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      About the Author

      Author DANA MARTON lives near Wilmington, Delaware. She has been an avid reader since childhood and has a master’s degree in writing popular fiction. When not writing, she can be found either in her garden or her home library. For more information on the author and her other novels, please visit her website at www.danamarton.com. She would love to hear from her readers via e-mail: [email protected].

      With many thanks to Denise Zaza and Allison Lyons

       Prologue

      “Tariq?” the sheika yelled as she ran through the palace, her bare feet slapping on the marble floor. “Have you seen Tariq?” she demanded of the guard at the end of the dark hallway, desperation squeezing her throat.

      “Probably playing somewhere.” His gaze implied he thought her a hysterical female. He didn’t take her seriously.

      They never did.

      She ran on, knowing she could expect no help from the man—not from him, not from the others. She thought of the two sons she had already lost, and cold fear curled in her stomach. She wept.

      “Tariq?” She opened one door after another and tried not to think of Habib, who at the age of four had been found after just such a night, crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.

      A sleepwalker, they’d said.

      She was his mother. She knew better.

      Her giant belly hurt from the mad rush, and she put a hand over it, over the sons who waited to see the world. The sheik was happy.

      The sheika had hoped for a girl.

      She ran forward, down one corridor, up more stairs. The palace was riddled with passageways: some splendid, some used by servants, others secret and known only to the family. She hated to think of Tariq lost in the maze at night, hunted like a small animal by unseen enemies.

      Her child.

      Would none of her sons live long enough to pass out of the nursery? She cursed the greed of men, the line of succession and the fact that she was the sheik’s favorite wife, garnering more envy than she could defend her children against.

      “Allah, let me find him hale tonight.” She whispered the same words she had said so many times before.

      If Tariq made it past age eight and moved into his father’s care, perhaps he would be safe. Nobody would dare touch him that close to the sheik. She would hate to see him go, but was willing to give him up to save him.

      She heard footsteps in the darkness and moved silently in the direction of the sound. Small steps. Tariq. She didn’t dare call his name. Heavy boots thumped on the marble behind her.

      Her lungs were straining after her desperate race through the palace, and from being squeezed by the babies she carried. The air in the room was thick with the scent of incense that had been burned earlier, making it even harder for her to breathe, to think.

      At the last second, she hid behind heavy brocade curtains, and when she saw the five-year-old who was the light of her heart stumble by, she reached out and pulled him in, put a hand over his mouth. He recognized her immediately—by scent or feel, she didn’t know. He didn’t make a sound. She wrapped her trembling arms around him, stifling the sob of relief that bubbled up her throat.

      She had found him in time. Allah be blessed.

      There was a secret panel behind her. She opened it and slid inside, pressed the wood back into place. Men entered the room, talking.

      “Check everywhere. He’s small. There, under the divan.”

      Keeping her arms tight around her son, she willed her heart to still. The men wouldn’t know about the secret hiding place. She waited, motionless and silent, clinging to that hope.

      But there was a scraping noise on the other side of the panel, and it popped open, a flashlight blinding her. She couldn’t see the men who surrounded them. Fear slowed her heart as she slid in front of Tariq. They could only take him if she were dead.

      But Tariq pushed forward, putting his small body between her and the men, trying to protect her. The gesture just about broke her heart. She pulled him back.

      Tense seconds passed as her eyes adjusted to the light. She wasn’t surprised to see her own guard. The captain watched her, and she knew he was thinking about whether two accidental deaths would be one too many for one night.

      Four, she thought, sliding one hand off Tariq’s shoulder to curl protectively around her stomach.

      “There you are,” the man said, and moved back, allowing them room to step out. “We received word that Tariq was missing, and came looking for the child.”

      She moved with effort, her enormous belly slowing her down. Wary of a trap, she didn’t dare feel relief, but kept her son close.

      “We will return you to your rooms, Sheika. It is careless of you to roam the palace this time of the night.”

      She nodded, noting how his eyes narrowed with displeasure, the disappointment of an interrupted hunt.

      She didn’t take an easy breath until she was inside her quarters, where no man was allowed but her husband, the sheik. She closed the door behind her, locked it, although she knew it mattered little. She wouldn’t let Tariq’s hand go as she walked around and checked on her daughters, who were sleeping peacefully.

      “You sleep with me,” she told Tariq.

      For once, he didn’t argue that he was a big boy and too old for that.

      They slipped into bed, and she held him against her, as close as her giant belly allowed. She had to get him out of the palace to save him, she knew.

      At the birth of each of her previous sons, the sheik had gifted her with a boon, allowed her a request he’d promised he would not deny. The new babes would come soon. If they were healthy and pleasing to the sheik’s eyes …

      Tariq had to go far, far away. If even the guards were hunting him now … None of them were safe, perhaps not even the sheik. His successor, a son by the first wife, was impatient for the throne.

      But the old man wouldn’t see it that way. He had a favorite wife, and also a favorite son. And he was blind to the young sheik’s faults.

      Little Tariq’s body gave a shudder in his sleep. His mother smoothed a hand over his thick, dark hair, hoping he would feel her presence and be calmed even in his dreams.

      “Shh.” She placed a light kiss on the top of his head. “Whatever I have to do, whatever I have to give, you will be safe.”

       Chapter One

       Thirty years later

      She’d been brought here to fail. It was expected of her. Hoped for.

      Sara Reeves exited the conference room last, following the men, as was the custom in the region. Jeff had drilled that into her head. Whatever you do, commit no offense. He’d made it clear it was the most important thing