They were walking along a seemingly endless corridor lined with yet more pillars, which seemed to Erin to loom up to the ceiling like the bars of a prison. She could feel her heart thudding painfully in her chest as Omran's words slowly sank in. ‘But Kazim is three years old-he's little more than a baby. And he doesn't belong here,' she told Omran desperately. ‘His home is in England-with me.'
Omran frowned and shook his head. ‘The young Prince belongs here now. It is the King's word,' he said, with a finality that filled Erin with terror.
She could see Zahir striding on ahead, carrying Kazim away from her. With a cry she jerked her arm from Omran's grasp and flew along the corridor, ignoring his terse warning that she was not permitted to chase after His Royal Highness. She tore up another flight of marble stairs, following the route Zahir had taken, and stumbled, panting and breathless, into a room that appeared at first sight to be an Aladdin's Cave of toys.
Zahir had set Kazim down, and the toddler was now running around the room, his eyes huge with excitement as he climbed into a toy racing car and then sped over to a model train set that ran the full length of one wall.
‘I can make the trains work. See! When I push the button they go!'
‘That's fantastic, darling. Aren't you lucky to have so many toys to play with while we stay here?'
Erin forced a smile for the overawed little boy, but her eyes flashed with fury as she turned to face Zahir. She recalled how he had warned her at Ingledean that he would play dirty if necessary, and a mixture of fear and anger churned inside her.
‘What is this?' She glanced around at the array of toys. ‘Your disgusting attempt to bribe a little boy?' she demanded scornfully. Zahir's personal assistant was hovering in the doorway, and her heart lurched as she remembered his astounding statement that Kazim was heir to the throne of Qubbah. ‘You lied to me,' she accused Zahir furiously, ignoring the warning glint in his eyes. ‘I don't care if you are a prince, you're also the biggest louse ever to walk this earth-and I hope you don't expect me to bow and scrape to you, because I won't!'
From a corner of the room came an audible gasp, and she swung round to see a young woman dressed in traditional robes staring at her with a look of undisguised horror on her pretty face.
‘This is Bisma, who will be Kazim's nanny,' Zahir said tightly. His face was a taut mask of fury, and Erin's spurt of angry defiance wavered when he gripped her arm and dragged her over to the door. ‘I will escort Kazim's stepmother to her room.' He addressed Bisma in English, and the young woman nodded and smiled faintly, clearly still shocked that Erin had shown such disrespect to a member of the royal family. ‘We will leave you so that you and Kazim can become acquainted.'
To Erin's relief Bisma replied in perfect English. ‘Of course, sire. I will let Prince Kazim explore the nursery, and then give him his lunch-if you wish me to,' she added hesitantly, when Erin opened her mouth to argue that Kazim was her responsibility.
Before she could comment, Zahir tightened his hold on her arm and tugged her forcefully out of the room.
Omran was hovering in the corridor and hurried forwards. ‘Your Highness, permit me to show … ' He hesitated, as if he was unsure of how to refer to Erin, and she detected a barely disguised insolence behind his unctuous smile. ‘Erin to her quarters.'
This time Zahir replied in Arabic, but it was clear from his tone that he was dismissing his personal assistant, and judging from the shadow of resentment that crossed Omran's features he did not like it-or her-Erin was sure.
Zahir's staff were the least of her problems, she acknowledged, as he frogmarched her a short way along the corridor and into another room. At a quick glance she saw it was as sumptuously furnished as the rest of the palace. It was dominated by a large bed draped with a satin bedspread and scattered with silk cushions in rich shades of gold and peacock-blue.
Zahir gave her no time to admire the bedroom before he spun her round to face him and finally released her wrist. One look at his hard face told Erin he was still seething, and common sense dictated that she should try and defuse the situation, but her own temper was at boiling point and the contemptuous curl of his lip was the final straw.
‘Brute,' she snapped, rubbing the red marks around her wrist. ‘Why don't you pick on someone your own size?'
‘One day that disrespectful tongue of yours is going to get you into a lot of trouble,' he said silkily, advancing menacingly towards her so that she backed away-until her legs met the end of the bed and she had nowhere else to go. ‘Do you know what the punishment is for insulting a member of the Royal House of Qubbah?'
He towered over her, dark and dangerous, watching her intently with no hint of warmth in his black eyes. Erin could feel her heart jerk erratically in her chest, and suddenly she was fourteen again, her back pressed against the wall in an alley next to the care home, while a group of older girls edged closer …
‘I told you to bring me the new Wild Boys CD,' Terri, the ringleader said nastily. ‘Why haven't you, Erin?'
‘I don't have any money to buy a CD.'
A laugh went around the group and Terri smiled unpleasantly. ‘Who said anything about buying it?' she taunted. ‘You should have nicked it, you silly little cow. You need to learn what happens to people who don't do as they're told.'
The teenager struck without warning, hitting Erin in the stomach with her clenched fist. Erin buckled with the intensity of the pain and fell to her knees as the crowd of girls moved in. She curled up in a ball and covered her face with her arms, just as she had learned to do when her mother had taken her drug-fuelled frustrations out on her.
Keep your head down and it will be over more quickly-that had been one of the golden rules of her childhood. But now she blinked and glanced around the room-at Zahir-and the memory faded. She wasn't a scared adolescent any more; she was a mother, fighting for her child, and she threw her head back and glared at Zahir.
‘So what are you going to do-hit me?' she demanded scornfully.
‘I have never struck a woman in my life,' he snapped, sounding so genuinely shocked at the suggestion that Erin's eyes flew to his face.
She stared helplessly at his beautiful, sensual mouth and the razor-sharp lines of his cheekbones, and heat seeped through her veins. An unbidden memory of how he had kissed her in the library at Ingledean filled her mind. She groaned silently, hating herself for her weakness where he was concerned. Even the realisation that he believed her to be a gold-digger who had married his brother for money did not prevent her longing for him to kiss her again. The atmosphere between them had changed imperceptibly from anger to something far more dangerous. The air crackled with static electricity, and she saw Zahir's jaw clench as if he too was waging a violent internal battle.
‘I did not lie to you,' he growled.
‘No, you just conveniently forgot to mention that you are a royal prince, or that under Qubbah's laws Kazim is next in line to rule the kingdom. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you,' Erin said sweetly, ‘but once Kazim has met your father I'm taking him home. When he's eighteen he can decide whether or not he wants to take up his position as the next King. Until then he's going to enjoy a normal upbringing … '