The Last Prince of Dahaar Page 3

  His gaze was filled with a bitterness that cut through her. “Your ‘truth’ is only useful to me if I can quote it to your father’s face. Our fates are sealed no matter what you or I wish, no matter what skeletons we have in our closets.”

  Zohra’s palms turned clammy. He was not backing out. Marrying a stranger, being locked forever into the cage of duty and obligation—the same duty that had ripped her family apart? She would take an uncertain future over that.

  She sought and discarded one idea after the other, panic gripping her tight.

  “Fine,” she said, her mind already jumping ahead. It had been a waste of time to come here. “I have only one choice left then.”

  She turned around, determined to act before the night was up. She couldn’t stay in the palace, in Siyaad for another minute.

  She was about to step over the threshold when a hand on her arm pulled her back. A soft gasp escaped her mouth as she was pushed against the wall with sure movements. The muscles in her arms trembled, her senses becoming hyperaware of every little detail about him.

  Like the strong column of his throat as his chest fell and rose. Like the tingle in her skin where his fingers touched her.

  “I suddenly have great sympathy for your father, Princess. My sister Amira is just as headstrong as you seem to be, but at least, she listens when Azeez or I...”

  A dark shadow fell over his face. He had spoken of his sister as though she was still alive. She shouldn’t care about his pain, but it pierced through her anyway.

  “Your sister? The one who died five years ago?”

  He met her gaze. The pain in it flayed her open. “Yes.” His hands landed on either side of her face. He bent until she could see the light scar over his left eyebrow. Any grief she had seen a moment ago was gone. “Now, tell me what the only choice you have left is.”

  She pushed at him, but he didn’t relent. “I’ve not given you the liberty to touch me, Prince Ayaan, neither to haul me around.”

  “You should have thought about that before you barged into my room, Princess.” Mockery gave his mouth a cruel slant. “Whatever you do now, I will hold myself responsible for it.”

  “You wouldn’t have even laid eyes on me until the wedding if I hadn’t forced my way in here. No one is responsible for my actions or my life but me.”

  “I became responsible for you the minute I said yes to this alliance. And I won’t let you cause any more problems for your father.”

  “This...” she couldn’t speak for the outrage sputtering through her “...this kind of archaic behavior is what I’m talking about. Your claim just proves how right I am in wanting to get out of this marriage, out of Siyaad.”

  “So you’re going to run away in the middle of the night and expose your father to a scandal?”

  “I owe my father nothing. Nothing. And I’m not running away, I’m going to exercise my right as an adult and leave. Neither my father nor you can force me into a marriage that I don’t want, nor can you stop me from leaving.”

  He took his hands away from her. Not trusting his actions even for a second, Zohra straightened from the wall. Her knees shook beneath her.

  “Fine, leave,” he said, displeasure burning in his gaze. “But you leave your father no choice either except to announce my betrothal to your sister. I understand she will be eighteen in a year.”

  Bile crawled up Zohra’s throat and pooled in her mouth. How dare he? “Sixteen and a half. My sister is sixteen and a half.”

  Only silence met her outburst.

  She covered the gap between them, fury eating away at reason. She pushed at him, powerless anger churning in her gut. Saira would never go against their father. She had been born and raised in Siyaad, exposed to nothing but the incessant chatter about duty and obligation despite Zohra’s presence.

  “You cannot do that. She...I won’t let my father or you...”

  She fisted her hands and let out the cry sawing at her throat.

  There was nothing she could do to stop her father from promising Saira in her place. And he would, without blinking. Zohra knew firsthand the lengths to which her father could go for Siyaad.

  Her chest felt as if there was a steel band around it, the shackles of duty and obligation sinking their claws into her.

  “Saira is innocent, a teenager who still believes in love and happily ever after.”

  “And you?”

  “They do exist. Just not in this world, in your world. And I will do anything before I let Saira’s happiness be sacrificed in the name of duty.”

  “So you’re not completely selfish then.” He moved closer. “What is this world that I belong to, Princess, to which you don’t?”

  “It’s filled with duty, obligations, sacrifice...what else? If Saira marries you, you will shatter her illusions, bring her nothing but unhappiness. You would marry a mere girl in the name of duty?”

  Disgust radiated from him. “The very thought of betrothal to a sixteen-year-old makes my skin crawl. But Siyaad needs this public alliance. Your father’s heart attacks in the last six months, your brother’s minor status, the latest skirmish at the border? It has made Siyaad weak. This wedding means that the world knows that Dahaar stands by Siyaad. It’s the best chance your father, your people, have of retaining their identity. If something should happen to your father, your brother will have our protection.

  “Knowing all this, you refuse this alliance? You risk your country’s future, your brother’s future by acting so recklessly?”

  Zohra crumpled against the wall, the fight leaving her. She owed nothing to her father, nor to Siyaad. But Saira and Wasim...if not for them, she would have been so alone all these years. A stranger among her father’s people at thirteen—shattered by her mother’s death and the devastating truth that her father was not only alive, but that he was the sovereign of Siyaad and had a wife and six-year-old son and daughter.

  If not for her brother and sister, she would have had nothing but misery. “I had no idea this would benefit Wasim.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  His derision felt like a stinging slap. But this was all her fault.

  She had always made it her mission to learn as little as possible about the politics in Siyaad, she had rebuffed her father’s attempts to educate her, to make her active in the country’s politics. If she hadn’t sunk her head in the sand like an ostrich, she would have been better equipped to deal with this situation.

  She ran a trembling hand over her forehead, shaking from head to toe. She was well and truly caught, all her hopes for a future separate from duty and obligation crumbling right before her eyes.

  “If this is all for Siyaad’s benefit, why are you agreeing to this? You can snap your fingers and find a woman who will be your silent shadow. You clearly already dislike me. You can still refuse this, you can help Siyaad without—”

  “Enough!” Bitterness rose up inside Ayaan, burning in his blood like a fire unchecked. He reveled in the anger, in the way it burned away the crippling fear that was always lurking beneath the surface eating away the weight of what his lucidity meant to him. “You think you are anything like the woman I would want to marry if it wasn’t for duty, if it wasn’t to repay the debt my father owes yours?” he said, filling his every word with the clawing anger he felt.

  Every inch of color fled from her face and she looked as if he had struck her. And Ayaan crushed the little flare of remorse he felt.

  It would have been better if his unwanted wife had been a woman who would scurry at the thought of being in the same room with the Mad Prince. But this defiant woman was what fate had brought him.

  There was no point in railing against it. “There is very little that matters left to me, Princess. Except my word. And I would rather be dead than lose that, too.”

  “Then, s
end me back when Wasim turns eighteen, when he doesn’t need your protection anymore, however long that might take. The world will still know that Siyaad has your support. You can claim that I was an unsuitable wife and I will not contest you. You can sever all connections with me and no one will point a finger.”

  He shook his head, surprised at the depth of her anger toward their way of life.

  To be rid of her when there was no need anymore was an infinitely tempting offer. But there would be no honor in it. “If I send you back, you will become the object of speculation and ridicule. That is a very high price for your freedom, Princess. It will always be tainted in Siyaad.”

  He saw the tremor that went through her, the fear that surfaced in her gaze. But of course, she didn’t heed it. He already knew that much about this woman. “Anything is better than being locked in a marriage whose very fabric is dictated by duty and nothing else.”

  “Marriage to me doesn’t have to be the nightmare you are expecting.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have very little expectations of my wife. She will live in Dahaar. She will do her duty in state functions by my side. She will be kind and thoughtful to my parents.

  “I will not love her nor will I expect her to love me. I don’t even want to see her except in public. This marriage is purely for the benefit of my parents. And I don’t care what you do with your time as long as you don’t bring shame upon Dahaar. Our lives can be as separate as you or I want.”

  She frowned, her gaze studying him intently. “What about an heir? Isn’t that part of the agenda that’s passed down to you? Produce as many offspring, male preferably, as soon as possible?”

  “How old are you, Princess?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “I thought I was too bitter for my age. I have no intention of fathering a son or daughter, Princess, not with you or anyone else, not until...” Not ever if he didn’t find control over his own mind. “How about we revisit the invigorating subject of procreation in say...two years from now?”

  She swallowed, drawing his gaze to the delicate line of her throat. “How do I know you won’t change your mind...about everything?”

  “I have enough nightmares without the added ones of forcing myself on an unwilling woman. Believe me, the last thing I want is to sleep with you.”

  Her gaze sparked with defiance. “If I’m to be stuck in a marriage that will save my sister and benefit my brother, then I might as well be in one with a man who’s just as indifferent to it as I am.”

  Ayaan frowned, something else cutting through the pulse of attraction swirling around them. Not only had she elicited a reaction he had thought his body incapable of, but she had annoyed, perplexed and downright aggravated him to the extent that she had so easily banished the backlash from his nightmare, the chills he would have been fighting for the rest of the night.

  That she was able to do that when nothing else had worked in the past few months rendered him speechless, tempted him to keep her there, even if it was only to...

  Shaking his head, he caught himself. Whatever relief she brought him would only be temporary. “If you have had enough of an adventure, I will walk you back, Princess.”

  The smile slipped from her mouth, her gaze lingering on him, assessing, studying. She tucked her hands around her waist, loosened them and hugged herself again. Her indecision crystal clear in her eyes, Ayaan waited, willing her to let it go, willing her to walk away without another word.

  Her gaze slipped to the bed and back to him, a caress and a question in it. Every muscle in him tightened with a hot fury. “Will you be okay for the rest of the—”

  Forcing his fury into action, Ayaan tugged her forward. “Remember, Princess. You will be my wife only in front of the world. In private, you and I are nothing more than strangers. So stay out of things that don’t concern you and I will do the same.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE WEEK LEADING up to the wedding was the most torturous week that Zohra could remember, even though the wedding day dawned bright and sunny.

  Prince Ayaan had left the next morning while Zohra and her family had traveled to Dahaara the day after that, renewed vigor seeping into her father who had been ill for the past month.

  It was as though she could hear the ticking of the clock down to an unshakeable chain binding her to everything she hated.

  With each passing moment, her confidence in her betrothed’s words faltered, the midnight hour she had spent talking to him becoming fantastic and unreal in her head. Especially as Queen Fatima, Ayaan’s mother, spent every waking hour regaling Zohra about Ayaan’s childhood.

  The contrast between the charming, loving boy his mother mentioned and the dark stranger she spoke to in the middle of the night was enough to cast doubt over everything.

  Would he not expect anything from her? What kind of a man didn’t even want to lay eyes on his wife?

  She tugged the gold-and-silver bangles on to her wrists as the celebrations around the city blared loudly on the huge plasma-screen TV in her suite. The capital city of Dahaara had been decorated lavishly, very much a bride itself, albeit a much happier one, ready for a celebration unlike Zohra had ever seen or heard of.

  The gold-and-red-hued flag of Dahaar with the sword insignia flew on every street, from every shop. A holiday had been declared so that the people of Dahaar could enjoy the wedding. Gifts had been flowing in from every corner of the nation—breathtakingly exquisite silk fabrics, handmade jewelry boxes, sweets that she hadn’t heard of before—each and every gift painstakingly overflowing with Dahaar’s love of its prince.

  The telecast of the celebrations, the crowds on the roads, the laughter on the faces of adults and children alike revealed how much this wedding mattered to Dahaar. The whole world was celebrating. Except the two people who were irrevocably being bound by it.

  “Zo, look now. There he goes,” Saira exclaimed, looking beautiful in a sheer silk beige dress that sparkled in the sunlight every time she moved. Zohra couldn’t help but smile at the innocence in her half sister’s voice. “Wow, Zo. I didn’t realize he was so...handsome.”

  Unable to resist, Zohra turned and there he was.

  Displayed in all his glory on the monstrous screen. The cameras zoomed in on him, and Zohra’s breath halted in her throat.

  Handsome was too tame a word for the man she was about to marry.

  The motorcade transporting him and his parents weaved through the main street with ropes and security teams holding off the public.

  Shouts and applause waved out of the speakers. It was almost palpable, the din of the crowd, the joy in their smiling faces. King Malik sat with Queen Fatima by his side, Prince Ayaan opposite them, resplendent in a dark navy military uniform that hugged his lean body, the very epitome of a powerful prince.

  She could no more stem her curiosity about him than she could stop staring at him on the screen. Zohra shivered despite the sun-drenched room. He looked every inch a man who was used to having his every bidding done before it was given voice. Until she saw the detachment in his gaze.

  Even through the screen, she could see the tension in his shoulders, in the tight set of his mouth, in the smile that curved his mouth but never reached his eyes.

  He was standing in a crowd of people that loved him, next to parents who adored him, seemingly a man who had the world at his feet. And yet she could sense his isolation as clearly as if he were standing alone in a desert.

  The joy around him, the celebrations, the crowds—nothing touched him. It was as though there was an invisible fortress around him that no one could pierce.

  Did no one else but her see his isolation, the absolute lack of anything in that gaze? Would she have seen it if she hadn’t seen him incoherent, and writhing in pain?

  She swallowed and turned away f
rom the screen. There it was—all the proof she had needed so desperately.

  The truth of what he had said to her—that this wedding was solely for the benefit of his people, for his parents, was all laid out on the screen to see. Nothing but his sense of duty was forcing him to stand there, as it was forcing him to marry her.

  The realization, instead of appeasing her, gave way to a strange heaviness that pervaded through her limbs.

  She turned around, just as her father stepped into the room, dressed in the dark green military uniform of Siyaad.

  She had done everything she could to avoid him once they had left for Dahaara. Busy as he had been in negotiations with King Malik and Prince Ayaan, it had been easy enough.

  But, suddenly facing him in her bridal attire, the knot of anger she kept a tight hold on threatened to unravel. “Have you come to make sure I have not run away?”

  Saira’s gasp next to her checked the flow of bitterness that pounded through her veins. Passing a worried look between them, Saira excused herself, having never understood Zohra’s antipathy toward their father.

  “I know you’re not happy with this alliance, Zohra. But I never doubted that you would do your duty.”

  There it was, that word again. It had broken her family apart, it had thrust her into an unknown world, and it had taken the life of her mother, who had done nothing but pine after the man she had loved.

  She stood up from the divan and met his gaze. “I’m doing this for Saira and Wasim. I don’t want Saira to be sacrificed in the name of duty, too.”

  He ventured into the room, and she braced herself for the impact of his presence. In the eleven years that she had lived in Siyaad, she had always stayed out of his way, made sure she spent the least amount of time with him.

  “Is that what this marriage is to you? Can you not view it as anything else but sacrifice?”

  “What else could it be? You didn’t ask me if I wanted this. That man,” she said, pointing her finger toward the screen, “didn’t ask me if I wanted to be his wife. You have reduced my life to an addendum clause on a treaty.”