out.”
“You give an awful lot of orders for a...”
She crossed her arms. “Yes, that’s a question...what am I?”
He regarded her closely, his dark eyes searching. “Well, you do have a lot of opinions on how I ought to do things. And you are certainly trained in the art of being royal...when you aren’t letting your tongue run away with you.”
“You can see my royalty training coming through?” she asked, only half joking.
“Yes. It is in the way you stand, the way you sit. Your composure, even in a difficult situation. And considering I have just had a meeting with an ambassador that has gone very poorly...”
“Have you?”
“I might have threatened to erase him from the earth.”
“Oh, dear,” she said.
“And he may have threatened to go to the press.”
“Indeed.”
“Yes, indeed. So it will come as no surprise to anyone that I am in need of a bit of help. Especially since I am due to make a showing in public very soon.”
She eyed him critically. “Oh.”
“And I gather you’re starting to see the problem. And I think you can help me.”
She swallowed. She didn’t like the sound of this. A slow smile spread across his face, and that made her even more nervous.
“Ms. Christensen, I believe you are here to teach me to be civilized.”
* * *
Ana had to wonder what the hell he was talking about while she put on her dress, and still while she wandered down the hall.
The palace was on bare-bones staff and eerily quiet. Not like the times she’d stayed at Tariq’s palace in Shakar.
There, the palace was constant motion and sound—people moving everywhere, administrative staff, cleaning staff, serving staff, tours often being given in portions of the palace. There was always activity.
Things seemed dead here. Frozen in time. It reminded her of a fairy-tale castle, where all the inhabitants were sleeping. Or maybe turned into furniture and small appliances by a wicked enchantress.
Or maybe just that a new leader had been installed who had no subjects loyal to him beyond the broad expanse of the desert.
That was more likely.
She walked through the empty corridors and she had a sudden thought. A phone. What if she could find a phone?
She hurried through the hall, looking in opened rooms and in nooks. And there, she found one. An old-fashioned, gilded, rotary phone sitting on a pedestal. Just waiting. She walked over to the table and stood in front of it, her palms sweaty.
She could call Tariq. She knew his personal number by heart. Not because she’d used it so much, but because she’d felt a woman ought to know her fiancé’s phone number.
She stood there and imagined what she would say. And what his response would be. What if he mobilized the helicopters? And ground troops. And they swarmed the castle. And everything Zafar was working toward would be utterly destroyed because she’d had to take action.
And worse—a small voice inside of her had to say it—what if he did nothing? What if he waited? What if he too just sat back and did the thing that was most politically expedient?
That thought made her ill. And as much as she’d like to forget she’d ever had it, it was impossible to do. It was insidious, a small worm of doubt that had been burrowing its way into her for days and days now.
What if he didn’t care? Sure, threats had been made. Contact established with Zafar on the matter, but this was all so political in nature. What if, when she was now more inconvenient than convenient, Tariq wouldn’t really want her at all?
She backed away from the phone, her heart pounding hard. Later. She knew where the phone was now, and if she needed to make a call, she could do it later.
She wandered down a corridor, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She wandered until she heard movement. The kitchen. She could hear dishes and water. Voices. Finally things felt a little less haunted. And from there, she found the
“You give an awful lot of orders for a...”
She crossed her arms. “Yes, that’s a question...what am I?”
He regarded her closely, his dark eyes searching. “Well, you do have a lot of opinions on how I ought to do things. And you are certainly trained in the art of being royal...when you aren’t letting your tongue run away with you.”
“You can see my royalty training coming through?” she asked, only half joking.
“Yes. It is in the way you stand, the way you sit. Your composure, even in a difficult situation. And considering I have just had a meeting with an ambassador that has gone very poorly...”
“Have you?”
“I might have threatened to erase him from the earth.”
“Oh, dear,” she said.
“And he may have threatened to go to the press.”
“Indeed.”
“Yes, indeed. So it will come as no surprise to anyone that I am in need of a bit of help. Especially since I am due to make a showing in public very soon.”
She eyed him critically. “Oh.”
“And I gather you’re starting to see the problem. And I think you can help me.”
She swallowed. She didn’t like the sound of this. A slow smile spread across his face, and that made her even more nervous.
“Ms. Christensen, I believe you are here to teach me to be civilized.”
* * *
Ana had to wonder what the hell he was talking about while she put on her dress, and still while she wandered down the hall.
The palace was on bare-bones staff and eerily quiet. Not like the times she’d stayed at Tariq’s palace in Shakar.
There, the palace was constant motion and sound—people moving everywhere, administrative staff, cleaning staff, serving staff, tours often being given in portions of the palace. There was always activity.
Things seemed dead here. Frozen in time. It reminded her of a fairy-tale castle, where all the inhabitants were sleeping. Or maybe turned into furniture and small appliances by a wicked enchantress.
Or maybe just that a new leader had been installed who had no subjects loyal to him beyond the broad expanse of the desert.
That was more likely.
She walked through the empty corridors and she had a sudden thought. A phone. What if she could find a phone?
She hurried through the hall, looking in opened rooms and in nooks. And there, she found one. An old-fashioned, gilded, rotary phone sitting on a pedestal. Just waiting. She walked over to the table and stood in front of it, her palms sweaty.
She could call Tariq. She knew his personal number by heart. Not because she’d used it so much, but because she’d felt a woman ought to know her fiancé’s phone number.
She stood there and imagined what she would say. And what his response would be. What if he mobilized the helicopters? And ground troops. And they swarmed the castle. And everything Zafar was working toward would be utterly destroyed because she’d had to take action.
And worse—a small voice inside of her had to say it—what if he did nothing? What if he waited? What if he too just sat back and did the thing that was most politically expedient?
That thought made her ill. And as much as she’d like to forget she’d ever had it, it was impossible to do. It was insidious, a small worm of doubt that had been burrowing its way into her for days and days now.
What if he didn’t care? Sure, threats had been made. Contact established with Zafar on the matter, but this was all so political in nature. What if, when she was now more inconvenient than convenient, Tariq wouldn’t really want her at all?
She backed away from the phone, her heart pounding hard. Later. She knew where the phone was now, and if she needed to make a call, she could do it later.
She wandered down a corridor, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She wandered until she heard movement. The kitchen. She could hear dishes and water. Voices. Finally things felt a little less haunted. And from there, she found the
Similar Books
