“It is said,” whispered the woman, confidentially, “that he had a love once.”
Gabrielle’s heart missed a beat, and she focused on taking a sip of her sparkling water. “Really? Then why isn’t he marrying her?”
The woman shrugged. “No one knows. But everyone is guessing.” The woman sat back with a grin. “Some say he simply grew bored.” The woman looked at him with an intrigued, direct gaze as if she could devour him. “Just look at him. He could have anyone he liked.” She shrugged and set her glass on the table. “Why would he settle for one?”
“Because he needs to be married, maybe?” said Gabrielle, more rattled than she should be by the woman’s comments.
“But that doesn’t confine him to one woman,” said the woman patiently. “In our traditional culture, he can take many wives.”
Gabrielle’s stomach twisted with jealousy. She gritted her teeth. She never felt jealous. “I doubt he’s that traditional, and I doubt that polygamy would go down well in the wider world.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I do know that at the moment there’s no woman. He was to become engaged to the Tawazun sheikha, but the gossip is that that’s been called off now. I’ve no idea why.”
Gossip traveled fast. Gabrielle followed the woman’s gaze to Zavian, who was deep in conversation with Sheikh Mohammed.
“He needs to marry to strengthen the country’s unity, both within and without,” continued the woman.
“Yes,” Gabrielle said. It was exactly what she also thought. “But he needs to marry the right woman. Maybe the Tawazun sheikha wasn’t the right woman.”
“She wasexactlythe right woman.” The woman shook her head and then turned to Gabrielle with a sneaky smile. “In one way. However, I have to say that I’m not devastated. It leaves the way open for others.” She rose and smoothed down her gown. “If you get my drift.” The woman winked and brazenly walked over to the table close to the king’s table, bending over, obviously trying to attract his attention.
Gabrielle refused to watch. Let the king be seduced by any of the numerous women who wanted him. She didn’t. Even as the thought angrily slipped into her mind, she corrected herself. No, she might want him, but she wouldn’t let herself have him, not on his terms.
Someone spoke on the other side of her—an American archivist who’d been trying to attract her attention all evening—and she turned to him, glad to be distracted from the sight of women throwing themselves at Zavian.
Zavian watchedas Gabrielle lowered her head as if intently interested in something the young American was telling her. He ground his teeth. Her hair swept the man’s arm as she bowed her head to listen to him above the noise of the room. She didn’t notice it, but he could tell the man did. He responded with a more intimate body language that incensed Zavian. Then it got worse. She laughed at something he said and sat back, and he could read the man’s mind, seeing the woman that he saw.
It ground into his soul. Who on earth had decided to put the two of them together? He’d noticed her immediately and was annoyed that she’d managed to persuade his staff to change the seating plan. It was too late to have her moved. But at least he could observe her easily. At first, she’d looked uncomfortable, and no wonder. The other women were wearing their flashiest jewelry and clothes. And of course, Gabrielle could not compete. Even if she hadn’t spent a million dollars on an artifact rather than clothes, jewelry and the like, she would never have chosen the kind of showy clothes which the women of his country preferred. She preferred to go unnoticed.
He’d watched her enter the room, her sleek form a perfect foil for the overt grandeur of the room, with its ornate golden decorations. At first, she’d been hesitant, then reserved as she’d been seated. But then she’d be in conversation with some woman who had annoyingly moved away, closer to him, allowing the man to dominate Gabrielle. It seemed the young man’s smooth flirtations had amused her, and she positively glowed. He growled.
“What is it, Your Majesty?” his vizier asked under his breath.
Zavian glanced at his too perceptive advisor. “That young American. Have him called away.”
The vizier’s expression darkened. “And Dr. Taylor brought here, no doubt. I warn you that—”
Zavian waved his hand. “No more warnings, Naseer. I’ve had enough to last me a miserable lifetime.”
“It might be miserable, but at least it will be a peaceful and prosperous one.”
Zavian didn’t need to speak any further. The vizier beckoned an assistant who had soon called the baffled looking American away from dinner on an errand.
Zavian returned his attention to his honored guest, who was seated to his right. He didn’t need to see his instructions carried out; he could visualize Gabrielle’s reaction. The laughter would have gone, and her expression would be guarded once more. But what did that matter? He didn’t wish to inspire laughter, the opposite in fact. He wished her to be serious and to understand her future was here, with him.
Zavian talked easilywith his honored guest as if he weren’t aware of the moment when Gabrielle slipped into the newly vacated seat beside him—arranged subtly by his vizier—and sat ramrod straight as if she’d been inserted into the scene without wishing to be a part of it.
He glanced around the room and noted how people—especially the woman who had been seated beside Gabrielle before—were all now staring at her. He turned his attention back to his honored guest. Gabrielle would have to get used to that. Being stared at went with the job.
It was only when Zavian introduced the sheikh to someone that he could withdraw from the conversation and turn to his other side. She sat still, a tight polite half-smile on her face like a mask. It didn’t fool him.
“Dr. Taylor.” Zavian nodded.
“Your Majesty,” she answered formally, flicking him a quick wary look.
“How good of you to join me.”
“Good?” Her smile squeezed tighter around her lips. “You commanded me to come. Apparently, none of my excuses were acceptable.”