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She slanted him a look of muted derision. “I know what they are.”
His fingers threaded together to form an apex and he rested his chin on it. “Tea, then,” he prompted.
She reached forward and took one of the saucers. It made a jingling noise as she brought it to her lap. Her fingers were shaking and she hadn’t realised. Her startled eyes flew to his, embarrassed by the betraying gesture. His mocking smile sent a tingle down her spine.
Yes, he’d noticed.
There was very little this man wouldn’t notice, she suspected.
She concentrated on the swirling pattern on the saucer.
“You do not know the Sheikh,” he commented conversationally. “And yet you have agreed to marry him.”
Her finger ran around the scalloped edge of her cup. “Yes.”
“Why?” He leaned forward, his gaze intent on hers.
She took in a shuddering breath. “I understand your job, Kaman, but I think this is a conversation better had with the Emir.”
His eyes narrowed. “You are aware he has tasked me with this interview.”
“Interview?” She interrupted caustically. Her nerves were already shot to pieces at the idea of marrying into the Tari’ell royal family. The prospect of having to apply for the job was a little galling. “I have come here to marry the Emir. Not to be questioned by you.”
“Yes.” He reached forward and grabbed a teacup for himself. It looked completely incongruous in his enormous hands.
Powerful hands.
Hands that could bring pleasure or pain with great ease. The thought came to her from nowhere. She gulped it away. “But why?”
Her breath felt like it was being squeezed out of her lungs. She sipped her fragrant tea to buy some time. “Because I don’t believe you have any right to question me,” she deliberately appeared to misunderstand.
His lip lifted in a smile. “You don’t? Even when such power has been vested in me by the Sheikh himself?”
Warmth stole into her cheeks. “I am a princess of Medouzan. And though my family no longer lays claim to that title, and has been forced to live in exile for many years, there are many who regard my claim to the throne as equal to the Sheikh’s.”
A muscle flecked in his jaw at her provocative statement. She had intended to shock him. Attack was the best form of defence, after all.
“Your family was deposed almost two hundred years ago. Do you still credit that ancient right?”
She laughed softly. “Yes. And so does the Sheikh, or he would never have sought a Medouzan bride.”
“He sought Tashana as his wife.”
Her eyes fluttered shut at the reference to the woman she’d loved, more as a sister than a cousin. “And when she was murdered, he came to me.”
He nodded slowly, his mind processing her comprehension of the situation. He tried a different tact. “It doesn’t offend you, then, to slip into the role meant for another woman? Knowing that you would be a consolation prize only?”
She sipped her tea again. It was lemon and lavender, one of her favourite combinations. Perhaps because she had drunk it as a small child. “I would never try to replace Tasha,” she spoke softly, her voice imbued with all of the love and memories she held in her heart. “Nobody could.” She blinked rapidly to avoid the stinging tears that were cloying at her throat.
Another breeze lifted off the desert, and this time, it carried the song of a bird, high pitched and warbling. She trained her eyes in the distance, taking comfort from the certainty that she was back where she belonged.
“Our people have been at war for two centuries. Too many have died and been displaced in this ancient rivalry. Your Sheikh has shown great compassion and foresight in suggesting this marriage. Peace between the Tari’ell and Medouzan is greatly desired – on both sides.”
“Yes,” he agreed in an undertone. “Peace is indeed a lofty goal.”
Something about his voice showed cynicism. “You don’t agree.”
“On the contrary, I have been a supporter of the union from the first. The war is futile. There can be no winner when the country is repeatedly plunging closer to poverty and unrest. A marriage between our two people makes sense.”
