The Royal House of Karedes: Two Crowns. Кейт Хьюит

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      In an hour, he reminded himself, they would be on a plane. In three hours, they could be at the Calistan palace, and Kalila would be kept in the women’s quarters, safe with her old nurse, away from him. The thought should have comforted him; he’d meant it to. Instead he felt the betraying, wrenching pain of loss.

      ‘We have enjoyed the festivities, Princess,’ he said, ‘but you were right, we must go. The hour grows late and a storm looks to approach, a sirocco, and living in the desert you know how dangerous they can be.’

      ‘A storm?’ Interest lifted Kalila’s voice momentarily. ‘Will the plane be delayed, do you think?’

      ‘Not if we leave promptly.’

      She hesitated, and Aarif resisted the urge to take her into his arms. He wanted to scold her, tell her to stop feeling sorry for herself, and yet he also wanted to comfort her, to breathe in the scent of her hair—

      Irritated by his own impulse, he sharpened his tone. ‘I regret to disturb your tranquillity, Princess, but there is a duty to fulfil.’ There always was, no matter how crippling the weight, how difficult the task.

      ‘I’m coming,’ she said at last, and there was a new resolute determination to her tone that relieved Aarif. She rose gracefully, glanced at him, her eyes fastening on his, and once again Aarif was transfixed by that clear gaze, yet this time he couldn’t read the expression in it.

      ‘I’m sorry, Prince Aarif,’ she said in a quiet, steady voice, ‘for any trouble I’ve caused you.’ She laid a hand on his arm, her fingers slender and cool, yet burning Aarif’s skin. Branding it, and he resisted the desire to cover her hand with his own, to feel her fingers twine with his once more. A simple, seductive touch.

      He raised his eyebrows in surprise before managing a cool smile. ‘There has been no trouble, Princess.’ Carefully, deliberately, he moved his arm away from her touch.

      Her hand dropped to her side, and she smiled back as if she didn’t believe him, going so far as to give her head a little shake, before she moved out of the cool church into the dusty heat of the crowded square.

      The festivities were blessedly winding down by the time they found their way back to the royal party. Aarif was glad to see Kalila’s—and his—absence had not been noted, although Bahir gave them both a quick, sharp glance before indulging the crowd in a formal farewell of his daughter. He kissed both her cheeks and bestowed his blessing; while they went on to the national airport, he would return to the palace.

      Kalila accepted his farewell with dignity, her head bowed, and then turned to enter her car. Everyone followed suit, the doors closed, and with a sigh of relief Aarif saw they were at last on their way. Surely nothing could go wrong now.

      The cars moved slowly through the crowded streets of the Old Town, still chased by a merry crowd of well wishers, then back onto the main boulevard, a straight, flat road lined with dusty palm trees that led to the airport.

      The airport was only ten kilometres away, but Aarif noted the darkening smudge on the horizon with some dismay. How long would it take to load all of the cases, make any arrangements? He knew well enough how these things could drag on.

      As if to prove his point, the cars slowly drew to a halt. Aarif rolled down his window and peered ahead, but through the dust kicked up by the line of cars he could see nothing.

      A minute passed and nothing moved. With another muttered oath, Aarif threw open his door and strode down the barren road to the princess’s car.

      He rapped twice on the window and after a moment Kalila’s nurse, a plump woman with bright eyes and rounded cheeks, rolled down the window.

      ‘Prince Aarif!’

      ‘Is the princess well?’ Aarif asked. ‘Do you know why we are stopped?’

      ‘She felt ill,’ the nurse gabbled. ‘And asked to be given a moment…of privacy…’

      A sudden shadow of foreboding fell over Aarif, far more ominous than the storm gathering on the horizon. He thought of his conversation with Kalila only moments ago in the church, her talk of independence, her apology for troubling him, and the shadow of foreboding intensified into a throbbing darkness.

      ‘Where is she?’ he asked, and heard the harsh grating of his own voice. The nurse looked both alarmed and offended, and drew back. Aarif gritted his teeth and tried for patience. ‘This is not a safe place, madam. I do not trust her security in such an inhospitable location.’ He glanced up; the smudge on the horizon was growing darker, wider. Makaris was at least five kilometres behind them, and rocky desert stretched in every direction, the flat landscape marked only by large, tumbled boulders, as if thrown by a giant, unseen hand.

      The nurse hesitated, and Aarif felt his frustration growing. He wanted to shake the silly woman, to demand answers—

      ‘She’s over there.’ The woman pointed a shaking finger to a cluster of rocks about twenty metres away. A perfect hiding place.

      Aarif strode towards them, his body taut with purpose and fury. He didn’t know why he felt so angry, so afraid. Perhaps Kalila did indeed need a moment of privacy. Perhaps she was ill. Perhaps this was all in his mind, paranoid, pathetic. Remembering.

      Yet he couldn’t ignore his instinct; it was too strong, too insistent, a relentless drumming in his head, his heart.

      Something had gone wrong. Something always went wrong.

      Still, as he approached the rocks he hesitated. If Kalila was indeed in an indelicate position, it would not do to disturb her. Yet if she was in danger, or worse…

      What was worse? What could be worse than danger?

      Yet even as Aarif turned the corner of the rocky outcropping, he knew. He knew just what nameless fear had clutched at him since Kalila had apologised in the church, or perhaps even before then, when he’d heard her unhappy sigh in the garden.

      For on the other side of the rocks, there was nothing, no princess. But on the horizon, riding towards the storm, was a lone figure on a horse.

      Kalila, Aarif realised grimly, was running away.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      KALILA knew where she was going. It was that thought that sustained her as the wind whipped the headscarf around her face and the gritty sand stung her eyes. She pictured the scene behind her, how quickly it would erupt into chaos, and felt a deep shaft of guilt pierce her.

      How long would it take Aarif to realise she had gone? And what would he do? Even with her brief acquaintance of the man, Kalila knew instinctively what the desert prince would do. He would go after her.

      The thought sent a shiver of apprehension straight through her, and she clenched her hands on the reins. Arranging her disappearance had not been easy; the plan had crystallised only that morning when she’d looked down at the courtyard, seen the dismantling of her life, and realised she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t ride like a sacrifice to Calista, to marry a man she didn’t love, didn’t even know. Not yet, anyway.

      Yet even as she rode towards a grim horizon, an uncertain future, she knew this freedom couldn’t СКАЧАТЬ