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His handsome face was grim, his expression intentionally kept blank, but there was something in his eyes that Lilah alone understood. A muscle flexed in his jaw and his shoulders were tense.
She clasped her hands in her lap and leaned forward subconsciously. What’s happened? She said the silent incantation over and over, until his eyes clashed fiercely with hers.
She stood without meaning to, and as she moved towards him, the room silenced. A simple look from her brother stilled her movement.
“The wedding is off.” This time, he addressed the words straight at her, before sweeping from the room with the confidence that came naturally to a man such as him. He had been born to power and that power ran through his veins as blood did mere mortals.
For as long as she could remember, this wedding had been spoken of. The union between the dashing, powerful Kiral Mazroui and the stunning princess Melania of the distant kingdom of Assing had been planned for almost their entire lives.
What could possibly have happened to put an end to such a perfect plan?
CHAPTER ONE
One week earlier.
The sun was completely unrelenting. Just as Abi had imagined it might be. Though the ocean curved around the distant capital city, the monoliths of steel and glass were thick and heavy between her and the sea’s sweetly cool relief. There was no refreshing breeze offered here.
Only sultry sunshine and dust, and the ceaseless din of fevered crowds.
Her eyes scanned the assortment of people crushed against the palace gates. Beggars in tatty clothing had their slender hands extended in the hope that the royal household would favour them. With money or food, Abi couldn’t have said. She only knew that she would soon be doing exactly the same thing – asking the palace for money – and the thought filled her with despair.
Oblivious to the fettered crowd of paupers stood tourists like her. Yet not like her. They were smiling happily, selfie-sticks extended high against the backdrop of the crisp blue sky, eyes crinkling as they pulled picture-perfect faces to immortalise a single moment. The palace was the backdrop they all chose. And why not? It was a splendour beyond comprehension.
Her throat was dry and it had little to do with the temperature, or the fact she’d felt almost unbearably hot since she’d arrived in the capital that morning. No. It was the palace itself, and the man contained somewhere within its sprawling walls.
Abi had come to Delani with no idea what to expect. How could she have? By the time he’d told her that he was a powerful ruler of a faraway desert kingdom, it had been impossible for Abi to ask him about his country. He had broken the news to her at the same time that he’d broken up with her: in one fell swoop she’d lost the man she’d fallen in love with and realized that he’d never existed.
Delani, then, was a mystery to Abigail. She had a vague understanding of its geography, and she knew that it was supremely wealthy, but beyond that, she was clueless.
Now, staring at the palace she’d seen only once before – in the pages of the guidebook the travel agent had excitedly shown her when she’d booked her flight – she was engulfed by a sense of wariness.
This was going to be a disaster.
Her nerves bundled inside her chest and her heart hammered hopelessly. The guard who’d refused to help her was still at his post, his outfit unmistakably military; his weapon undoubtedly real – and loaded.
Sweat had beaded around her neck and was running in rivulets between her breasts. She wished, more than anything, she was back in New York in the comfort of her apartment, with Michael in her arms.
Ordinarily the thought of her adorable son would have brought a smile to her face, but this was not an ordinary day. She’d come to Delani to beg for help from a man she had sworn she would never contact again. Her success was vital. If she didn’t succeed … she couldn’t bear to contemplate what she’d do if he refused her request.
She couldn’t let any harm befall Michael. She couldn’t! And surely he wouldn’t. After all, Michael was his son too. His responsibility.
She swallowed.
The knot of tension was palpable. It was a noose around her mind; a nail in her heart.
For years she’d avoided this. For years she’d worried about the words she’d use if she ever had to tell him the truth. What would she say to him? How could she explain to one of the most powerful men on earth that their brief union – it hadn’t even been a month – had resulted in a little boy? A son she’d kept from him? She had worried endlessly about that conversation over the years, and yet she’d never imagined that she wouldn’t have it. That she would be prevented from even speaking to him again.
She squeezed her eyes shut, furious at herself for the foolish miscalculation. He was an Emir, and she’d expected what? That she could just fly into his country, drop this particularly messy bombshell, beg for his help and then fly home again unscathed?
She cursed herself now for throwing out his business card. He’d given it to her so reluctantly; his expression had been one of cold detachment. It had obviously been a sop. Something he’d aimed to placate her with despite the fact he was leaving her heart broken. And so she’d ripped it up and sworn she’d never, not in a thousand years, think of him again. Of course she hadn’t known then about the tiny little life in her belly.
How many hours had she been sitting in front of the palace for? Several. Her skin, despite its natural caramel colouring, had begun to burn. She looked left, then right, but there was no shade to be had.
She stood up and ran her hand around her neck before taking another step towards the guard. His eyes flicked to her speculatively. He’d been watching her. This pretty little foreigner who seemed to be demanding an interview with his supreme highness Kiral Mazroui.
She must have been crazy. He would lose his job if he actually passed her name up the ranks.
She was just a fan. Perhaps even psychotic. His eyes scanned her again. She was small in size, petite and slim, and nice enough to look at. But there was something in her face – a determination that spoke of true desperation.
