Then she’d agreed to play her part and he’d just...stopped. He’d stood by calmly and just let her leave.
Did that mean everything he’d told her had been more manipulation designed to shove her into the slot where he needed her? Then, once he had, he’d just retracted his tentacles and settled back into neutral mode?
That made the most sense. She had long ago become reconciled to the fact that a man who’d chosen Mohab’s line of work must be made of a different material than other human beings. To deal with the atrocities he was required to face head-on, he must have long since shut down his basic human emotions. And to fulfill his stealth missions, he must have become an expert at simulating those emotions at will.
But even knowing that, he’d managed to fool her again. He’d anesthetized her judgment and nullified her instincts. She’d actually begun believing his claims and had all but drowned in his passion. His nonexistent passion.
And that was the worst of it all. That after everything that had happened, her senses and responses would forever remain dependent on a mirage. Like Tantalus, she was destined to shrivel up with thirst for an illusion.
What kind of fate was it that always made her his target, his chess piece? Why had fate infected her with this unremitting hunger that nothing had ever eradicated, when he felt none for her, for real, in return? Why, after she’d suppressed it for years until she’d thought she’d been cured, had it taken only his reappearance to drag it out of her depths? And now that the fever had spiked again, how could she subdue it, at least enough to keep on functioning?
A wave of too-familiar dejection crashed over her as she slit her eyes against the brilliant setting sun, suddenly cold to her marrow in the balmy March breeze.
Legs heavy and numb, she started back to the palace. And, in spite of everything, it took her breath all over again.
Anyone looking at it would think it was a historical monument, but she’d attended its inauguration as the new seat of power in Judar just eleven years ago during her late uncle’s rule. It had since become a monument as important as the Taj Mahal, and sure gave that legendary edifice a run for its money. It was still as mind-boggling to her as it had been the first time she’d seen it.
Nestled in an extensively landscaped park and surrounded by silver beaches and emerald waters, it crouched in the middle of the peninsula, its grounds almost covered like a massive starship from beyond the stars. Now in the golden drape of a breathtaking sunset, it felt as if it had been conjured by magic from another realm.
That wasn’t too far from the truth. Thousands of unique talents, all masters of art and architecture, had put this place together. And from what she’d seen of its interior, modern magicians of technology had imbued it with the ultimate in luxury and functionality, too.
Approaching the palace from its shore-facing side took her through street-wide paths paved in earth-colored cobblestones and lined by soaring palm trees and flower beds. She strode through gates, courtyards, pavilions, everything bearing the intricacies and influences of the cultures that had melded together to form Judar. If she’d been in anything approaching a normal frame of mind, she would have savored the magnificence of this place. But now the majesty that surrounded her—and what it signified of her royal connections and their current implications for her life—oppressed her.
Scaling the convex stone steps that converged like a fan from a hundred feet at the bottom to thirty at the top, she gazed up at the massive palace that soared on four levels, echoing every hue of the desert, topped by a complex system of domes covered in mosaics and gold finials.
As she approached the entrance, two footmen in ornate uniforms seemed to materialize out of nowhere to open the twenty-foot mahogany double doors inlaid with gold and silver.
Smiling at them or offering thanks was useless, since they looked firmly ahead, avoiding eye contact. She crossed into the circular columned hall that had to be at least two hundred feet in diameter with a ceiling dome at least half that.
Her gaze swam around the superbly lit sweeping spaces, getting only impressions of neutral color schemes and sumptuous decor and furnishings. Again it felt deserted. Or everyone was giving her space. Which was very welcome. She didn’t want to meet anyone right now, even in passing.
At the end of the hall, she entered an elevator that transported her in seconds to her fourth-floor quarters.
As she entered the expansive three-chambered wing and crossed to the bedroom, the sensory overload of sweet incense and opulence hit her. Yearning for her simple, cozy, two-room American abode twisted inside her like a tornado.
“Oh, you’re here!”
The bright exclamation had her swinging around, almost severing her already compromised balance.
Aliyah. Kamal’s wife and her queen. And a more fitting queen she’d never seen. As a former model, Aliyah was even taller than Jala, but now boasted the lush curves of a woman who’d ripened with the passion of a virile man, and with bearing his son and daughter. Her mahogany hair was in a thick braid over her shoulder, and she was swathed in a floor-length dress the color of her chocolate eyes.
She had Carmen with her. As Farooq’s wife, Carmen was the crown prince’s consort and yet another specimen of feminine gorgeousness, looking like a statuesque Rita Hayworth in her garnet-haired period but with turquoise eyes. Farah, the wife of her second-oldest brother, Shehab, was the only one missing. Shehab called her his Emerald Fairy for her eyes, and in Jala’s opinion he was right all around, and Farah was the most ethereally stunning of the three.
If she’d cared about her looks, Jala would have suffered serious insecurity in the presence of those three visions. As it was, she was delighted her brothers had found women who were as beautiful on the outside as they were on the inside and who adored them. It was always such a pleasure to see them. Even though their relationship consisted mostly of video chatting, since the three couples seldom left Judar due to their growing families and responsibilities.
“We did knock.” Carmen grinned at her apologetically as she beckoned the four women who accompanied her and Aliyah, no doubt their ladies-in-waiting. All were laden with packages. “We assumed you weren’t here when you didn’t answer, and thought to leave you the stuff with a note.”
“We brought you everything we could think of to see what you need and what fits,” Aliyah explained.
Carmen smiled at the women who’d piled the “stuff” in the sitting area, then gestured for them to leave. “Kamal said you need everything since you left New York without packing a thing.”