‘Qasim cloaks his desire for the throne in concerns for Jamalbad. Some of the council will take his words at face value.’

‘And some members of the council would be swayed by the dance of the cobra.’ Tajik thumped his closed fist against the nearest piece of furniture with so much force it made his secretary jump. ‘He must be stopped! If these reports are true, we must return to Jamalbad immediately. Prepare to make the necessary arrangements.’

Kamil hesitated. ‘Before I do—there’s one more thing you should know. There is a suggestion that he has told the council he has found you the perfect bride.’

‘He has what? Who is the delightful creature this snake of a cousin of mine would see me saddled with?’

‘His daughter, Abir.’

Tajik laughed out loud. ‘In the name of Allah, the girl is but a child! She must be no more than ten years old. He wants the throne so badly he would sacrifice his own child to his cause?’

‘Abir is fourteen at her next birthday. More than old enough to become betrothed if the council so approves.’

‘Not to me, she’s not! I will not be manipulated by a madman into marrying a child less than half my age, especially not his own spawn, merely to give him greater access to the throne.’

Kamil frowned. ‘Beware, Excellency. From what’s been said, some of the council are in favour of the match. They believe you have mourned long enough, that it is time you give away your playboy ways and find a bride to provide Jamalbad with an heir. Qasim has intimated that he is acting in your best interests, and that the best way forward for both you and Jamalbad is a betrothal announcement that is just days away.’

‘So now a single life is to be interpreted as “playboy ways”?’ He sighed. Given his age and his position he’d had his pick of women if and when he’d wanted—but losing Joharah had taken the edge off his needs, and the nameless and faceless women since then had been few and far between, his wants nowhere near approximating what those words implied.

He stared blindly out of the window, the blood hammering with fury in his veins. So Qasim meant to tie him into a betrothal in his absence—a betrothal he would be neatly boxed into on his return? No wonder his belligerent cousin had been so accommodating when Tajik had informed him of his plans to take his mother away from Jamalbad’s month of horror heat to the relative cool of tropical Australia.

But there was no way he would allow himself to be manipulated like that. And there was no way he would marry his cousin’s teenaged daughter. No way in the world.

He raked his fingers through his hair as he set about pacing the room once more, his mind working out the best strategy to outplay his cousin’s hand. On the one hand he could just say no. He was absolute ruler of Jamalbad after all. The council was a powerful body in its own right, but it could only advise, not decree, and while it might not be happy with his refusal to marry Abir, it could not force him to do otherwise.

And yet there was another course of action that formed like crystals in his mind, clear and sharp. Another way he could stop Qasim’s machinations in their tracks and keep the council happy into the deal.

‘No, Kamil,’ he asserted, swinging around. ‘I will not marry Abir. Or anyone else my cousin lines up for me.’

‘Very well, Excellency. Once I receive confirmation that our information is correct, I will prepare a message to the council to that effect.’

‘No, there is no need. If the council are expecting a bride, then the council will be satisfied. They will have their sheikha.’

‘And how do you intend to achieve that if you will not marry Abir?’

‘Simple, Kamil. I will find my own bride.’

‘Your Excellency, are you serious?’

The look he shot his secretary was enough to make his servant stammer in apology, but he cut off his backtracking with the simple act of raising one hand. ‘I am serious about not being controlled like a puppet by my cousin. I will do whatever it takes to foil his plans to take over the throne of Jamalbad by marrying me to his daughter.’

‘But a bride…You cannot marry just anyone. The bride of a ruler of Jamalbad must be pure of mind and body.’ The secretary wildly threw out his arms in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘How do you expect to find such a gem here?’

It took no more than a raised eyebrow for Kamil’s coffee-coloured skin to flush darker. ‘Have you not seen the women on the beach?’ he blustered in defence. ‘I am not sure that the council would approve of such a queen.’

Tajik nodded in understanding as his thoughts drew him in the direction of the windows again. Tradition was important in Jamalbad, and while he had been educated long enough in the west to believe that the idea a woman must remain untouched until marriage while the man was free to sow his wild oats wherever he chose was a classic double standard, the council would expect his bride to be innocent. Still, he was sure he could find someone who would pass for a convenient virgin somewhere. So long as he was happy with the choice, he would have no trouble convincing the council of her virtue.