‘For me? Thank you.’ His mother took the package, as delighted as a schoolgirl. ‘And thanks to Abizah.’
‘It’s just a trinket,’ he warned.
‘It’s beautiful,’ his mother exclaimed, holding the tiny lamp up high, letting the encrusted gems catch the light. ‘It’s perfect! Thank you.’
‘Sera chose it. She said you would like it.’ He looked around. ‘Where is Sera?’
His mother put the gift down, took a sip of her coffee, and looked nowhere in particular in the process. ‘I thought you might be more comfortable without her presence here. The last two days must have been difficult for you both.’
‘Most considerate,’ he replied, hooded-eyed, and sipped from his own cup. ‘But unnecessary. As it happens, Sera and I have come to an—amicable arrangement. In fact…’ he coughed ‘…Sera is the one who negotiated the deal.’
‘Sera did that? Well, didn’t I tell you that you would need a guide?’
‘You did, and you were right. I couldn’t have done it without her. She won the contract all by herself.’
‘Did she now?’ the Sheikha asked, clearly more delighted than surprised, and Rafiq could see she was already settling against her cushions for a long Q&A session. ‘She didn’t tell me that. How exactly did she do it?’
Rafiq coughed again. ‘Just as you said might be the case, Sera was asked to negotiate with the women, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said his mother with an I-told-you-so shrug. ‘So what did she do to ensure you the deal? I told you there were others interested. I’m surprised the tribespeople made up their minds so quickly.’
He hesitated, wondering if he wanted to reveal everything, but then it was a contract, the terms would soon be known far and wide, and then his mother would wonder why he hadn’t just come clean and told her in the first place. It wasn’t as if he had anything to hide.
‘Sera picked up on their being disappointed about it being too late to use the fabric they had sent down in the coronation. To sweeten the offer I was prepared to make, she suggested that at my wedding my bride will wear a gown made of their best golden fabric, for the eyes of the world to see.’
His mother’s blue-grey eyes grew wide as she drew herself up straighter, and Rafiq was in no doubt that Sera had chosen not to share this particular snippet of news with her. To protect him from his mother’s over-active imagination? Or herself?
‘But you’re never getting married. At least, that’s what you told me. Have you changed your mind?’
He had said that. He’d meant it. And he hadn’t changed his mind—although right now he just couldn’t summon the same level of absolute certainty. ‘I’ll have the lawyers look over the terms, see if there’s something else we can’t offer them instead. It’s too late for the coronation, but no doubt Kareef will have to marry soon…’
But even as he said the words, a vision formed unbidden in his mind, of a black-haired, kohl-rimmed dark-eyed woman in a robe spun with gold and laced with emeralds, and he wondered where the image had come from—because there was no way that woman was marrying Kareef. So why…?
He barely heard the door open, and his mother’s exclamation was just a spike in his thoughts until he caught her sudden movement as she uncharacteristically jumped to her feet. He glanced around to see what the problem was—only to see Sera standing inside the door, her eyes wild and wet, her skin an unnatural shade of grey.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DESPITE his mother’s head start, Rafiq had swooped her into his arms in a heartbeat. ‘Sera, what’s wrong? What’s happened?’
His mother looked on, asking the same questions herself, but with more than a tinge of curiosity mingled with the concern. He couldn’t care less about his mother’s curiosity right now. All he knew was that Sera was hurting.
‘What is it?’ he said. ‘Tell me. Let me make it right.’
‘You can’t,’ Sera replied, her head rocking from side to side in his swaying arms. ‘No one can fix it. She hates me.’ And then, in a hollow breath, ‘She will always hate me.’
And from his mother came the unfamiliar sound of air sucking over teeth. ‘Cerak has had the nerve to show her face here, at the palace?’
‘She has an invitation, she claims,’ Sera assured her, the colour returning to her cheeks, though she was still clinging to Rafiq’s arms. ‘There is no way she would miss the social event of the decade.’
‘Who is this woman and what did she do to you?’ Rafiq demanded, impatient with his own lack of knowledge, feeling excluded from the conversation. His voice growled with his dissatisfaction. ‘What did she say?’