Maybe his offer for her to stay in Za’daq was no longer on the table, with or without marriage. She couldn’t expect it to be open-ended. There must be limits to Ashraf’s patience.
Yet returning to Australia didn’t appeal. Was she getting used to a life of royal luxury? Of ease and comfort?
More likely she was growing used to basking in Ashraf’s attention. The more time they spent together, the harder it was to imagine leaving. Even if it was for her own good. Ashraf was more, so much more even than she’d imagined.
A knock sounded on the door and before she could answer Azia was there, curtseying low.
‘Your Majesty.’
Ashraf stood framed in the door, looking debonair and so handsome that Tori felt her insides roll over. She’d expected him to wear traditional robes tonight but instead he wore a dinner jacket, superbly cut to his rangy, powerful frame. The crisp white shirt accentuated the rich bronze of his throat and his hair shone black as jet.
‘Majesty? Why so formal in private, Azia?’ He took the other woman’s hand and pulled her upright.
Azia dimpled up at him but her eyes were serious. ‘Just practising my curtsey for tonight. I’m told I still haven’t got it right.’
Ashraf frowned and kept hold of her hand. ‘I can imagine who told you that. Just ignore them. I’d rather have your genuine smile than perfect court etiquette.’ He paused. ‘Just as I’d rather have your herbed lamb with lemons and pilaf than any ten-course royal feast.’
Azia blushed. ‘Then you must come to dinner again soon. I’ll talk to Bram about setting a date.’ She darted a look at Tori. ‘I’d better go. He’ll wonder where I am. See you there, Tori.’
Then she was gone, surprising Tori, who’d expected to accompany her to the reception.
The door closed and Ashraf faced her. There it was again. The throb of sensation as if all the oxygen had rushed out of the room while heat pooled low in her body. She should be used to it. Instead of familiarity lessening the impact of Ashraf’s presence, it only heightened her response.
‘Victoria.’
His voice was a rough purr, drawing out the syllables of her name into something exotically beautiful.
‘You look magnificent.’
She felt her shoulders push back, her lips curve at the extravagant compliment. ‘Thank you. So do you. Though I expected to see you in traditional robes.’
He paced towards her. It felt as if the room shrank till there was nothing beyond Ashraf.
‘It’s good to mix things up. A change from tradition and court formality can be useful occasionally.’
Tori read the lines still bracketing his mouth. ‘Is this something to do with Azia? With the people who don’t think she and Bram are good enough to be here?’ She’d finally prised that out of her friend and still reeled from what she’d learned.
‘Some of the older courtiers look askance at anyone different, or any change. But they’ll learn.’
The determined set to Ashraf’s jaw told its own story. Tori knew Ashraf would make that change happen. Azia had explained how Ashraf and Bram had become friends—one a prince, the other literally a pauper.
Bram’s mother had been a servant and his father a foreigner who’d left her pregnant, unmarried and struggling to feed herself, much less a baby. She’d been shunned and Bram’s blue eyes had been a constant reminder of her shame. Doing his military service with Bram, Ashraf had saved him from a vicious whipping by some men who had objected to serving with a clever upstart from the gutter. Bram still bore scars from the attack, but he and Ashraf had been stalwart friends since.
The tale had left Tori seething with outrage. And warmed by Ashraf’s actions and the men’s friendship.
She blinked now as Ashraf moved into her personal space, pulling something from his pocket. A small leather box.
Tori’s heart leapt. Surely he wasn’t—?
‘For you to wear tonight.’
Once more that low voice curled through her, like smoke caressing her senses. She breathed deep, registering Ashraf’s warm cinnamon scent, and knew that soon she’d be begging for more from him. Days of companionship and those searing, unsettling looks had done nothing to satisfy her craving.
Slowly she opened the box and found a pair of stunning earrings. ‘Are they...?’ She peered more closely.
‘Diamonds and obsidian.’
The diamonds were large and exquisitely cut, and beneath them the long teardrops of pure black obsidian were flawless.