Timber-panelled walls with gold trim, plum-coloured leather seats that reclined and spun and laid flat and looked more suited to a lounge room than a plane, and opulent carpets in vermilion on gold on the floor, with enough space in between the seats to swing an entire herd of cats, while fresh frangipani placed discreetly in tiny vials around the cabin walls perfumed the air.
But then, this wasn’t business class and it wasn’t the only reason for her shell shock. This was the royal jet of Qajaran, and her tiny charge was some kind of princess.
What did that make Rashid?
He sat across the aisle in the row ahead, deep in conversation with Kareem. She could hear their voices every now and then, Kareem’s measured and calm tones, interspersed with Rashid’s arguments, though she couldn’t make out what they were discussing but could see that whatever they were talking about was raising temperatures—Rashid’s at least. She could make out his profile—strong lines even down to the lips on a mouth that was now snapping out words. Lips that she knew could give an inordinate amount of pleasure. She squirmed a little in her seat as she watched him, remembering, tingling in places that shouldn’t be tingling right now.
God, she was kidding herself if she could forget, but it would be better for everyone if she could put those particular memories aside for however long this assignment took.
And then he turned, and caught her watching him, and she held her breath as a tremor zigzagged down her spine, unable to tear her eyes away as his dark eyes gleamed and pinned her to her seat. Then he said something short to the man beside her before turning away and severing the bonds between them.
Breath whooshed out of her in a rush as she felt his hold on her release. She took a couple of restorative breaths. What was that about?
Why had he looked at her that way, not with anger or resentment exactly, but with eyes that were so cold, hard and calculated?
Beside her, Atiyah gurgled happily in the bassinet strapped to the seat, and she blinked, focusing on what was important here. Not Rashid and his clear preference that she’d disappeared into the past and stayed there when she left his bed this morning, but this tiny baby.
Tora smiled as she leaned over the bassinet. She couldn’t help but smile when she looked at Atiyah’s face with her big dark eyes and tiny button nose and the pink lips busy making shapes and testing sounds. Likewise, she couldn’t help but feel the tug on her heartstrings when she thought about how she’d grow up never knowing her mother or father. It was so unfair. It was wrong.
She should be smiling at two months. She probably would, if she saw her mother’s face. For now, she looked up with those big eyes at Tora as if everything was new again, as it must seem to her.
It was so unfair to lose her parents just when the world was coming into focus and making sense. She needed stability now, and people to love her. Hopefully, once she was in Qajaran with a regular carer, she would remember how to smile.
Maybe Rashid might even take an interest in her by then. He’d shown precious little interest to date, treating her more as a parcel he had to convey rather than as his tiny sister. He just didn’t seem interested.
What was with that?
But then, he didn’t look like a man who smiled much. He seemed angry about everything.
The baby cooed and closed her eyes and took a deep breath, settling back for another brief nap. Tora reclined her chair a little and sat sideways, almost envying Atiyah’s ability to turn off the outside world. She watched her sleep, the low drone of the plane’s engines like white noise, and the wide chair so comfortable, and yawned, feeling her own eyelids grow heavier.
‘There is just one more issue that is of concern,’ Kareem said, after a welcome pause that Rashid had taken to meaning their business was over, ‘that must be discussed.’
‘Why, when I still haven’t agreed to take on the throne?’ Kareem had gone through page after page of notes to explain the path to the throne and the coronation that must take place if he did agree, while going on to outline not only the history of the tiny but resource-rich state but the current challenges, both internal and external, that it faced, and right now Rashid’s head felt as if it were about to explode.
Surely there couldn’t be anything else?
‘I am sorry, Excellency, but, now that we are on our way home, there is a question over Atiyah, and her place in the royal family.’
Rashid shook his head. This one at least was a no-brainer. ‘She is my father’s daughter. She is my sister. What possible question could there be?’
The vizier nodded. ‘Both true. However, the fact remains that thirty years ago your father was supposed to have been killed in a helicopter crash. A body was recovered and accepted as his. Questions will be asked if you claim Atiyah is your father’s daughter. Uncomfortable questions. The people will want to know where he has been all that time and why he abandoned them to their fate with his cousin while he was enjoying his life with a young mistress the other side of the world...’
‘You said he had to promise not to return!’
‘He did. But you had problems accepting that truth. Magnify that doubt by the population of Qajaran...’ He paused. ‘And of course, there are pockets still loyal to the memory of Malik. They will not want to believe this could be true. Is it not better to let history lie so they cannot dispute? Is it not better to let the population continue to believe your father died in that helicopter crash? Your coming home will still be the miracle they need—the child who miraculously survived and was spirited away to safety.’
Rashid’s head was pounding. His life was getting more complicated by the minute. ‘What does it even matter?’ he growled. ‘I’m Atiyah’s legal guardian, aren’t I?’
‘Technically, yes.’
‘Only “technically”?’
‘Guardianship of infants and minors by unmarried men is not recognised under Qajarese law.’
‘So? I don’t even know if I’m going to be staying all that long.’
‘It is an inconvenience, I know, but Atiyah will not be able to share your palace quarters if she is not officially acknowledged as part of your family.’
He sighed, pressing his head back deep into his head rest. He hadn’t asked to be this child’s guardian but it was pretty clear that he could not let her be whisked away to God knew where to be looked after for however long this thing took. ‘Then what can be done?’
‘There is a way.’
‘Which is?’
‘Adopt Atiyah. Claim her as your own, if only in public.’
Rashid sat back in his seat, his mind reeling. What was happening to him that this proposal sounded half reasonable? Minute by minute he could feel the weight of the responsibility of a tiny desert kingdom pressing down on his shoulders, and he wondered, when it all came down to it, how much choice he really had.
‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘What needs to be done?’
‘Oh, it is but a stroke of the pen. I can handle it if you so desire.’
‘Fine. Do it, then.’
If he thought that was an end to the matter and he could finally close his eyes and relax, he was sadly mistaken. Kareem was still there, watching him. ‘What?’ he snapped.
‘There is but one tiny formality.’
There would be. Rashid rubbed a hand over his jaw. ‘And that is?’
‘To adopt in Qajaran, one must be married.’
‘What? Why the hell didn’t you say that before? It’s pointless, then.’
‘There is no one you have in mind to take for your wife?’
‘No! Surely there is another way?’
‘There is no other way.’
‘Great. And you’ve only just discovered this now, when we’re already on our way to Qajaran?’
Kareem bowed. ‘My apologies, Excellency, this is a situation without precedent—I was hoping there would be something in the texts that might provide some comfort on this issue, but no. The texts are clear—only married couples can adopt. Perhaps, if there is no one you can suggest, I might be able to procure a suitable candidate on arrival in Qajaran City?’
‘You? Find me a wife?’
‘If only as a temporary measure, if it pleases you.’ He raised one pen-laden hand as if he were being perfectly reasonable and Rashid only had to see it. ‘It would simply be a matter of convenience.’
‘And then?’
‘And then you can divorce the woman and she can go her own way and you would retain custody of Atiyah. Please be assured when I say that both marriage and divorce in Qajaran are arrangements that require not much more than the stroke of a pen.’
‘You said the same about adoption,’ Rashid growled, ‘and yet it seems needlessly complicated.’
The older man had the grace to smile ruefully as he held up his hands. ‘Some strokes of the pen are more straightforward than others, but if you want to protect Atiyah, this is the only way.’
Rashid found it hard to argue the point, put like that, but he had his doubts about Kareem choosing him a bride, for however long or short this marriage was to be. Just because he had never entertained the concept of marriage was no reason to hand over the responsibility of selecting a wife. ‘This wife I need—what would she be required to do?’