CHAPTER SEVEN

      THEY LEFT FOR Rubyhan early the next morning. The sky was a pale, luminescent pink as Olivia climbed into the Jeep, gazing around at the harsh desert landscape transformed momentarily into softness and light as dawn broke over the dunes.

      She’d spent four years in Abkar, on the edge of the desert, but she’d rarely ventured into its barren heart. If she wasn’t at the palace, then she was accompanying the Princess on various holidays, mostly to Europe or the Caribbean, playgrounds of the rich and royal.

      Prince Zayed was an entirely different kind of royal, she mused as she watched him swing up into the Jeep, his muscles rippling with the graceful movement. He reminded her of some ancient warrior, proud and defiant and definitely dangerous. He wasn’t like the pampered aristos she’d seen on some of her travels with the royal family, partying it up, whinging about whatever they could. No, she couldn’t see Prince Zayed at some Monte Carlo night club. He was too raw and primal for that, and even now she was drawn to him.

      Yesterday, as she’d helped the women and children, her gaze had been drawn to him again and again. Drawn to his powerful form, and also the way he spoke and listened, the intense responsibility he felt for his people, his country. She’d had the sudden, crazy thought that, when Prince Zayed did love a woman, it would be with that same blazing focus. It just wouldn’t be her.

      Now his grey-green gaze caught and snared hers and Olivia looked away, afraid her thoughts would be written on her face. Why on earth was she thinking about whom he might love? Their one night together had awakened a longing inside her she’d managed to suppress until now. And she had to keep suppressing it. The last thing she wanted to do was feel something—something more—for Zayed.

      She’d thought they would be taking the Jeep to Rubyhan, but after an hour’s travel they reached a helipad on a flat plain, the horizon stretching out to nowhere in every direction.

      ‘We’re going by helicopter?’ Olivia asked, even though she supposed it was obvious.

      Zayed nodded. ‘Rubyhan is unreachable by any other means. It will take an hour by helicopter.’ Anything else he said was cut off by the whirring of blades as a helicopter appeared on the horizon, coming closer. Olivia put her hands over her ears as the sand kicked up and the military helicopter landed.

      Zayed opened the door and held out his hand to help her climb up. She took it, conscious of the strength of his grip as he hoisted her inside. She buckled herself into one of the seats, feeling the surrealness of the situation all over again. How could she be in a helicopter in the middle of the desert with a prince? And yet she was.

      Zayed climbed in after her, settling into the seat next to her, then his aide who had told him about the attack. The door closed and the craft lifted into the air, the desert dropping away beneath them.

      Olivia craned her neck to look out of the window as they sped towards the horizon. From above the desert looked tranquil, the undulating dunes smooth and graceful, belying how rugged and dangerous the landscape truly could be.

      After a little while a mountain range rose up in front of them, jagged peaks piercing the blue sky. The helicopter began to descend, the pilot navigating his way through the ferocious-looking peaks, making Olivia press back in her seat. Out of the window she could see snow-covered mountains adorned with shreds of cloud, almost close enough to touch.

      And then the palace was in front of them, like something out of a fairy tale, its walls emerging from the rock as if they had been hewn from it, each one topped with a bright, domed minaret.

      ‘Wow.’ She breathed, and Zayed turned to her with a small smile.

      ‘It is impressive, is it not? Built six hundred years ago by my ancestor.’

      ‘I’ve never seen its equal.’

      ‘It is called the Palace of Clouds. Rubyhan is its formal name only.’

      ‘It is a palace of clouds,’ Olivia said with a little laugh. ‘I can’t believe how high we are. I saw snow.’

      ‘Yes, it will be far colder here,’ Zayed warned her.

      ‘How long will we be here?’

      Zayed’s mouth thinned. ‘A few days only,’ he answered, and Olivia’s stomach did a little nervous flip. A few days...and then what?

      After they landed Zayed escorted her into the palace; the interior was just as incredible as the outside: rooms with soaring windows and balconies that overlooked the stunning vista, the ground dropping away to nothing immediately beyond the walls.

      ‘You will stay in the former harem,’ he told her. ‘I think you will be very comfortable.’

      The harem was a suite of rooms with every luxury to hand: a huge bedroom with a king-sized bed on its own dais; an en-suite bathroom with a sunken marble tub, an infinity shower and underfloor heating. A balcony extended from the bedroom, making Olivia feel as if she was walking on thin air. She could hardly believe all the luxuries found in such a remote place—it was even more sumptuous a palace than the one she knew in Abkar.

      Zayed left her there, telling her to rest and relax, and after a few moments of uncertainty Olivia decided to take him at his word. It had been a harrowing few days, and she could certainly use the opportunity to relax, especially considering how rarely she did it.

      Her days at the palace in Abkar were taken up with caring for the three young Princesses—teaching them English, keeping them in line, managing their lessons, their social calendars, their wardrobes. Olivia hardly took any holiday—she never needed to. Where would she go? Besides a godmother in Paris she saw every few years, she had no one in the world.

      And if she lost her position in Abkar, which she was almost certain she would, she’d have nowhere to go. But she couldn’t think about that yet. She was going to take one day at a time, one hour if necessary, and right now she was going to revel in a lovely, long soak in the sunken tub, which was a far cry from the cool water of the oasis where she’d last washed, the bottom slimy with seaweed and mud.

      She’d just got out of the bath, wrapping herself in the velvet-soft terry-cloth robe that had been hanging on the bathroom door, when there was a discreet knock on the door of the suite.

      ‘Miss Taylor?’ The voice was female and had a crisp English accent, which filled Olivia with relief. She’d been managing all right with Arabic, and Zayed’s English was flawless, but it would be nice to have someone else to converse with in the language of her birth.

      ‘Yes, just