Heat flooded her cheeks at the reference. Was it only one day ago that she’d driven the other car into the sinking sands? So much seemed to have happened since then. So little time, but enough to throw her entire world upside down.
‘But is there not a state banquet at the palace tonight? We should press on, return to the palace as soon as possible, surely?’
He shrugged, unmoved by her need to return to Shafar. ‘It is too late to get there, even if we left now. Besides, it will not be the first or the last time that I miss a state banquet. After all, I am merely—what did you call me?—a tourist prince…’
This time she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. ‘Rafiq, I was so wrong. I saw you with the people of Marrash. I saw how you related to them and how they took to you. I should never have said such a thing. I had no right.’
He hushed her words by holding two fingers to her lips, enjoying the way they parted underneath his fingers, as if she were shocked by his touch. ‘No. You had no right. But you did make me think. Last night at the beach, for the first time you made me think about what kind of prince I could be. I have not lived here for many years. I know nothing of politics, or the things that matter to the people. But I have not got to where I am now without knowing that I will succeed at anything I turn my hand to. I will be a good prince of Qusay, Sera, a strong prince.’
She swallowed. ‘I can see that.’
‘And I will start now, with my first royal command. You will dine with me tonight, in my tent.’
His voice was gruff and low, his command scraping against her senses, and his eyes, his blue eyes, were heavy with want. The combination sent vibrations deep down inside her. ‘Is… Is that wise?’
And he smiled—a lean, hungry smile. ‘It is what I command. That is all you need to know.’
She dropped her eyes to the ground. ‘Of course.’
‘And Sera?’ He retrieved a package from the back seat of the car and returned to where she stood, almost invisible in her dark gown, knowing if just for that reason that he was right about this.
‘What is it?’
‘Open it and see for yourself. Suleman would not let me negotiate on anything but this.’
She slipped the tie binding the package slowly off its ends, unwrapped the paper, and gasped as a burst of blue, bright and sparkling in the flare of the torchlight, met her eyes. For a second she thought it was merely fabric, and then she recognised it.
‘The dress,’ she cried, recognising one of the gowns she’d seen on the models in the small corner display. She lifted it by one shoulder, admiring how the stones winked at her in the light from the torches, before noticing the flash of red below it. The weight of the package told her there was more. She dug deeper and caught a hint of sunset-gold. ‘You bought all three?’
‘I wanted all three.’
‘They’re so beautiful.’ Suddenly she frowned. ‘But will such garments sell well in your country?’
He shook his head. ‘These garments are not destined for my stores.’
The smooth skin between her eyes creased a fraction more. ‘For the Sheikha, then?’
‘I’m sure she would love them, but no.’
‘Then why?’
‘They are a gift. For you.’
And once again he had taken her unawares; once again he had sent her spirits into confusion.
She pressed the package back, the silken fabric heavy with gems sliding downwards. ‘Rafiq, I cannot accept such a glorious gift.’
He pressed the package to her, scooping up the ends and bundling them into her hands. ‘You can, and you will. For too long now you have buried your beauty under the colour of mourning. I knew it the moment I saw the emerald-green choker at your neck. It is time for you to reveal your beauty once more.’
His words hit a nerve she’d thought long buried. He knew that? She’d worn black initially out of the respect she must show for her dead husband, but then it had come to suit her, reflecting the dark hole her life had been, the dark hole her life had become. It had become a dark hole too deep, too convenient, to climb out of.
‘But Rafiq…’ She tried to hand the package back. She couldn’t accept anything from him. No gift. Nothing.
‘Take them, I command you.’
Her head tilted, the heavy curtain of black hair sliding over her shoulder with it, so sleek and shiny that he was tempted to run his hand through its weight, to feel the slide of its silken length through his fingers.
She had no choice but to accept the package. What was the point of objecting? How could she object? He was a prince.
But colour. She stroked the fabrics, drinking in their feel with her fingertips. For so long her life had been black and white, her feelings neutral to numb the pain. But now her senses had been reawakened, along with a yearning for the things she’d missed. Colour was one of them.