Midnight on the Sands

Something that would make her feel right.

She hadn’t felt right since that night in her room. She wasn’t entirely certain she’d felt right since the moment she’d walked into his office and proposed.

She closed her eyes. Had she even felt right before that? It had been a constant feeling, and she’d been used to it. But she wasn’t certain it was the way she was supposed to feel. She was finding something else in Hajar, and she couldn’t quite put a name to it.

The chill air from outside pierced the cocoon of warmth the limo offered, and Zahir slid inside beside her.

“Nice,” she said, touching the dark sleeve of his wool jacket.

“I haven’t had occasion to use it for quite a while.”

“Not a lot of heavy coat weather in Hajar.”

“No.”

He turned his focus to the passing scenery and Katharine closed her eyes, trying to shut it all out.

Far too soon, the car slowed and stopped in front of the main entrance of the palace.

“How is your father doing?” Zahir asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice choked. She hadn’t seen him in over a month and he wasn’t the kind of man who would admit to any frailty.

Their respective doors were opened for them in unison and they both stepped back out into the cold. Snow was falling now, sprinkling over the wide expanse of green lawn that dominated the palace courtyard.

There was no reticence in Zahir’s demeanor, but then, her father wasn’t a crowd. He strode ahead of her, his steps long and confident, and she tried to match them. Tried to feed off his strength, because for some reason, hers seemed to be failing.

She’d been treating Zahir like the enemy, because he’d hurt her, but she needed an ally now. Desperately.

The castle in Austrich was completely unlike the palace in Hajar. There were domestic staff everywhere, administrative personnel, visiting members of parliament and the occasional tour group. It was always busy, and it was never empty.

There were always flowers. And the most awful, gaudy garlands made of fresh vines and carnations strung over the public portions of the palace. High-gloss white marble floors and bright white, spotless walls with the matte impression of fleur de lis impressed upon them.

It felt foreign now, too, like the whole setting of the country had when she’d first stepped onto the tarmac. She moved a little bit closer to Zahir.

“This way,” she said, indicating which direction her father’s office was in. He would be there, waiting to greet her. Anything else would be far too casual. And anyway, this was a matter of State. Her wedding was about alliances and protection. Nothing more.

It would do her well to remember that.

They stopped in front of the heavy, dark walnut door that stood out in sharp contrast to the white walls, and Katharine took a deep breath, one she’d hoped would fortify her. It didn’t.

“Katharine.” Zahir touched her hand. “Look at me.”

She looked up into his eyes, at his handsome face.

You bring me back to myself.

That was how she felt, like he’d brought her back to herself. She took another breath, and this time, she did feel fortified.

“If you can storm my office like you did, you can certainly do this.”

She nodded and cleared her throat, knocking on the door with as much authority as she could muster. He was right. She had stormed his office. And then she’d moved in. She could do this.

“Yes?” Her father’s voice sounded thin coming through the door and it made her heart tighten. Because in so many ways she’d never truly thought of him as being human, mortal. But he was.

She pushed the door open and walked in. His office had always been different from the rest of the palace. Expansive, like everything else, but dark. Plush, navy blue carpets and dark wood paneling. He probably thought it gave it weight. It worked.

“Father, I would like to present Sheikh Zahir S’ad al Din, my future husband.”

Her father stood, and she noticed how shrunken his frame had become, how much more gray was streaked through his hair. “Sheikh Zahir, I am glad you decided to honor the agreement. Your family was always trusted by mine.”

It didn’t escape Katharine’s notice that it was Zahir her father addressed, not her.

Zahir nodded. “Katharine put forth a convincing argument.”

Her father arched an eyebrow. “Did she?”

Katharine gritted her teeth, fought against the burning feeling of … of injustice that was rolling through her. It was as though she wasn’t in the room. And now wasn’t the time to be angry with her father. Not when he was sick like he was. It wasn’t the time to see, so clearly, just how unimportant she truly was.

“She did. I said no, in fact, but she put forth some very good points.” Zahir looked at her, deferring to her. Her father looked even more surprised by that.

“It’s true,” she said, clearing her throat. And then she was lost for words, unable to find a way to say that she’d been brave or made good points in favor of the marriage. She just felt small. Insignificant. Everything she’d always feared she truly was.

Her father looked back at Zahir. “I can well imagine what might have convinced you.”

Bile rose in Katharine’s throat. “Excuse me, please, I need to … It was good to see you, Father.” She turned and walked out of the office, striding down the hall without pausing until she reached a segment of corridor that she knew was most likely to be vacant.

She leaned against the wall and took a breath, trying to undo the knot of pain that had gripped her heart.

How had she never realized? How had she never truly known just how little her father thought of her? She’d known he didn’t think she was capable of ruling, that he’d imagined her less because she was a woman. But she hadn’t realized that the quiet, insidious voice that whispered in her ear, told her how dangerously close she was to total insignificance, had been his voice. That it had been hidden, layered in every word he spoke.

Today it had been clear.

She heard heavy footsteps and she pushed away from the wall, schooling her face into a stoic expression. Zahir came around the corner, his left hand pressed against the wall, his jaw tight.

“I told him never to speak to you, or about you, that way again. Why didn’t you tell me, Katharine?”

“Tell you what?”

“What a raging bastard the man is.”

“I didn’t … I didn’t really realize. Until he started insinuating that I used my … body … to talk you into marriage.”

“You could walk away, you know.” His dark eyes were intent on hers, and for a moment, she wanted to take him up on that. To take his hand and walk out. Walk away.

“I’m not doing this for him. I’m doing it for Alexander. For my people. But I’m not going to worry about proving myself by doing it. Not anymore.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I wanted him to see that I was … that I could be just as important. But he never will.”

“It’s different with the heirs. They need confidence. They need to understand the weight of their duties. They need to be prepared to lead. The spares like us … we are incidentals.”

“Were you?”

He looked behind her. “My parents were good to me. When I saw them. Malik was my father’s priority, and that is understandable in a sense.”

“But you’re the one ruling Hajar.”

He swallowed. “Yes. And you’re the one saving Austrich.”

She smiled at him, the motion a near impossibility. “When I have children, I won’t rank them like that. I refuse to do it.”

“I’ll never have children, so that isn’t an issue.”

“Never?”

“They would cry at the sight of me.”

“They would love you.”

The light in his eyes changed, a strange, deep sort of longing opening up behind it. It reached into her soul, tugged at her heart. In an instant, it was gone, his control returned. “I would not know how to love them.”

The bleak pain in his eyes nearly broke her. “You could, Zahir. You would.”

“You don’t know what it’s like in here.” He tapped his chest. “Empty. Thank God.”

“Because feeling hurts too much?”

“There’s hurt, and then there’s the feeling that your insides are being ripped into pieces and scattered throughout your body. Left to bleed, stay raw and blindingly painful forever. At some point … you become dead to it. And to everything else. Good and bad. But anything is better than that kind of pain.”

Her heart felt like it was tearing, mirroring what he had described. She put her hand on her chest. “But you still have pain. It finds you still. I’ve seen it. Why deny yourself good things, Zahir?”

“How can I accept all the things in life, my family, our guards, the innocent bystanders who were simply caught in the crossfire, will never have a chance to have.” His eyes were flat again, the connection lost.

He turned like he was going to leave, and she blurted out a question to keep him there. “So, what did my father say when you told him off?”

“Nothing. He is, perhaps, still in there choking on his ire. But he will not push. He needs me, remember?”

“He’s really not bad, Zahir. He has old, set ideas and tunnel vision ambition. He’s done wonderful things for the country. As a ruler, he’s a man of great compassion. As a father … not quite so much. But I respect all that he’s done here, and I support him in that wholly.”

“And I’m still going to help ensure that Austrich is protected.”

She couldn’t help but realize that he’d only named her country, and not his. That his priorities seemed to have shifted. People and not trade, right and not money.

But she suspected that truly, that had been in him from the beginning. He simply hadn’t been willing to reach in and find it.

Now he had.

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