CHAPTER THREE

      ‘I LIKE IT,’ Ashraf said over the phone. ‘Accepting the Assaran crown is a perfect solution.’

      Karim frowned at his brother’s words as he wiped the sweat from his torso. The morning’s visits had left him unsettled, and he’d sought to find calm through a workout in the gym, only to be interrupted by Ashraf’s call.

      ‘Solution? I don’t see that there’s a problem to be solved from your perspective—and especially not from mine.’

      Yet, if not a problem, Karim sensed there was something. He and Ashraf had spoken at the weekend. It was unlike his brother to call again so soon. Unless something important had arisen. They didn’t live in each other’s pockets, but there was a genuine bond between them, all the more remarkable given the fact they’d been kept apart as much as possible by their father.

      The old man had been prejudiced against Ashraf, believing him to be another man’s son. He’d neglected the younger boy, fixing all his focus and energy on the elder. Not because he’d cared for Karim—the old tartar had been incapable of love—but because, as the eldest, he was the one to be moulded into a future sheikh.

      If it hadn’t been so personally painful Karim would have laughed when the truth had been revealed, that the Sheikh had picked the wrong heir. That Ashraf was the true son and Karim the bastard.

      ‘I’ve no need of a throne, Ashraf. You know that.’

      There was a growl in his voice. A morning besieged—first by the envoy from the Assaran Royal Council, and then by the only woman he’d ever seriously thought of marrying—had impaired his mood. The idea that Safiyah believed he still cared enough about her to be coaxed into doing her bidding set his teeth on edge. It would take more than an hour in the gym to ease the anger cramping his belly.

      Karim stared through the huge windows, streaming with rain, towards the mountains, now shrouded in cloud. He usually found peace in a long ride. But he had no horses here. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have subjected any poor beast to a hard ride in this weather just to shift his bad mood.

      ‘Of course you don’t need a throne.’ Ashraf’s tone was matter-of-fact. ‘You’ve taken to being an independent businessman like a duck to water. Not to mention having the freedom to enjoy lovers without raising expectations that you’re looking for a royal life partner.’

      Karim’s frown deepened. Did his brother miss his old life? Ashraf and Tori had been blissfully wrapped up in each other when he’d seen them last, but… ‘What’s wrong? Are you pining for your days as a carefree bachelor?’

      Ashraf’s laugh reassured him. ‘Not a bit. I’ve never been happier.’ He paused, his voice dropping to a more serious note. ‘Except I’d rather you were here more often.’

      It was a familiar argument, but Karim was adamant about not returning to Za’daq long-term. His brother was a fine leader, yet there were still a few powerful men who chafed at the idea of being ruled by a younger son.

      His brother sighed at the other end of the line. ‘Sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t mention it.’

      ‘Why don’t you just get to the point?’

      The point being the outlandish suggestion that he, Karim, should take the Assaran throne. Interestingly, the proposal hadn’t been news to Ashraf. Nor did he think it outlandish.

      ‘You rang to persuade me. Why?’

      ‘Pure self-interest.’ Ashraf’s answer came instantly. ‘Life will be much easier and better for our country if there’s a stable government in Assara.’

      Karim didn’t dispute his logic. The two countries shared a border, and what affected one ended up affecting the other.

      ‘If Shakroun becomes Sheikh there’ll be stability.’ Karim didn’t like the man, but that was irrelevant. ‘He’s strong and he’ll hang on to power.’

      ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ his brother murmured.

      ‘What?’ Surely Ashraf wouldn’t advocate civil unrest.

      ‘You’ve been away a long time. Certain things have come to light that put a different slant on Shakroun and his activities.’

      ‘I haven’t heard anything.’

      Despite removing himself from the Middle East, Karim followed press reports from the region. He’d told himself more than once that his interest in matters he’d left behind was a mistake, but though he’d cut so many ties he couldn’t conquer his innate interest. He’d been bred to it, after all, had spent a lifetime living and breathing regional politics.

      ‘We’re not talking about anything known publicly. But a number of investigations are bearing fruit. Remember that people-smuggling ring that worked out of both countries?’

      ‘How could I forget?’

      Za’daq was a peaceable country, but years before the borderland between the two nations had been lawless, controlled by a ruthless criminal called Qadri. Qadri had unofficially run the region through violence and intimidation. One of his most profitable ventures had been people-smuggling from Za’daq into Assara and then to more distant markets. Tori, before she’d become Ashraf’s wife, had been kidnapped for the trade, and Qadri had attempted to execute Ashraf himself.

      ‘We don’t have enough quite yet to prove it in a court of law, but we know Qadri’s partner in the flesh trade was Hassan Shakroun.’

      ‘I see…’ The surprising thing was that Karim wasn’t surprised. Not that he’d guessed Shakroun was a criminal. He’d just thought him deeply unpleasant and far too fixated on his own prestige and power. ‘How sure are you?’

      ‘I’m sure. The evidence is clear. But it will take time till the police are ready to press charges. Since Qadri’s death Shakroun has taken over some of his criminal enterprises. They’re trying to get an iron-clad case against him on a number of fronts. It’s tough getting evidence, because Shakroun gets others to do his dirty work and witnesses are thin on the ground. A couple of people who stirred up trouble for him met with unfortunate “accidents”.’

      Karim felt an icy prickle across his rapidly cooling flesh. He grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it one-handed over his head, then shoved his arms through the sleeves.

      ‘That’s one of the reasons the Council is searching for someone else to become Sheikh.’

      Now it made so much more sense. Did Safiyah know?

      Immediately he dragged his thoughts back. Safiyah wasn’t the issue. He refused to be swayed by her. Yet the thought of her with her small child in the Assaran palace and Shakroun moving in made his stomach curdle.

      ‘It’s also why they’re eager for an outsider,’ Ashraf added. ‘If they choose from within the country Shakroun is the obvious choice. He’s from an influential family, and on the face of it would make a better leader than the other contenders. But with you they’d get someone they know and respect, who has a track record of ruling during those years when our father was ill.’

      Karim let the words wash over him, ignoring Ashraf’s reference to the man who’d raised him as his father. His thoughts were already moving on.

      ‘How many know about this?’

      ‘Very few. It’s too early to accuse him publicly—not until the evidence is watertight. But if he becomes Sheikh…’

      Karim could imagine. A criminal thug with almost absolute power. It didn’t bear thinking about.

      He ploughed his hand through his damp hair. ‘It’s still