‘I see…’ The surprising thing was that Karim wasn’t surprised. Not that he’d guessed Shakroun was a criminal. He’d just thought him deeply unpleasant and far too fixated on his own prestige and power. ‘How sure are you?’
‘I’m sure. The evidence is clear. But it will take time till the police are ready to press charges. Since Qadri’s death Shakroun has taken over some of his criminal enterprises. They’re trying to get an iron-clad case against him on a number of fronts. It’s tough getting evidence, because Shakroun gets others to do his dirty work and witnesses are thin on the ground. A couple of people who stirred up trouble for him met with unfortunate “accidents”.’
Karim felt an icy prickle across his rapidly cooling flesh. He grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it one-handed over his head, then shoved his arms through the sleeves.
‘That’s one of the reasons the Council is searching for someone else to become Sheikh.’
Now it made so much more sense. Did Safiyah know?
Immediately he dragged his thoughts back. Safiyah wasn’t the issue. He refused to be swayed by her. Yet the thought of her with her small child in the Assaran palace and Shakroun moving in made his stomach curdle.
‘It’s also why they’re eager for an outsider,’ Ashraf added. ‘If they choose from within the country Shakroun is the obvious choice. He’s from an influential family, and on the face of it would make a better leader than the other contenders. But with you they’d get someone they know and respect, who has a track record of ruling during those years when our father was ill.’
Karim let the words wash over him, ignoring Ashraf’s reference to the man who’d raised him as his father. His thoughts were already moving on.
‘How many know about this?’
‘Very few. It’s too early to accuse him publicly—not until the evidence is watertight. But if he becomes Sheikh…’
Karim could imagine. A criminal thug with almost absolute power. It didn’t bear thinking about.
He ploughed his hand through his damp hair. ‘It’s still a matter for the Assarans.’
‘And they wantyou, Karim.’
Karim’s mouth flattened. His nostrils flared as he dragged in a deep breath. ‘I’ve got a life here.’
He watched the stream of rain down the windows and another chill encompassed him. It didn’t matter how long he spent in Europe and North America. He still missed the wide open skies of his homeland. The brilliant, harsh sun, and even the arid heartland where only the hardiest survived.
‘I’ve got a business to run,’ he added.
Ashraf didn’t respond.
‘I’m a private citizen now. I’ve had my fill of being royal. From the moment I could walk I was moulded into a prince, crammed full of lessons on public responsibility and politics. Now I’m living for myself.’
Not that he expected sympathy.
Finally his brother spoke. ‘So you’re telling me you’ll just turn your back on the situation? Because you’re having such a good time answering to no one but yourself?’ He didn’t hide his scepticism.
‘Damn it, Ashraf! Do I look like a hero?’
His brother’s voice held no laughter when he answered. ‘I always thought so, bro.’
Karim flinched, feeling the twelve-month age difference between them like a weight on his shoulders. Some hero! He hadn’t been able to protect his own brother.
Karim had been a serious, responsible child, his world hemmed in by constant demands that he learn, achieve, excel, work harder and longer. Even so, he’d devoted himself to finding ingenious ways to keep the old Sheikh’s attention off his younger brother. When he hadn’t succeeded—when the old man had focused his hate on the boy he’d believed a bastard—Ashraf had been bullied and beaten. Karim hadn’t been able to protect him all the time.
Ashraf had never blamed him for not looking after him better, but the twist of guilt in Karim’s belly was something he’d always carry.
‘You don’t have to be a hero to become Sheikh,’ Ashraf continued, as if he hadn’t just shaken Karim to the core. ‘Shakroun would have no qualms about taking the throne and there’s nothing heroic abouthim. He’d enjoy the perks of the position.’
The words hauled Karim’s thoughts out of the past and straight back to Assara. To the idea of Safiyah at the mercy of a man like Shakroun. Hassan Shakroun wouldn’t be slow to recognise that tying himself to the previous Sheikh’s beautiful widow would cement his position. Karim might not care for Safiyah any more but the thought of her with a thug like Shakroun…
Karim cursed under his breath, long and low. His brother, having made his point, merely said goodbye and left him with his thoughts.
Instinct warned Karim to keep a wide berth from Assara and its troubles. Yet his sense of responsibility nagged. It wasn’t helped by the realisation, crystallised during the meeting with Safiyah, that his new life wasn’t as fulfilling as he’d like. Yes, he had an aptitude for business and making money. Yes, he enjoyed the freedom to choose for himself, without pondering the impact of his decisions on millions of others. And Ashraf was right: it was far easier enjoying a discreet affair without the encumbrance of royalty.
But Karim had spent his life developing the skills to administer a nation. He’d had a few years of taking on more responsibility when the old Sheikh’s health had faded. He’d thrived on it. It had been his vocation. Which was why he’d been so devastated when he’d had to step away. Ashraf had told him to stay as Sheikh but Karim hadn’t been able to do it. His brother had already been robbed of so much. Karim had refused to take what was rightfully his.