had been printed in the newspaper. Proving that the hysteria was generalised throughout every strata of Dharian society, the usually sensible editor had totally ignored all safety concerns when he put such information into the public domain.
And Rashad’s day only darkened in tenor when he was informed that an official from the British Embassy was currently waiting to be seen. The diplomatic incident that Hakim had feared was beginning to happen...
Polly was watching the local television station as she ate her breakfast and wishing she could speak the language. She had tried and failed to access a European television channel. But she did not need Arabic to recognise that the massed crowds in the streets of the capital city were on the edge of overexcited. She wished she could read the placards some of them carried and waved along with the Dharian national flag.
Having promised to phone Ellie again, she did so. Her sibling startled her by admitting that she had spoken to a man from the Foreign Office and that official enquiries were being made about her so-called arrest and imprisonment at the royal palace.
‘Oh, my goodness, Ellie!’ Polly fielded in consternation. ‘How could you do that? I’m having a really interesting time here—’
‘This ring business you’re involved in stinks to high heaven of some sort of a cover-up. I don’t think you have a clue what’s happening out there. As usual you’re just sailing along and letting people push you around—’
Polly let her sister state her case and finally agreed that it was time she returned to the holiday she had booked and that she would demand the right to leave the palace and return to Kashan. Before she could lose her nerve she used the palace switchboard and asked to be put through to the King, wryly amused by her own daring.
‘I have to speak to you,’ Polly declared boldly as soon as she heard his dark deep drawl. ‘And as I may shout, it would be better if we didn’t have an audience.’
At his end of the phone, Rashad almost groaned out loud for palace protocol stated that he should never ever be left alone with a member of the female sex. He knew it was to protect him from the slurs and scandals caused by his father’s debauchery but it was not easy to escape the tightly linked net of strict procedure.
‘Meet me on the roof terrace,’ he urged abruptly. ‘I hear you were there yesterday and it is shaded. I’ll join you as soon as I can.’
The strangest shred of compassion infiltrated Polly. It was clearly a no-no for him to meet up with her alone. When did the Dharian King ever get to be alone? She had seen the security team that followed him everywhere he went and she wondered what it was like to live in such a goldfish bowl where every word and every action was monitored.
Polly left her room and told the maid she wanted to walk alone. The three men guarding her room studied her in wonderment but when she moved off, she was not followed and relief spread through her because she felt really free for the first time within the royal walls with no one watching over her.
The shade on the roof terrace took what she believed to be a rather odd form. A giant tent had been set up at one corner. Within it opulent floor cushions surrounded a fire pit and there was an array of the implements she assumed were required to brew the traditional tea. Walking out of the bright sunshine, Polly sank down with relief on a cushion to enjoy the view. It was fifteen minutes before Rashad appeared through another entrance onto the terrace.
‘We are breaking rules,’ he told her with a sudden flashing smile of such charisma that her heart jumped inside her. ‘This is not allowed.’
‘Sometimes it’s fun to break rules,’ sensible Polly heard herself say dry-mouthed because for the first time Rashad was wearing traditional clothing, a muslin cloth bound by a gold rope hiding his black hair, a pristine white long buttoned robe replacing Western clothing. And that cloth merely accentuated his stunning dark eyes and arresting bone structure, so that breathing was barely an option for her as he sank with fluid animal grace down opposite her.
‘And sometimes there is a price to pay for breaking those rules,’ Rashad murmured with wry amusement. ‘Why did you want to speak to me?’
‘I want to leave the palace and start my holiday,’ Polly told him simply, even though she knew that somewhere down deep inside her she really didn’t want that at all. It was the rational thing to do, she reminded herself doggedly. She did not belong in a royal palace.
Rashad linked long brown fingers and flexed them. ‘I’m afraid I can’t agree to that.’
He even had beautiful hands, Polly was thinking abstractedly before she engaged with what he had actually said and it galvanised her into leaping upright in disbelief. ‘So, I am a prisoner here?’ She gasped in horror that her sister could have been correct in her far-fetched suspicions.
‘Do not lose your temper,’ Rashad urged levelly. ‘Allow me first to explain the situation we are all in—’
‘The only person in a situation here is me!’ Polly exclaimed angrily.
‘There is great unrest in Kashan. You would not be safe...you would be mobbed. While no one would wish to harm you in any way, excited crowds are very hard to control.’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘Sit down, listen and I will explain,’ Rashad instructed with quiet strength.
‘No, you can explain while I stay standing,’ Polly responded, determined not to give way on every point.
‘Very well.’ Rising as gracefully as he had sat down, Rashad stepped back out of the tent and strode over to the rail bounding the terrace. ‘A century ago—’
‘A century ago?’ Polly practically screeched at him, gripped by incredulity that that could possibly be the starting point of any acceptable explanation for her apparent loss of all freedom.
‘Close your mouth and sit down!’ Rashad raked back at her in sudden frustration, his dark deep voice startlingly like a whiplash in the silence. ‘If you refuse to listen, how can I speak and explain?’
Polly compressed her lips and sat down with a look of scornful reluctance on her heart-shaped face. ‘Well, if you’re going to shout about it—’
‘I must make you aware of the most powerful legend in Dharian history. A hundred years ago, my great-grandmother, Zariyah, came to Dharia with the fire-opal ring and gave it to my great-grandfather, who then married her. My people think it was love at first sight,’ Rashad advanced. ‘But in actuality it was an arranged marriage, which was very popular and which ushered in a long period of peace and prosperity for Dharia—’
‘That name,’ Polly whispered with an indeterminate frown. ‘Zariyah. That’s the name I was given at birth.’
‘The ring is also invested with enormous significance in the eyes of my people. The name on your passport was noticed. It may even be the reason why you were singled out for the drug screening process we have begun. You also brought the ring back to Dharia—’
‘Not to give to you!’ Polly objected vehemently.
‘You are much given to interruption,’ Rashad fired back at her rawly.
‘And you are much given to being quietly listened to.’
‘My country endured dark times for over twenty years. My people suffered greatly under the dictator, Arak,’ Rashad told her in a curt undertone. ‘They are very superstitious. Your appearance, your name and your possession of the ring has led to a hysterical outpouring of sentiment in the streets. At this moment in Kashan, people are waving signs bearing the name Zariyah because my great-grandmother was very much loved. If you left the palace, you would be mobbed and it would be extremely dangerous.’
Polly stared back at him with a dropped jaw. She could barely get her head around what he was trying to tell her. ‘You mean, the coincidence of me having that name and the ring is sufficient—?’
‘To cause all