Royals: A Dutiful Princess

He shrugged. ‘You’ve known me most of your life, Jazz, but people change over time.’

‘So I’ll get to know you all over again.’ She met his stare steadily. ‘I don’t see anything different, Tyr. I just see you. And I’m not afraid of anything you have to tell me, but I think you are.’

‘Where are we going with this?’

‘If you point-blank refuse to tell me about your past, then all that’s left to talk about is you agreeing to marry me.’

She said this lightly as he raked his hair with frustration. ‘I thought you’d agreed we would forget that.’

‘You’re not making this easy for me, Tyr.’

‘Easy?’ He laughed. ‘Nothing about this situation is easy, Jazz.’

She huffed a smile. ‘Bet marriage was the last thing on your mind when you heaved me out of that sand drift.’

He slanted her an amused glance. ‘You could say.’

‘And now if you don’t marry me, I will be known to one and all as the disgraced princess of Kareshi. My people will never forgive you for that,’ she said, growing serious, ‘and neither will Sharif. He might be a forward-thinking leader, but he would never do anything to risk losing the hard-won trust of our people. I’m sorry, Tyr, but there really is no alternative—for either of us.’

‘Do you know how mad that sounds?’

‘Not mad,’ Jazz said sadly, ‘realistic. The emir won’t have me now, and neither would any other man in our world. I could run away and live somewhere else, I suppose, but I wouldn’t be much use to my people.’

For once he was lost for words. Finally, he said tensely, ‘Can you hear that?’

Jazz frowned. ‘Hear what, Tyr?’

‘Exactly.’ The wind had dropped. ‘The storm has passed over. People will be on their way round to check up on you very soon and you don’t want me here when that happens.’

‘It’s too late to worry about that, Tyr,’ Jazz assured him with a rueful smile.

Freeing the storm sheet, he stepped outside. Unfortunately, Jazz was right. He stopped short on the threshold of the pavilion as a group of villagers came up to him, wanting to know their princess was safe. He saw the exchange of glances when he tried to reassure them, then realised they assumed Jazz was safe because he had been with her throughout the storm. How could he betray these good people? He couldn’t indulge his wanderlust any more than Jazz could run away. He was definitely going to stay and see this out.

As he walked away, he could feel the villagers’ stares on his back. They weren’t hostile—quite the contrary. They seemed delighted by the developing relationship between him and Jazz. There was just one thing wrong with that. He didn’t want a wife, and the last person on earth he’d risk sweeping into his dark world was Jazz, though he could still feel the brush of her lips against his cheek, and the softness of her body beneath his hands. He would never forget how she’d trembled when he’d barely touched her, or her delicious scent that wound round his senses. He wanted Jazz in every way that a man could want a woman, but would he be forced into marrying her? That was too crazy to contemplate, and it wasn’t going to happen. There had to be a way out of this for both of them. And whatever that way was, he would find it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HE SPENT A restless night and was out before dawn the next day. He had to get out and think. He had to drive himself hard until the right idea came to him. The chill of night was still in the air he rode into the echoing canyon. An underground stream surfaced and ran from here to feed the oasis. It deepened into a small lake or wadi, from which the nearby village took its name. This was where he usually stopped to let his horse drink.

Easing back in the saddle, he allowed his mount to pick out a safe path down the steep embankment to the water, where he dismounted. Stretching, he turned to run up his stirrups and make the horse comfortable. Loosening its girth, he secured the reins and gave it an encouraging slap on the neck, though after their fast gallop here his horse needed no encouragement to drink. Stripping off his shirt and jeans, he dived into the icy water. It cleared his mind and soothed him as he worked out where to go from here.

He needed space from Jazz to figure out how to leave without ruining her. It was too late to regret what had happened. He had to find a solution that would work for both of them. Jazz had led a sheltered life, but that hadn’t stopped her dreams being big. He could relate to that. Now she was old enough, she was putting those dreams to good use on behalf of her people. He could relate to that too. The sister of his closest friend, a woman he found dangerously attractive, should have been the perfect match for him—would have been perfect, if he hadn’t had so many ghosts dogging his footsteps.

He took out his frustration in a powerful freestyle stroke that took him within sight of the dunes at the far end of the wadi. Swimming back, he waded out and shook the water off himself like a wolf. Reaching for his jeans, he tugged them on and shut his eyes, as if that would close out the image of Jazz.

Then his horse whinnied, and, shading his eyes, he saw her riding flat out. He would have known her anywhere. No other woman rode with Jazz’s grace and elegance, or with such confidence. Silhouetted against the pale sapphire sky of dawn, with her hair flying loose like a banner, she was leaning low over her horse’s neck. He followed her progress with admiration, and then she spotted him. Goodness knew how she knew exactly where he was standing travelling at that speed, but she reined in and rode directly towards him. Something twisted inside him as she approached. Jazz belonged here, just as he did. She was in her element riding free in the desert, but as a deserted wife she would never be free again in Kareshi, at least not free as he understood the term.

He barely had chance to turn around and act nonchalant as she came clattering towards him across the stony ground. Sitting back in the saddle, she smiled at him as she slapped her stallion’s neck. ‘So I found you.’ Kicking her feet out of the stirrups, she jumped down. Having drawn the reins over her stallion’s head, she turned to give him one of her slant-mouthed smiles.

‘I’ll take him,’ he offered as her stallion pranced impatiently on the spot.

‘No need,’ she insisted.

‘There is need,’ he argued. ‘Sometimes even you have to accept help, Jazz.’ He took charge of the horse and led both their mounts down to the shallows to drink.

As she battled to rule her veil and put it back in place after her hectic ride, Jazz realised she had hoped she would find Tyr at the wadi. She’d been thinking about him all night. Thinking about his past, and everything Sharif had told her about Tyr’s time in the army, which wasn’t nearly enough. Sharif had been discreet in the extreme, she suspected, filling in only a few of the gaps for her. Tyr had stayed behind after the conflict to rebuild where he could, but what had happened to him before that? This was her chance to ask him, but somehow as she stared at Tyr’s strong back when he took their horses down to the water, the right words refused to form. Perhaps she was afraid of being stonewalled again, because that would be just one more sign of how far they’d grown apart, but she had to set some things straight.

‘You would never leave Kareshi because of what’s happened, would you, Tyr? Not when the village needs you.’

‘The longer I stay at Wadi village, the more people will talk. If I don’t leave, then you should, Jazz.’

‘Why should I leave when the damage is already done?’

Catching hold of her arms, Tyr brought her in front of him. ‘Will you stop arguing for once?’ he demanded, staring fiercely into her eyes.

She was ready for anything, but not that. The touch of Tyr’s hands on her body was electrifying. But Tyr felt nothing, Jazz concluded as his stern gaze drilled into hers.

‘I’m thinking of you, Jazz. The villagers are getting used to seeing us together and if we stay on they will get carried away by this idea of a marriage between us. If that happens I will have ruined you. As you say, you’ll never be able to marry.’

‘Do you seriously think I’d want to after this?’ She confronted Tyr’s stormy gaze with amusement. ‘How do you expect me to feel, Tyr? I don’t like this any more than you do.’

So the thought of marrying Tyr has never occurred to you?

‘I’m still trying to find you a way out of it, Jazz.’

‘There is no way out of this.’ She stared out across the water. ‘Shall we swim the horses while we’re here?’

‘If you like.’

She exhaled with relief. They had used to swim the horses in the wadi when they were kids. It was a great way to ease tension, and there had never been a better time to reinstate that tradition.

Their horses plunged forward, heading in the direction of a sandbank where they could find solid ground. Once they were safely out of the water, Jazz turned her face to the brightening sky and smiled as she dragged in a lungful of air. Just this one last time, she wanted to escape reality and feast on the innocent pleasures of Kareshi. ‘Can you smell the desert, Tyr?’

‘Camel dung and heat?’

‘You’re such a savage. That’s Arabian jasmine and desert lavender. The scent is so intense, because our horses’ hooves have crushed the flowers.’

‘If you say so.’

Romance was clearly the last thing on Tyr’s mind this morning. She could hardly blame him, Jazz thought as he sprang down. Preparing to dismount, she held out her hand so Tyr could steady her on the slippery bank, but he bypassed her hand and gripped her round the waist to lower her gently to the ground. The touch of his hands was everything she had ever dreamed of, but the instant her feet were firmly planted, he stepped away. Shading his eyes, he stared across the tranquil water.

‘I should be getting back, Jazz.’

‘But this is our chance to talk about you. You got away with it last time, but I won’t let you get away with it twice.’

He turned to look at her. ‘So what do you want to know about me?’

‘Everything,’ she said softly.

‘A princess of Kareshi might be entitled to many things, but those privileges don’t extend to me, Jazz.’

‘So I’m not allowed to know anything about the man who used to be my friend. And still is my friend, I hope?’

‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’

Jazz shrank inside. There was nothing in Tyr’s voice for her, nothing at all. She’d tried to reach him and she’d failed. The tiny amount of progress they’d made while they were swimming their horses and relaxing in each other’s company had vanished. Closing her eyes, she knew with certainty she didn’t want to travel another yard with a man who didn’t want her, but she also knew she would never stop trying to reach Tyr, if there was even the smallest chance she could help him.

‘Come on, Jazz. Make a decision,’ he prompted. ‘I’ve got to get back.’

‘I had intended to take a quick look at the caves.’

‘Why?’

Because this was her last-ditch attempt to re-establish contact with him. There were prehistoric paintings in the caves, to which, on one memorable occasion, Jazz had added her own childish daub. Sharif had been furious and had ordered her painting removed. Tyr had defended her, insisting Sharif needn’t worry as the rainy season would soon see to that. And it had, washing away Jazz’s painting, leaving the art of prehistory untouched. They had explored the caves endlessly when they were younger. Maybe revisiting them would light that spark again, she hoped.

‘What are you playing at, Jazz?’ Tyr called after her as she set off.

‘Nothing.’ She shrugged as she quickened her stride. ‘Just progressing our catch-up plan.’

‘Your catch-up plan.’

Jazz looked so appealing in pale, figure-hugging riding britches, with the long, concealing shirt she wore over them rippling in the breeze. A flowing dark veil completed the picture, and, whether this was sensible or not, Jazz was the best thing he’d seen since he last saw her the previous night.

‘I’m going to ask Sharif if we can open the caves to the public,’ she explained, slowing to view the cliff path ahead of them. ‘We should share the history of Kareshi. All we’d need to do is to build a proper path with handrails up this cliff and train some guides.’

We, we, we. As Jazz continued to ride her enthusiasm, he wondered if he was guilty of overreacting, or if Jazz still imagined they could live together here? Surely she’d had time to think about it, and had realised what a bad match they were?

It seemed not, and as Jazz started up the cliff, he brushed away a twist of unease and followed her.

‘Be careful when you come up here, Tyr. This scree is treacherous.’

‘Jazz!’

His heart stopped as she wobbled precariously on the edge of a narrow ledge. Bounding up, he dragged her to safety, and for a few intense moments they just stared at each other, and then, conscious he was still holding on to her, he lifted his hands away.

‘Don’t make such a fuss, Tyr.’ Jazz was straightening her shirt as she spoke. ‘I know this terrain like the back of my hand.’

‘Terrain changes over time, and just as sand can slip away beneath your horse’s hooves, these small loose stones are deadly underfoot. You could have gone over the edge.’

‘But I trust you to save me.’

He flinched as she touched his arm. ‘Then you’re mad.’ He turned away before the urge to unloop Jazz’s veil and kiss the life out of her overwhelmed him.

And that was all they had time for before Jazz’s riding boot hit a patch of loose stones and she started to slide away from him. Yanking her back, he stared into the face of a woman he wanted, a woman who, judging by the look on her face, badly wanted to be kissed. He didn’t need any encouragement. Removing her veil, he looped it around her neck and drew her close. Her breathing quickened and her lips parted. ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

His answer was to dip his head and brush his lips against hers. Jazz responded as he’d hoped she would, melting against him as she reached up to link her hands behind his neck. He pulled away, cursing himself for the loss of control when he felt her trembling. ‘And now we really should be getting back.’

‘You’re right,’ she agreed, swallowing deep. ‘Do you mind if I take hold of your hand for the rest of the way down?’

‘Be my guest.’

By the time they reached level ground, reason had thankfully re-entered his thinking. ‘You’re going to ride into the village ahead of me.’

A frisson of concern tore through Jazz. The tone of Tyr’s voice had changed so completely. He’d kissed her. Tyr had kissed her. But in the short time it had taken them to walk down the cliff path together, he had grown distant again. The fact that Tyr could cut himself off so completely, and in so short a space of time, frightened her. There was so much she didn’t know about him, and it distressed her to think things were so messed up between them she was in real danger of losing the friendship of a man she had loved since she was a child.

As they mounted up in silence, Jazz reflected that if the past few weeks had taught her anything, it was that she couldn’t write the script for a perfect life, because everyone had different aspirations. Tyr’s dream was to rebuild, then move on to the next project, while hers was to stay and develop what she started. His kiss had been a fleeting reminder of what might have been, but Tyr obviously thought the kiss was a mistake. The time she’d spent with him had been an unexpected gift, but it was over now. Urging her mount into a brisk trot, she watched Tyr turn his horse around and head in the opposite direction as he took the long way back to the village.

* * *

Disbelief racked Tyr. He’d kissed Jazz? What the hell was he thinking? He’d been back at the village for just under an hour when she came to tell him the news. She found him at the village hall, where he was fine-tuning the Internet connection, which he’d managed to get back up.

‘I thought you should know,’ she said.

‘That’s putting it mildly. Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me everything in Sharif’s mail.’

‘You know what email’s like. You write one thing and the person at the other end reads something else. I mailed Sharif to explain that we can sort this mix-up out between us, but what I didn’t know was that the headman had already mailed Sharif to tell him how happy everyone is at the prospect of us staying on here, once we are married. Please don’t be angry, Tyr. This is just a terrible misunderstanding.’

‘This is like a sandstorm from hell,’ he argued.

Closing down the computer, he steered Jazz outside. The time for worrying what people thought when they saw them together was long past, but Jazz was right in saying it was too late for recriminations. ‘When is this ridiculous ceremony supposed to take place?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘What?’

‘I’m sorry, Tyr, but there’s no such thing as a long engagement here.’

His face turned thunderous. ‘No kidding.’

Tyr had every right to be angry, Jazz conceded as he marched her down the dusty village street towards her pavilion. He left her at the door without a backward glance. He was mad and she didn’t blame him. There was no way out of this now, for either of them, unless Tyr was prepared to risk his friendship with Sharif, and she doubted he would ever risk that. She had hoped for enough time to plan a way forward together, but there was no time, and now they were further apart than they had ever been, which meant she was faced by the bitter prospect of a loveless marriage to a friend she’d lost for ever.

No! No! No! His mind was splintering into a thousand pieces, all of them emblazoned with the same word: No. Did he want this sham marriage? Did he want to deceive the people he’d come to care for in Kareshi? Did he want to subject Jazz to a farce on a grand scale? No again. Jazz was innocent, and the people of Wadi village were only guilty of wanting to share their princess’s happiness. Having a princess of Kareshi marry in their village was a dream come true for them. How could he walk away from that? And now he’d spoken to Sharif he had confirmation that if he walked away from this, Jazz would never be able to lift her head in Kareshi again. He had to give Sharif credit for remaining strictly neutral throughout a very difficult conversation: ‘You’re my friend and Jazz is my sister,’ Sharif had said. ‘I trust you to work this out between you.’

He didn’t sleep that night. How could he sleep with Jazz lying half naked in a bed close by? Jazz with her storm cloud of jet-black hair drifting round her shoulders and that sweet mouth begging to be kissed.

He should never have kissed her. He should have stayed away from her.

It was too late to worry about that now. Staring into the darkness, he thought about the irony of Sharif finishing their conversation by begging him to be kind to Jazz when he didn’t know any other way to be with her. But Sharif had only seen him at his most brutal recently, Tyr reflected. They might call him a hero and pin a medal on his chest, but he could never imagine bringing new life into such a violent world, and Jazz deserved children.

Swinging out of bed, he paced the floor. Who was he to ruin Jazz’s life? He had asked Sharif this same question, only to have Sharif insist that marriage to Jazz might turn out to be the best thing that had ever happened to him, if Tyr would give it only half a chance. But he couldn’t bear to see the hurt in her eyes when Jazz finally understood how easy it was for him to close off from all human emotion. And if he were ever selfish enough to wrap his arms around her, he would never let her go. Right now he’d settled for the easy friendship they used to share, though it seemed to him that any type of relationship with Jazz beyond a formal contract of marriage had finally slipped out of his grasp.

* * *

In spite of all her misgivings, Jazz couldn’t help but be touched by the amount of effort the villagers were putting into making her wedding day special. She was hyperventilating most of the time at the thought of becoming Tyr’s bride. It was amazing how she could cut out all the bits about this being a forced wedding and just think about being married to Tyr. Not that this fantasy version of events was something she could share with him. Fortunately, she didn’t have to, as Tyr was careful to keep his distance. There wasn’t much time before Sharif arrived to give his blessing, so everyone was rushing to put everything in place.

There was just one spoiler. As she toyed with a veil of the finest Chantilly lace, Jazz shivered as she thought about her wedding night with Tyr.

And Tyr? How must he be feeling?

Probably repulsed at the thought of sleeping with her?

She would almost prefer that, Jazz realised. It would lift her most pressing concern away: the wedding night. Perhaps they could come to some sort of mutual arrangement. Separate beds? Sleeping with a friend was totally weird by any standards. Surely Tyr would agree with that? She had a total blind spot when it came to sex. She didn’t have a clue, except for what she’d read or overheard. Vowing to remain chaste until marriage hadn’t been too big a sacrifice when she only had hair-raising gossip about the wedding night to go on. She’d always been chaste and had had no plans to change the status quo.

Until now.

Putting the veil aside before she ruined it, she took a deep breath. Calm down! If she carried on like this she would be a gibbering wreck by the time she stood beside Tyr at the ceremony.

Would he even turn up?

The thought that he might not chilled her. The thought that he would led immediately back to their wedding night. She had to try to concentrate on the fact that Sharif and Tyr’s sisters and their husbands would be arriving soon, or she would never be able to go through with this. Sharif had delivered his itinerary in one of his customarily brusque texts:

Prepare for full contingent of family members arriving to celebrate with Wadi villagers tomorrow night.

Sharif hadn’t mentioned celebrating with his sister. Jazz gathered that Sharif had nothing to say to her of a celebratory nature. And who could blame him? She’d pressed for marriage negotiations with the Emir of Qadar and then she’d changed her mind, only to hit him with the bombshell that she was going to marry Tyr Skavanga. All in all, Sharif was being quite restrained.

For now.

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