Royals: A Dutiful Princess

CHAPTER FIVE

THERE WAS NO more chance to speak as Britt and Sharif had returned to sit at the table. In spite of his lifelong friendship with Sharif, he couldn’t believe his friend was going along with Jazz’s crazy idea, or that neither of them could talk Jazz out of the narrow path she had chosen to follow.

‘Stop seething, Tyr.’

The sound of Jazz’s voice, low and urgent, made him turn to look at her.

‘You’re making me uncomfortable,’ she explained in an undertone, ‘and people will notice.’

‘You’re making me uncomfortable with all this talk of an arranged marriage to a man you don’t even know,’ he countered. ‘What makes you think you’ve changed that much, Jazz? When you were younger you would have laughed an idea like that out of court.’

‘Exactly. We’re both older now, and I’m in a position to do something to help my country by making at least one of our borders secure.’

Shaking his head to shut her up, he hit Jazz with a cynical look.

‘Allying our two countries will be good for Kareshi,’ she insisted.

‘But Kareshi is rich, since Sharif took over, and your brother is a wise ruler. Why the hell would he agree to sacrificing his sister for nothing more than political expediency?’

‘If he thinks it makes me happy—’

‘Ha! I can’t believe Sharif goes along with that.’

‘Tyr, please keep your voice down.’

‘Whatever you say, Princess, but I don’t think you’ve thought this through.’

‘I’m not going to argue with you. I’m saying this is how it’s going to be.’

‘What happened to the girl I used to know?’

Jazz threw him an accusatory look, but there was something in her eyes that suggested deep down she agreed with him. It was sad to think her stubbornness wouldn’t allow Jazz to admit she was wrong so she could put a stop to these crazy marriage plans.

Sensing something was going on between them, Sharif glanced round. Tyr exchanged a brief look with his friend, lips pressed down to express regret at the fact that this was one time when he couldn’t help Sharif out. Sharif shrugged. Jazz had always been stubborn. Once she got an idea into her head, they both knew she ran with it until Jazz, or the concept, ran out of steam.

After feeling nothing for so long, Tyr felt this urge to help Jazz overwhelming him. He would like to get very close indeed to Jazz Kareshi.

All the more reason to sit back and ignore her.

This was turning into one hell of an evening.

And it was about to get worse.

As he released a sigh of frustration, Jazz looked at him with something in her eyes that made his senses go into free fall. ‘Don’t play games with me, Jazz,’ he mouthed in an undertone.

‘I’m not playing games with you.’

So her eyes were playing games with him—her lips too. And flushed cheeks betrayed her more than any excuses she could give. The laws of attraction took no prisoners. Nor did they show concern for a self-contained warrior who’d had his armour split wide open tonight, or a conservative princess who had just rediscovered her wings.

‘Tyr.’

He glanced up with relief to see his sister Britt. Putting one hand on the back of his chair and the other on the back of Jazz’s chair, his sister bound them briefly. ‘How are you two enjoying the evening so far?’

You two? Should he tell her the truth and ruin Britt’s evening after all her hard work on his behalf? He was tense beyond belief, and Jazz was—Jazz. ‘I’m having a wonderful time. It’s been a great chance to catch up.’

‘Do you mean that?’ Jazz murmured when his sister had left them to rejoin Sharif.

‘I’ve learned a lot.’ Like Jazz’s freedom shouldn’t depend on some misguided idea of how she could best help her country.

‘Why are you staring at me like that, Tyr?’

‘Am I staring at you?’ He guessed Jazz would have to be contained in a hermetically sealed suit for him not to stare. In a traditional, slim-fitting ankle-length gown in a rich shade of midnight-blue, edged with subtle bronze thread, she was dressed perfectly to suit her character; that was to say, demure with a touch of fire. He’d like to see that spark inside her ignite. What would it take? he wondered. With her waist-length inky-black hair covered with a filmy veil, she looked stunning.

‘Tyr,’ she warned, staring down at her hands, ‘will you please stop staring at me?’

‘You can’t blame me for looking at the most interesting thing in the room.’

‘But I do blame you. I’m not a child, any longer. You can’t tease and flirt with me as you used to do.’ Jazz shook her head, making her filmy veil shiver. ‘Don’t you understand anything? Or are you intent on making my life more difficult?’

‘That’s the last thing I want, Princess, but it is usual to hold a conversation with the person sitting next to you at the dinner table.’

‘You’re impossible.’

Jazz whipped her head away so fast her veil slipped back. Before she could rearrange it, the soft nape of her neck was revealed as her hair swung to one side. The wave of disappointment that hit him when she quickly pulled the veil forward and that delicate sliver of naked flesh disappeared was a real eye-opener. He really did have it bad. And then Jazz proved his suspicion that the grit was still there when she stood to propose a toast. Raising her glass of juice, she turned to face Britt.

‘I would like to propose a toast of thanks to a wonderful woman and a dear friend: my brother’s wife, Britt. I want to thank you on behalf of everyone here for the work you’ve put in to make tonight such a wonderful success. I couldn’t love you more if you were my own sister.’ Emotion made Jazz pause for a moment as murmurs of approval rose around her. ‘The charity we’re supporting tonight means a lot to all of us seated round this table, and tonight is also an opportunity for us to welcome Tyr home.’

Tyr tensed as Jazz stared straight at him. This evening would be over soon, but something told him the repercussions from tonight would spread out like ripples on a pond and touch them all.

* * *

Even after a few days, it still felt strange being at home with his sisters after so long away. All four of them together at one time like this was practically unique, but Britt, Eva and Leila had put their husbands out to graze for the day so they could spend time with him—and with Jazz. At least, that was what they’d told him, but for the past half-hour they’d cut him out and talked exclusively to Jazz. And in ever-diminishing whispers that left him super-alert and ultra-suspicious.

‘You’re not supposed to be listening,’ Eva complained when he glanced up. ‘Get back to watching sport.’

Yes. He was the token man, allowed to remain in the same room as his sisters and Jazz, providing he took the lid off the nuts and poured the sodas for them. With his feet crossed on the coffee table and a bottle of beer in his hand, he’d been invisible up to this point.

‘Could you speak up?’ he requested dryly. ‘I’m having trouble hearing you.’

‘If you must know,’ Eva fired at him from her position at the head of the table, ‘Jazz is in a fix.’

‘A fix? What does that mean?’ He swung round to stare at Jazz.

‘It’s nothing.’ Jazz tried to brush this off with an airy sweep of her hand.

‘You’ve started, so you might as well finish,’ he observed dryly, noting her cheeks had turned bright red.

‘If you must know,’ Eva cut in, ‘Jazz has today received a formal offer from the Emir of Qadar.’

He groaned inwardly. Time had run out. In the interest of learning more, he acted dumb. ‘What kind of offer?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Eva exclaimed, glancing round the table. ‘I know you’re a man, but you must have some idea?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.’

Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, Eva—as he had hoped she would—hurried to fill in the details. ‘An offer of marriage, dummkopf. And soon.’

Soon? He didn’t want to hear another word. He knew his face must be as black as thunder as he appeared to consider this bombshell.

‘The Emir of Qadar?’ he said at last, lips pressing down as he nodded his head, acting impressed. ‘Big country. Important title. That’s quite a compliment for Jazz, isn’t it?’

Britt put a restraining hand on Eva’s arm when she sucked in a breath.

‘Well, isn’t it?’ he said mildly.

Eva scowled, while Leila bit her lip, and Britt looked troubled. Jazz avoided his stare altogether.

‘Is anyone going to explain?’ he requested mildly, seething inside.

Eva took the bait. ‘May I?’ she said, looking at Jazz with concern.

Jazz shrugged and appeared resigned. ‘Go right ahead. It will soon be public knowledge, so, why not?’

Taking a deep breath, Eva stared into his eyes. She was sending him a strong message of sympathy for Jazz, along with an entreaty for him to do something the heck about it. ‘You might not think it such a compliment when I tell you that the emir has insisted on Jazz being a virgin when they marry.’

He exploded out of his seat, then remembered he was supposed to be acting out the concerned friend, rather than overheated would-be lover. Making a calming gesture with his hands, intended for himself as much as anyone, he turned to Jazz. ‘Forgive me, Jazz. This is none of my business, but I didn’t know men still made that type of demand on a woman. This must be hard for you, impossible to talk about with me around...’ He turned for the door, desperate to kick it in, or smash a fist into a block of wood.

‘No, stay,’ Jazz said quietly. ‘You might as well know everything.’

Too right. He leaned back against the door. ‘OK.’ He remained outwardly calm, while a firestorm of concern for Jazz kicked off inside him. What kind of Neanderthal was she planning to marry? And when had this been settled? Last he’d heard, talks between the emir and Sharif were just getting started.

‘Jazz must do what’s right for her,’ his peacemaking sister Leila insisted. ‘None of us has any idea what it takes to be a princess of Kareshi.’ Turning to Jazz, she added, ‘And we’ll support you in whatever you decide to do.’

Jazz stood up too. ‘I know you will.’ She was clearly moved by their concern. ‘Will you all excuse me for a moment?’

‘Of course.’ The chorus of Skavangas was unanimous.

Tyr stood aside to let Jazz go, but he didn’t give his sisters a chance to reinforce the message the three of them were so urgently firing at him. He was going to do something about this, and was on it before Jazz had closed the door.

He closed it for her—with them both on the same side.

‘What are you doing?’ Jazz gasped, staring up at him in alarm as he shut the door behind them.

He came straight to the point. ‘Have you thought this through?’

Jazz stared down at his hands on her arm, and for a very dangerous moment passions ran as high between them as they had way back when. Anything might have happened in those few, potent seconds, but then Jazz drew in a shaky breath and the torment in her eyes made him let her go. As his hands dropped to his side, she whispered, ‘Leila’s right. I know you don’t understand this, but I have to at least consider the emir’s offer, because of all the benefits it could bring to Kareshi.’

‘Nonsense! I told you before, this isn’t right for you, and you know it, Jazz. I can see it on your face.’

‘I knew I should have come veiled,’ she murmured dryly, the old Jazz peeping through. Somehow that flash of spirit made it all the harder to come to terms with this.

‘Don’t joke, Jazz. This is your life we’re talking about.’

‘Exactly, Tyr.’ Her chin tipped up. Steel entered her voice. ‘This is my life. Now, will you please let me go?’

She stared past him to the bathroom and he stood aside. Grinding his jaw, he watched her go, wondering how he was going to live with himself if he did as Jazz asked—stood back and did nothing.

* * *

Jazz left them soon after that, kissing and hugging his sisters goodbye, but barely acknowledging Tyr. She had somewhere to be quite urgently, he gathered. The rest of the afternoon was spent in stormy silence. He turned up the volume on the match, while his sisters talked in undertones at the table. He had no more interest in their conversation. He knew what they were talking about. He knew how he felt about it. And he was damned if was going to share those feelings with anyone.

He didn’t move until his mobile phone rang and then he took the call in the other room.

‘Sharif? There’s nothing wrong, is there?’ The line was bad. He was instantly concerned.

‘Yes and no. I need you out in Kareshi, Tyr.’

His thought processes raced. Kareshi? Jazz. Yes. Yes had to be his answer to Sharif’s request.

‘Sorry to rush you back there, Tyr—no, there’s nothing wrong,’ Sharif confirmed to his relief. ‘Had to leave unexpectedly. No problem. Just some business to attend to.’

‘I understand.’ He relaxed. Sharif was obviously travelling where a good line wasn’t always a given.

‘The Wadi villagers have called for help in getting their Internet connection established, and they need someone to show them how to use it. I wouldn’t ask you to go back right away, but I can’t send anyone they don’t know. They’ve been so isolated up to now and they trust you.’

He frowned as he remembered his promise to return to Wadi village as soon as he had made his peace with his sisters. ‘I won’t let them down.’

‘Soon?’ Sharif asked cryptically.

‘Tomorrow soon enough for you?’

‘Tomorrow is perfect.’

Britt’s face was rigid when he returned to the sitting room. ‘Leave it, Tyr.’

‘Leave what?’ His thoughts were racing with plans for his return to Kareshi, and the chance to see Jazz again, on her home ground, where they could continue this discussion. When Jazz had talked about freedom, she had envisaged the type of freedom everyone in this room took for granted. He couldn’t just sit here. He had to do something.

‘Leave this business with Jazz alone,’ Britt insisted when he stonewalled her with a look. ‘And don’t tell me you’re not thinking about her. I know that look. You seem to think Jazz was forced into making this decision.’

‘A decision she hasn’t seen through yet,’ he pointed out, ‘so there’s still time for her to change her mind, and if I see her in Kareshi I will certainly say something.’

‘Are you suggesting Sharif would force Jazz into doing something she doesn’t want to?’ Britt demanded.

As passions between them grew heated, Leila stepped in. ‘No, of course Tyr isn’t saying that, Britt.’ And gradually, like a pan of boiling milk taken off the heat, everyone calmed down again.

Until Eva chipped in with, ‘You should tell him, Britt.’

He spun round. ‘Tell me what?’

‘I know you just spoke to Sharif,’ Britt began, haltingly for her, he thought. ‘Sharif told me he was going to ring you—’

‘And?’ he flashed.

‘Calm down, Tyr. Give me chance to explain.’ Britt’s face was white with tension. Nothing about this situation was easy for her. ‘Jazz won’t be in Kareshi when you get back,’ she explained, ‘and you’ll probably have left the country before she arrives. And, before you ask, she isn’t in Skavanga, either.’

‘She was here earlier,’ he protested.

‘And now she’s gone,’ Britt confirmed.

‘Gone? Gone where?’

‘Jazz has left Skavanga with Sharif.’

His mind reeled. Just when he thought he might get the chance to talk some sense into Jazz, she had left Skavanga for some destination unknown.

Unless—

‘Tell me she hasn’t gone to Qadar.’ His muscles tensed as he waited for one of his sisters to answer.

‘No,’ Britt reassured him. ‘And before you get angry, I think this might be my fault. Sharif and I talked about getting Jazz out of Kareshi so she can get a fresh perspective on life, so instead of leaving Skavanga for Kareshi as Jazz had planned, Sharif has laid on a treat for her. He’s not happy with Jazz falling meekly into line with the traditionalists in Kareshi, either. He doesn’t see Jazz as a docile princess. He never has.’

‘Jazz—docile?’ He grimaced at the thought. ‘So where’s he taken her?’

‘To the fashion shows in Milan.’

‘To the fashion shows?’ He laughed out loud. No wonder Britt couldn’t look at him. ‘To the fashion shows?’ he repeated. ‘Does Sharif know anything about his sister?’

Ignoring Britt’s protests, he made an angry gesture. ‘Since when has Jazz been a front-row fashionista? Jazz is happiest out in the desert, riding free.’

‘Tyr.’ Leila followed him to the door. ‘Don’t do anything hasty. It won’t help Jazz. Sharif was looking for something to take Jazz’s mind off the emir and his proposal. It will at least give her a chance to think things through calmly before she agrees to something she might regret for the rest of her life.’

‘But I haven’t had a chance to say goodbye to her.’

‘You sound so lost,’ Leila observed, touching his arm.

And angry, he thought, ashamed he’d sounded off as he stared down at his heavily pregnant sister. ‘I’m acting like a bear with a sore head. I just can’t get my head around Jazz’s crazy life choices. You know I’m never angry with you, Leila.’

‘I know that.’ Leila smiled in sympathy, then exclaimed, ‘Where are you going?’ as he moved past her towards the door.

‘I’m not sure yet,’ he said honestly. ‘But I promise to keep in touch this time, okay?’

He had not expected Leila to stand in his way. Drawing her into a reassuring hug, he kissed the top of her head. He hated leaving his sisters like this, but they had husbands to take care of them and Jazz had no one.

No one apart from an army of heavily armed bodyguards sent by Sharif to watch her every move, he guessed. Once again, Jazz would be shielded from reality, and from life itself, so what chance did she stand of making an informed choice about her future?

CHAPTER SIX

SHE’D HAD THIS crazy idea that if she stayed out of the way until the links with Qadar were safely established and the final arrangements for her wedding to the emir were in place, it would be too late for her to do anything about it. The decision would be taken out of her hands. All good for Kareshi. Borders secured for all time through her marriage to the emir.

But when you put three Skavanga sisters into the mix, with Britt’s business brain calling foul on the suggested arrangement between a very wealthy Kareshi and a less well-off Qadar, and Eva ranting that no one in their right minds could possibly want to spend the rest of their lives with a man they hadn’t even been to bed with, backed up by a chorus of concern from Leila, you were left, not with a melodious chorus of agreement and support for her decision, but with a rowdy chorus of dissent.

And then there was Tyr.

And Sharif.

And the fact that, far from being happy on her tiny gilt chair squashed in between all the heavy hitters and fashion press in the front row of every show in town, Jazz was thoroughly fed up. If she had to watch another unlined, asymmetric rag passing itself off as a work of art, she might have to resort to wearing a hemp sack for her wedding.

Her wedding.

It was definitely time to go back to Kareshi before she lost her nerve to go ahead with what she still stubbornly believed was the best thing she could do for her country. Wedding negotiations between Kareshi and Qadar must be close to complete by now, surely? And even that sounded wrong. How could two countries get married?