The Princess Brides: The Sultan's Bought Bride / The Greek's Royal Mistress / The Italian's Virgin Princess. Jane Porter

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СКАЧАТЬ fight against him, or the family, but a fight about culture…custom…a fight to be recognized. The country virtually shut down the day of Grandfather’s funeral. All the people took to the streets. I’ve never forgotten the sound of weeping, thousands of people weeping, and it taught me that nothing is more important than life. Than family.’’

      ‘‘I’m surprised you haven’t married before then.’’

      ‘‘It didn’t feel urgent.’’

      ‘‘And it is now?’’

      His mouth opened as if to speak but instead he closed it, shook his head.

      Truthfully, he’d never worried about marrying, having children, he’d been certain it was a matter of timing and sooner or later he’d meet the right woman…but it hadn’t happened, and here he was, in his late thirties, and without a wife, an heir, or a family of his own.

      And with one assassination attempt against him already.

      Malik drank his tea, let the cool liquid pour down his throat and ice his raw emotions. It’d been a difficult twenty-four hour period. He was feeling the strain of Fatima’s desperate measures, Nicolette’s masquerade, and his own need for closure. He just wished he knew if she’d come through, meet him on her own terms. He wanted her on her terms, he wanted her heart, her laughter, her commitment. But he couldn’t push her…yet.

      He turned his head, looked at Nic whose features were grave, a deep furrow between her eyebrows from thinking hard, listening so intently.

      ‘‘The years of war changed the way I looked at society,’’ he continued. ‘‘It impacted the way I view our culture and the idea of stability. I learned early that we must embrace change, that without change we die.’’

      ‘‘I would have thought you’d be afraid of change. After all, change triggered your grandfather’s death—as well as that decade and half of turmoil. One would think you’d associate change with danger.’’

      He shrugged. ‘‘But chaos and turmoil surround us, whether or not we choose to recognize it. Just because we don’t see turmoil, or because we’re not immediately impacted, doesn’t negate its existence. Chaos can happen at any time.’’

      ‘‘So your philosophy is…?’’

      Talking with Nic was good for him. ‘‘Change is good. Change is necessary. It doesn’t mean that one can’t revere the past and respect tradition, but tradition is pointless unless one can use tradition to teach, to use as a benchmark, to show one where and how to aim.’’

      She leaned back in the chaise. ‘‘You like being King.’’

      ‘‘I love being King.’’

      CHAPTER TEN

      NIC couldn’t look away from his remarkable face with the light silver eyes. He was so quiet, so controlled. She’d had no idea he’d been through so much. Another man might have been angry, bitter, cruel, but Malik had accepted the tragedies with grace.

      Baraka, she whispered to herself. Baraka, Fatima had once told her, meant Grace and peace. Malik had that peace, didn’t he?

      ‘‘There are dangers, of course,’’ he said after a reflective silence, ‘‘but we all face danger at different points in our life. The secret is to be aware of the danger, to know how one is vulnerable, and then embrace truth, and life, and move on.’’

      He rose, took her hand in his, and tugged her to her feet. ‘‘You still look hot, laeela. Let me take you to your room. You’ll be pleased to know you have your own private swimming pool.’’

      It was good news and Nic took a long, leisurely swim before dinner. The bottom and sides of the pool had been painted a sapphire blue and as Nic floated on her back, she stared up at the high pink stone towers surrounding her, one tower covered in purple bougainvillea, while climbing roses draped another tower wall, the petals the palest shade of pink. With jasmine and sweet orange blossoms scenting the air, and the setting sun painting the ancient walls a dusty red, Nicolette closed her eyes and felt…bliss. Baraka, she whispered to herself. Grace and peace.

      Nicolette was to meet Malik in one of the walled courtyards for dinner. The Citadel staff had planned a special welcome supper for the princess, and the outdoor party delighted Nic, especially as it was a very exclusive party with just two guests—them.

      A big bonfire had been built in the courtyard and a tent had been strung up to provide the sultan with additional privacy. Malik had Nic sit beside him, cross-legged on a red woven rug, and together they dined on roasted lamb, artichokes, saffron rice, and endless nuts and sweets before sitting back to enjoy the evening’s entertainment: a juggler—who juggled fire, talented singers, and traditional dancers.

      The evening was unlike anything Nic had experienced in Atiq and was by far her favorite. She loved eating outside, relished the heat and glow of the fire, and embraced the sensuous beauty of the place. ‘‘If I was from Baraka, this is where I’d want to live,’’ she said, resting her head on her knee, watching the flames crackle and dance. ‘‘This just feels right. I can’t explain it, but it feels like…home.’’

      Malik looked at her and a small muscle pulled in his jaw. ‘‘You say extraordinary things when I least expect it.’’

      She turned her head from the fire, smiled at him. She felt pleasantly relaxed, a little bit sleepy. ‘‘What did I say?’’

      He gave his head a slight shake, drew an imaginary circle on the red blanket. ‘‘This is my home, my spiritual home. Whenever I have doubts, I come here.’’

      ‘‘Doubts about what?’’

      His lips curved. ‘‘My ability to lead.’’ His smile turned self-mocking. ‘‘As well as my struggle to find the balance between what I need, and what my people need.’’

      Glancing at him, she saw that his brow had creased, and shadows haunted his eyes. He had such a noble face it hurt her to see him struggle. Nicolette felt her chest tighten. The depth of her emotion staggered her.

      She wasn’t supposed to care this much. She wasn’t supposed to admire him. She wasn’t supposed to want him.

      She shouldn’t have come to Zefd, shouldn’t have loved the red mountains, the pinkish walls of the citadel, the gnarled trees that seemed to spring from the middle of the boulders. She shouldn’t love the way the wind rustled the fronds on the date trees. Shouldn’t like sitting on a carpet by a fire eating rice with her fingers and feeling peace, real peace, for the first time in years…

      This couldn’t happen. She couldn’t fall in love with Malik or his desert or his kingdom. She wouldn’t let herself want the conversations with him, the quiet with him, the life with him…

      He was too soulful, too powerful. He’d turn her life upside down. He’d expect her to give up everything she treasured, including her freedom and her beloved family at home.

      Tears burned the back of her eyes. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe properly. ‘‘I’m exhausted,’’ she said, crossing her arms over her chest, overwhelmed by all that she felt sitting here in the dark with him. What she needed was time alone, quiet to figure out her way home. Melio felt light years away. How would she СКАЧАТЬ