Sweet Revenge

brought her here and my eyes were cleared, she would not accept her place, her duties.”
    “She was ill and unhappy.”
    “She was weak and sinful.” He held up his hand, a man used to doing no more to be obeyed. “You are the result of my early blindness and are here only because my blood runs through you and because Fahid interceded on your behalf. This is a matter of honor, my honor. You remain only so long as you respect that.”
    She wanted to toss it back in his face, to shout, to scream that he had no honor. The part of her that had still yearned for love closed off. Not even the most clever of thieves could have broken the lock now. Adrianne folded her hands. She lowered her eyes. Gestures of submission. He could have struck her again, and she would have accepted it. He could have maligned her mother, insulted her, and she would have accepted it. Such was the power of revenge.
    “I’m in my father’s house and respect my father’s wishes.”
    He nodded, expecting no less from a woman of his family. His kingship sat on him comfortably. When he hadreturned to Jaquir so many years before with a queen, a Western queen, he had been bewitched. He had forgotten his roots, his duties, his laws because of a woman.
    His punishment had been that his first child had been a female, and his queen unable to give him more children. Now the daughter of that shameful marriage stood before him, her head bowed, her hands folded. Since Allah had willed that she would spring from his first seed, he would give her her due, but no more.
    With one sharp word and a gesture a servant hurried over to give him a box. “A gift, for your betrothal.”
    Her control was back, making it easy for her to reach out. Adrianne lifted the lid. The rich purple of amethyst glinted up at her, set in heavy, intricately worked gold. The center stone was square cut, as wide as her thumb. A necklace suitable for a princess. The price of it, had it come from him years before, might have changed both their destinies.
    Now it was just a colored rock. She’d always stolen better ones.
    “You’re very generous. I’ll think of my father whenever I wear it.” That was a promise.
    He signaled again before he spoke. “I will meet your betrothed. Then, while we discuss the terms of the marriage, you will go back to your quarters or walk in the garden.”
    She tucked the box into the folds of her
abaaya
so that he wouldn’t see her fingers tighten on it. “As you wish.”
    When Philip followed the servant into the room, he wasn’t expecting to see Adrianne at all, much less to see her still dressed in black with her head bowed and her shoulders braced as if for a blow. Beside her, Abdu’s white
throbe
was a striking contrast. They stood close, so close the materials nearly touched, but there was no sense of reunion or kinship. Abdu looked over her head as if she didn’t exist.
    “With your permission,” she murmured.
    “Yes.” Abdu gave it without glancing at her.
    “King Abdu ibn Faisal Rahman al-Jaquir, head of the House of Jaquir, sheikh of sheikhs, may I present Philip Chamberlain, the man, if you consent, I will marry.”
    “Mr. Chamberlain.” With a hand extended, Abdu stepped forward. He could behave in Western fashion when it suited him. “Welcome to Jaquir, and to my house.”
    “Thank you.” Philip clasped hands. Abdu’s was smooth and strong.
    “Your rooms are suitable?”
    “More than. I’m in your debt.”
    “You are my guest.” He flicked a glance toward Adrianne. “You may go.”
    It was the tone one used to dismiss a servant. Philip caught it, resented it, had nearly decided to be amused by it. Then she lifted her face. The look was brief, but long enough for Philip to see the mark along her cheekbone that was already darkening to a bruise. She bowed her head again, and with her long skirts whispering around her, she left them.
    He had to take a breath, a long, slow breath. For her sake, he wouldn’t do or say anything rash. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. Surely at their first meeting Abdu couldn’t have struck the daughter he hadn’t seen in almost twenty years.
    “Will you sit?”
    Pulling himself back, Philip turned to Abdu. The eyes that met his were very sharp, very measuring. “Thank you.” The moment he had, fresh cups were hurried over and tea was poured.
    “You are British.”
    “Yes, I was born in England and have spent most of my life there, though I travel frequently.”
    “In your