‘Lipstick.’ Athena passed a black tube over and Johara coloured her full lips and then nodded.
‘Fine. Let’s go.’
She didn’t portray a hint of the turmoil she was feeling. Her country stood on a precipice. Everything was new. The old ways must be forgotten. He had been wrong to say hatred would persist. The possibility of peace and safety was too alluring. Surely their people would force themselves to forget the anger and bigotry and come to see the people of Ishkana as their brothers and sisters?
She was barely conscious of the way servants bowed to her as she walked. It hadn’t been like this in New York but, despite the fact she’d lived there for several years, she had grown up here in Taquul, for the most part, and this sort of respect came part and parcel with her position.
At the doors of the stateroom, she paused, turning to Athena. ‘You’ll come with me.’
‘Of course.’ Athena’s eyes dropped to the marble floor a moment, as though she too was fortifying herself for the night ahead. And that was natural—Athena had served the Taquul royal family since she was a teenager, her sentiments matched theirs.
Beyond that, she was a friend to Johara. Johara reached out and squeezed Athena’s hand for comfort. ‘Let’s just get it over with.’ She unknowingly echoed Amir’s earlier sentiments. The doors swept open, the noise of their intrusion drawing the attention of all in the room.
Her eyes naturally gravitated towards her brother’s. His gaze held a warning, as though he expected her to make trouble in some way. From him, she turned to Paris. His smile was kind; she returned it. She might not find him at all attractive but he was sweet and they’d been friends for a long time.
Someone moved at the side of the room, catching her attention. She turned that way naturally, and missed her step, stumbling a little awkwardly as her eyes tried to make sense of it.
The man across the room was...unmistakably...the same man she’d made love to in the heart of the maze. His dark robes were instantly recognisable, but it was more than that. Though he’d worn a mask his face was...she’d seen it as they’d kissed. She’d known what he looked like.
Had he known who she was? Had it been some kind of vile revenge?
No. Shock registered on his features too, though he covered that response much more swiftly than she was able, assuming a mask of cool civility while her blood was threatening to burn her body to pieces.
‘Jo.’ Malik crossed to her but she couldn’t look away from Amir. She saw the way he flinched at her name and wondered why. The world was spinning, and not in a good way. Malik put his hand under her elbow, guiding her deeper into the room, and she was glad for his support. She could hardly breathe. What were the chances?
He had to have known. He had come to speak to her out of nowhere—why else had he approached her like that? It couldn’t have been random happenstance.
Except he hadn’t known; she was sure of it. They’d both sought anonymity. It had been a transaction between two people: faceless, nationless, without identity. It had been about him and her, their bodies and souls, and nothing more.
She dropped her head, almost unable to walk for a moment as the reality of what had happened unravelled inside her.
He’d use this to destroy her. To destroy her brother. If Malik knew what she’d done... Oh, heck.
Panic seized her.
‘Calm down,’ Malik muttered from the side of his lips. ‘This is to commemorate a peace treaty, remember? He is no longer the enemy yet you look as though you would like to kill him.’
Startled, she jerked her eyes away from Sheikh Amir of Ishkana and looked at her brother instead. ‘I would.’
Malik’s expression showed amusement and then he shook his head, leaned closer and whispered, ‘Me too, but my advisors tell me it would be a bad idea.’
She forced a smile she didn’t feel. Paris moved to them, putting a familiar hand on hers and pressing a kiss to her cheek. It was a simple greeting, one that was appropriate for old friends, but in front of Amir, after what they’d just shared, she felt as though she should distance herself. She needed space. From him, from everyone. But it wasn’t possible. There were far greater concerns than her personal life.
‘Amir.’ Malik addressed him by his first name, and it didn’t occur to Amir to mind. In that moment, all of his brain power was absorbed in making sense of what the hell had just happened.
She was... Johara? The Princess of Taquul? The woman he’d made love to, been so blindsided by that he’d given into physical temptation against all common sense was...a Qadir?
He wanted to shout: It can’t be! Surely it wasn’t possible. And yet...there was no refuting it. Her dress...she moved and he remembered how she’d felt in his hands, how her body had writhed beneath his. He could close his eyes and picture her naked, her voluptuous curves calling to him, even as she now walked elegantly towards him, her hair neat, her make-up flawless, and he saw only a Qadir princess. Her parents had hated his. Her uncle Johar had killed his parents. Johar... Johara. She’d been named for that murderous son of a bitch.
Something like nausea burst through him. Hatred bubbled beneath his skin. As she came close, he inhaled and caught a hint of her fragrance, so familiar to him that his body couldn’t help but respond, despite the fact he now knew who she was.
‘This is my younger sister, Princess Johara of Taquul.’
Their eyes met and locked. It was impossible to look away. He saw fear there. Panic. But why? Because of what they’d done? Or because of what she thought he might do next? Did she believe he was going to announce their prior relationship? That he’d do something so foolish as confess what they’d shared? To what end?
His eyes narrowed imperceptibly and he extended a hand. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’
He saw the moment relief lit her eyes. Her smile was barely there—a terrible facsimile of the vibrant smiles she’d offered in the maze. She hadn’t known who he was. Neither of them had understood.