The Sheikh's Forbidden Virgin. Кейт Хьюит

You were quite young at that engagement party, weren’t you? You wore a white dress, with a bow in your hair.’

      ‘I was twelve,’ Kalila replied, her voice coming out in almost a whisper before she cleared her throat. She was touched—and unsettled—that he remembered her dress, her hair.

      ‘You looked as if you were going to a birthday party.’ Aarif glanced away. ‘Perhaps it felt like that at the time.’

      Kalila nodded, surprised and unsettled again that he could understand just how she’d felt. ‘Yes, it did. And I was getting the best present of all.’ The trace of bitterness in her voice must have alerted him, for he glanced at her with faint censure now, the moment of unexpected closeness shattered by her own confession.

      ‘Marriage is an honour and a blessing.’

      He sounded so much like her father, Kalila thought. Like every man who lectured about a woman’s duty. ‘Are you married, Prince Aarif?’ she asked, a note of challenge in her voice.

      Aarif shook his head. ‘No,’ he said flatly, and any further discussion was put to an end by the arrival of her father.

      ‘Ah, Prince Aarif. And Kalila, you look well rested. I am glad.’ He came forward, rubbing his hands together, every inch the beneficent ruler. ‘I was telling PrinceAarif earlier that we do not rest on formality here, especially among family and friends.’

      Then what, Kalila wanted to ask, was the point of that spectacle today? Of course she knew: tradition, ceremony. Pride. She saw her father’s gaze move speculatively between her and Aarif and instinctively she took a step away from the prince. A new, hidden meaning to her father’s words making her uncomfortably aware of the potential impropriety of their brief conversation. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said with a perfunctory smile. ‘We are very glad to welcome you to Zaraq, Prince Aarif.’

      ‘And I am very glad to be here,’ he returned, his voice low, pleasant and smooth, yet somehow devoid of any true expression. Kalila glanced at his face and saw his eyes looked blank. He was wearing a mask, she thought, a veil, as much of one as she had worn this afternoon. She wondered what he was trying to hide.

      Bahir drew Kalila’s chair, before sitting down, and Aarif followed.

      ‘Earlier Aarif was explaining to me why King Zakari could not be here today,’ Bahir said as he poured them all wine. Kalila took a sip; it was light and refreshing and bubbled pleasantly through her.

      ‘Oh, yes?’ she said, raising her eyebrows.

      ‘He is, of course, a busy man,’ Bahir continued. ‘With many royal duties. He is not, in fact, on Calista at the moment…’ He let his voice trail off in delicate inquiry, and Kalila watched with a flicker of interest as Aarif’s mouth tightened.

      ‘He is not?’ she asked. ‘Where is he, PrinceAarif?’

      ‘Please, call me Aarif.’ There was a thread of tension in his voice that Kalila heard with growing curiosity.

      ‘Then you must call me Kalila,’ she returned as a matter of courtesy, yet this pleasantry caused Aarif’s sharp gaze to rest briefly on her face and something unfurled deep in her belly and spiralled strangely upwards.

      He wasn’t, she reflected, taking another sip of wine, a classically handsome man. The scar put paid to that, but even without it his face was too harsh, too hard. There was no kindness in it, no humour or sympathy. The only emotion she saw in his dark eyes, in the flat line of his mouth, was determination.

      She wondered just what Aarif was determined to do.

      The first course, stewed chicken seasoned with coriander and paprika, was served, and they all began to eat.

      ‘I have heard,’ Bahir said after a moment, his voice mild and easy, ‘rumours of diamonds.’

      Aarif paused for only a fraction of a second before he smiled and shrugged. ‘There are always rumours.’

      ‘This rumour,’ Bahir continued, his voice turning hard for only a second, ‘is that half of the Stefani diamond is missing.’ He paused, and Kalila watched as Aarif continued chewing with what looked like deliberate unconcern. ‘I wonder if that is what concerns your brother, Aarif?’

      Aarif swallowed and took a sip of wine. Tension crackled in the air and Kalila’s gaze flickered from one man to the other, both smiling and genial, yet too much shrewd knowledge in their eyes.

      What was going on?

      ‘My brother is indeed concerned about the Stefani diamond,’ Aarif said after a moment. ‘It has long been his desire to unite the diamond, and of course the kingdoms of Calista and Aristo.’ His gaze rested once more on Kalila, and again she felt that strange unfurling, as if inside her something had taken root and now sought sunlight, life and air. ‘This, of course, is of benefit to you, Princess. You shall be Queen not only of Calista, but of Aristo also.’

      Kalila tried to smile, although in truth she hadn’t considered herself queen of anything at all. She’d only been thinking of herself as someone’s wife, not queen of a country, or even two.

      Queen. She tried to feel the obligatory thrill, but disappointment and fear were too pressing. She didn’t aspire to titles; she aspired to love.

      ‘I wish your brother every success,’ she finally said, keeping her voice light, and a servant came to clear their plates.

      ‘My brother will be successful,’ Aarif said, smiling, although there was an odd flatness to his voice, his eyes. ‘When one is determined, one is also successful.’

      There was a tiny pause, and the servant came to clear the dishes. ‘Indeed, an excellent maxim to live by,’ Bahir said lightly, and poured more wine.

      Kalila toyed with the next course, a salad made with couscous, cucumbers, and tomatoes. Her appetite had vanished and she felt unsettled again, uneasy even though she was in comfortable clothes. Even though she was herself.

      She didn’t know what caused this sense of unease, a needy sort of dissatisfaction. Was it Zakari’s absence or Aarif’s presence? Her gaze flitted to the prince’s hard profile, lingered briefly on the strong curve of his jaw, the livid line of his scar, and she felt again that strange spiralling within, upwards, something happy and hungry. He interested her, she realised with a spark of surprise. Fascinated her.

      Would Zakari have done the same? The shadowy figure from her childhood held little appeal compared to the enigmatic presence of this man…this man, who was not and was never going to be her husband.

      Aarif turned, his eyes clashing with hers, and Kalila jerked her gaze away, feeling exposed, as if he’d somehow witnessed her disturbing thought process.

      ‘Kalila?’ Bahir raised his eyebrow, drawing her back into the conversation.

      ‘Please excuse me,’ Kalila said quickly, forcing herself not to flush. ‘My mind was elsewhere. Father?’

      ‘Prince Aarif was just inquiring about bringing you to Calista. He wanted to leave tomorrow, and I was explaining to him about our customs.’ Bahir smiled apologetically at Aarif. ‘You see, Prince Aarif, there is a tradition here in Zaraq. The people love the royal family—it has always been so.’ He paused and took a sip of wine. ‘It is, perhaps, why we have enjoyed over a hundred years of peaceful rule.’ It was, Kalila knew, a delicate reminder of the power and prestige Zaraq brought to this marriage alliance. ‘The people of Makaris, our capital, like to hold a little festival when a member of the royal family is going to be married.’ Bahir held up one smooth, well-manicured hand, anticipating Aarif’s response, although he hadn’t moved or spoken. He simply waited. ‘I know this festival would normally occur after the wedding, but Kalila will be in Calista then, and it is important to the people that they see the happy couple…or at least the radiant bride.’ There was no censure in Bahir’s voice, but Aarif must have felt it for his mouth tightened once more.

      ‘If my brother had been aware of such traditions, I am sure he would