘It’s time.’

Amir nodded once, scanning the ballroom. ‘Where is he?’

‘In the stateroom.’

Amir’s eyes narrowed with determination. ‘Take me there.’


Tags: Clare Connelly Billionaire Romance