Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) by Manda Mellett Page A

eyes he throws a quick glance first at Kadar, and then the emir, wanting to see their reaction and confirmation that he was on the right track. He avoids looking my way.
    “And he conned Amahad!” The heir to the throne almost spits out the words, the depth of his displeasure obvious. “Benting International Holdings stole millions from our country. We paid for surveys to see if there was oil under the sands of the southern desert. Benting provided reports that there was indeed liquid gold there. Hell, we even had the results from the test wells. We engaged Benting to begin developing the oilfields and paid a hefty sum for the privilege. Half the money was put up by a consortium of desert tribes. And half put up by the state.” He glances at his brother. “You know the tribes, Jasim. They live hand to mouth. Pride in their homeland made them want to take ownership of the project. They found the money, but that required sacrifices they can ill afford. Now it’s come to light there is no oil in the desert, they have nothing to show for it. That same pride demands recompense. The tribespeople want revenge.”
    Jasim nods, sadness in his eyes. “And you’re sure the obvious route has failed? You offered them money from the state?”
    The emir takes over with a nod. “I have, Jasim. They will not accept charity from the Crown. If they cannot take revenge on the man himself, someone of his bloodline will have to do. And there is only one who carries his blood. Vengeance will be satisfied when his daughter marries the savage sheikh.” He glares at me as if throwing a challenge, expecting me to refute the title. “They would have preferred her dead for her father’s crimes. At least I talked them down from that. For the time being.”
    My mouth’s gone dry, and I can’t speak or prevent a shudder going through me. I look round to see how my brothers are taking it and notice Kadar shifting awkwardly in his chair. As heir to the throne, I realise he’s in an awkward position. His role should be to support the ruler, but it seems even he cannot hold back on voicing his concerns in this instance.
    “She won’t come voluntarily. I’ve already tried that route. I don’t know whether she realises the link with her father but she turned down the invitation to visit.” Kadar narrows his eyes. “By all accounts, she’s a very clever woman.”
    Sheikh Rushdi dismisses his objection with a wave of his hand. “Then the next step is to bring her here whether she wants to come or not.”
    “Do we understand that we are talking about kidnapping? The possible political ramifications must be considered,” Kadar says pointedly. “Our relationship with the British government is cordial at best.”
    Our father shoots him an incredulous look. “I’m the monarch of Amahad. International concerns are not my priority. I care about our tribes and maintaining the delicate balance between them. The last thing we desire is a conflict between them. If the tribes fight among themselves, or against the Crown, they will not be united in protecting the southern borders.”
    His voice carries authority, as he emphasises the point. “Once jihadists start crossing over in significant numbers Amahad could be in a full-scale war. We cannot afford to have our way of life, our freedoms, threatened. There cannot be too high a price to pay to retain peace in our country.”
    As he breaks off, his eyes become hooded. “I leave it to you to manage this in such a way as to avoid any unnecessary complications, Kadar.” As if to show the utmost confidence in his eldest, he stands up to leave. But before he does so, he looks across to me. “Nijad, this is your duty. I will not rescind the terms of your banishment. You will remain in the desert and your punishment becomes the woman’s.” With that parting shot, he moves towards the door.
    “Your Highness,” I call out, asking him to wait, and he swings back around. “Are the tribes looking for