ALEXANDRA SELLERS

      is the author of over twenty-five novels and a feline language text published in 1997 and still selling.

      Born and raised in Canada, Alexandra first came to London as a drama student. Now she lives near Hampstead Heath with her husband, Nick. They share housekeeping with Monsieur, who jumped through the window one day and announced, as cats do, that he was moving in.

      What she would miss most on a desert island is shared laughter.

      Readers can write to Alexandra at P.O. Box 9449, London NW3 2WH, UK, England.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Epilogue

      One

      The bride was missing.

      Jalia ran along the balcony, anxiety beating in her temples. The soft green silk of the bridesmaid’s veil fell forward yet again to cover her face, half blinding her, adding to the helpless confusion she felt. But she had no time now to struggle with it.

      What was wrong? Where had Noor gone, and why?

      Oh, please let it be just one of her games. Let her not have changed her mind like this, in the most embarrassing possible way….

      “Noor!” she called softly. “Noor, where are you?”

      A confused, murmuring silence was replacing the earlier sounds of celebration coming from the large central courtyard of the palatial house, and Jalia’s heart sank. Hopeless now to think she might find Noor quickly so that the wedding could proceed without an obvious delay.

      This balcony overlooked a smaller courtyard. If Noor had come out here, surely she would have realized at once that she had gone the wrong way?

      “Noor?” She leaned over the railing. Below, the courtyard was empty. A fountain played with the sunlight, creating an endless spray of diamonds; flowers danced in the breeze; but no human shadow moved across the beautiful tiles.

      Ahead of her, in a breathtaking series of arches and columns, stretched the shadowed balcony, leading to an ancient arched door like the secret door of childhood dreams. No one.

      “Noor?” A bead of sweat dropped from under the veil onto her hand. Half heat, half nerves. Was the bride’s flight her—Jalia’s—fault? People would think so. Jalia would be blamed, by some more fiercely than by others.

      Latif Abd al Razzaq Shahin, for one, would condemn Jalia’s interference in her cousin’s sudden engagement to his friend Bari. He already had, and Jalia was still smarting from the contact.

      “Noor!” she cried more loudly, because secrecy was impossible now. Oh, how like Noor to create a melodramatic, self-centred, eleventh-hour panic, instead of taking the calm, rational course Jalia had advised. All the princess bride had had to do was insist on taking a little more time before committing herself irrevocably to a stranger in a strange land!

      And how like Noor, too, to leave her cousin to pick up the pieces. Thanks to Noor’s open-mouth policy, Jalia’s opposition to the hasty wedding was well-known in the family. People would blame her for this outcome.

      He would blame her. Not that she cared a damn for Latif Abd al Razzaq’s opinion, but his criticism could be biting and cruel, and he disliked Jalia almost as much as she disliked him. He would probably relish this opportunity to put her so drastically in the wrong.

      As if the thought had given rise to the devil—or the devil to the thought?—the man himself appeared before her on the balcony a few yards away. He was wearing the magnificent ceremonial costume of a Cup Companion, but she shivered as if at the approach of menace and dodged behind one of the columns of worn, sand-coloured brick.

      But she had been mesmerized a second too long, and he struck fast, like the falcon he was named for. The next moment he was before her, blocking her path.

      “Where has your cousin gone?” demanded Latif Abd al Razzaq Shahin, Cup Companion to the new Sultan, in a commanding voice.

      Jalia’s