She laughed. ‘I don’t wear a crown every day.’
‘Oh.’ The girl sounded disappointed. ‘Is Princess your name?’
‘No. Princess is my job, like calling someone “doctor” or “professor”. Of course I have a real name. My name is Aisha.’
Aisha.
Moon goddess.
Strange. He had never thought about her having a name. He had always thought of her simply as ‘princess’, but how appropriate she would have a name like that. Little wonder she looked like a goddess.
And here she was, his precious little spoilt princess, cuddling a child and looking every bit as much a mother as the child’s own mother did.
This woman would bear his children.
She would sit like that in a few years from now and it would be his children clambering over her. It would be the product of his seed she would cuddle and nurture.
And the vision was so powerful, so compelling, that something indescribable swelled inside him and he wished for it to be true.
Aisha. Sitting there with near-strangers, giving of herself to people who possessed little more than the clothes on their back and who had gifted her probably their most treasured possession. Giving herself to his people.
Maybe she was not such a spoilt princess after all.
And the thought was so foreign when it came that he almost rejected it out of hand. Almost. But the proof was right there in front of him. Maybe there was more to her after all.
‘Thank you,’ she said after the family had gone and they walked companionably along the shoreline under a sliver of crescent moon. It had seemed the most obvious thing in the world to do. The night was balmy and inviting, and he knew that she was not yet ready to fall into his bed, but he was in no hurry to return to his study of the centuries-old texts.
‘What are you thanking me for?’
‘Lots of things,’ she said. ‘For sending Ahab to look at their children, for one. For arranging the necessary transport to hospital for the operation Katif needs, if not the operation itself. And for not minding that the family shared our meal.’
‘Be careful, Princess,’ he warned, holding up one hand. ‘Or one might almost forget that you hate me.’
She blinked, though whether she was trying to gauge how serious he was, or whether she had been struck with the same revelation, he could not be sure. ‘So you have some redeeming features. I wouldn’t go reading too much into it.’ But he noticed her words lacked the conviction and fire of her earlier diatribes. He especially noticed that she didn’t insist that she did hate him. He liked that she didn’t feel the compunction to tell him. He sighed into the night breeze. It had been right to get out of the palace where everything was so formal and rigid, where every move was governed by protocol.
In the palace there was always someone watching, even if it was only someone on hand and waiting to find out if there was anything one needed. For all its space, in the palace it was impossible to move without being seen. He curled his fingers around hers as they walked: in the palace it would have been impossible to do this without his three friends betting amongst themselves whether it meant that he would score tonight.
‘You were good with that child,’ he said, noticing—liking—that she didn’t pull her hand away. ‘I suspect you found a fan.’
‘Cala is very likeable.’
‘You were equally good with her family, making them feel special. If you can be like that with everyone, you will make a great sheikha. You will be a queen who will be well-loved.’
She stopped and pulled her hand free, rubbing her hands on her arms so he could not reclaim it. ‘If I’d imagined this walk was going to provide you with yet another opportunity to remind me of the nature of this marriage, and of my upcoming duty in your bed, I never would have agreed to come along.’
He cursed his clumsy efforts to praise her. ‘I am sorry, Princess. I did not mean …’
She blinked up at him, her aggravation temporarily overwhelmed by surprise. He was sorry? He was actually sorry and he was telling her so? Was this Zoltan the barbarian sheikh before her?
But then, he wasn’t all barbarian, she had to concede. Otherwise why would he have sent anyone to look at a sick child? Why would he have approved his uplift in a helicopter, no less, and the required operation if he was a monster?
‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said, holding up her hands as she shook her head. ‘There was no need for me to respond that way. I overreacted.’ Because I’m the one who can’t stop thinking about doing my duty …
The night was softly romantic, it was late, soon it would be time for bed and she was here on this beach with a man who came charged with electricity.