shouldn’t give in to.
But did. Because she didn’t possess enough strength to do anything else.
“I’m just surprised at what I uncovered,” she said. Best to be honest, because she didn’t have the brainpower to come up with a lie.
He laughed. “Expecting hideous scars, were you? Those are just in here.” He pounded on his bare chest.
“I didn’t know what to expect.” She swallowed. “I do think you should cut your hair, and you should definitely enlist someone other than me to do it.”
“Why is that?”
“I’ll answer why to both possible questions. Because you don’t need to hide behind all the hair. You’ll shock people more if you step out completely clean, I think. Defy expectations and exceed them—that’s what you want, isn’t it? And secondly, because the only way I could cut your hair is if we took the fruit bowl in my bedroom and emptied it, then turned it upside down on your head. I don’t think that’s the look we want.”
He laughed and it made her warm up inside. “I suppose not. And I see your point about...out-polishing their expectations.”
“It would be good for you,” she said. “Think about it...you show up at the party in a dark suit, tailored to fit, and your hair cut short, clean shaven. You won’t look like a man who’s just stepped out of exile, but a man who was born to his position. Which, you are.”
He shook his head slowly. “I am glad I didn’t walk a straight line from the cradle to the throne. I strongly regret what happened. The loss of my parents. But without it...I would have been a weak, spoiled and selfish ruler. I fear I would have been no better than my uncle. At least out in the desert I learned self-denial. At least I learned about what mattered. It is the one good thing to result from it all. I will be better for Al Sabah because of it. Sadly, Al Sabah is starting from a place of weakness. Because of my own weakness.”
“You’ve transcended that weakness,” she said. “You’ve spent the past fifteen years doing it. So show them, Zafar, show them your strength. Give them a reason to stand behind you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Z AFAR LOOKED IN the mirror, which was something he didn’t particularly like to do. It was a difficult task over the past few years, as he, in many ways, hated the man he saw. Plus, it wasn’t like he carried a compact in his pocket. He saw no point in owning a mirror out in the desert.
But he was looking now. He’d had a haircut, and he had shaved himself in the few days since the shave Ana had given him.
He looked very different than he’d thought he did. He’d seen himself as a boy. Since then he’d always had a beard and long hair, and he’d looked at himself infrequently.
Seeing himself without anything covering his face, his hair short, was more shocking than he’d thought it might be. He was a stranger to himself, this, admittedly, more civilized version of the man he was looking back at him from the mirror.
His appearance had never mattered to him. Every day he rode through the desert, the safety and well-being of the people there his job. His duty. If he had word his uncle’s men were around then he was there with his men, preventing any injustice that might happen, by any means necessary, and then melting back into the desert as though they had never been there.
As far as Zafar knew, his uncle had never known it was him. His uncle hadn’t known of his continued existence. He was sure Farooq imagined that he’d gone back to the dust, another victim of the unforgiving desert. And that had suited him well. The Bedouins were loyal to him, above all else. And the few times he’d tangled with soldiers from the palace...
They had left no men to return with a tale.
He looked at his reflection again, caught sight of the ruthless glint in his eye. The pride. The lack of remorse. Ah, there he was. This was the man he knew.
He pushed off from the sink and turned to walk out of his chamber and into the
But did. Because she didn’t possess enough strength to do anything else.
“I’m just surprised at what I uncovered,” she said. Best to be honest, because she didn’t have the brainpower to come up with a lie.
He laughed. “Expecting hideous scars, were you? Those are just in here.” He pounded on his bare chest.
“I didn’t know what to expect.” She swallowed. “I do think you should cut your hair, and you should definitely enlist someone other than me to do it.”
“Why is that?”
“I’ll answer why to both possible questions. Because you don’t need to hide behind all the hair. You’ll shock people more if you step out completely clean, I think. Defy expectations and exceed them—that’s what you want, isn’t it? And secondly, because the only way I could cut your hair is if we took the fruit bowl in my bedroom and emptied it, then turned it upside down on your head. I don’t think that’s the look we want.”
He laughed and it made her warm up inside. “I suppose not. And I see your point about...out-polishing their expectations.”
“It would be good for you,” she said. “Think about it...you show up at the party in a dark suit, tailored to fit, and your hair cut short, clean shaven. You won’t look like a man who’s just stepped out of exile, but a man who was born to his position. Which, you are.”
He shook his head slowly. “I am glad I didn’t walk a straight line from the cradle to the throne. I strongly regret what happened. The loss of my parents. But without it...I would have been a weak, spoiled and selfish ruler. I fear I would have been no better than my uncle. At least out in the desert I learned self-denial. At least I learned about what mattered. It is the one good thing to result from it all. I will be better for Al Sabah because of it. Sadly, Al Sabah is starting from a place of weakness. Because of my own weakness.”
“You’ve transcended that weakness,” she said. “You’ve spent the past fifteen years doing it. So show them, Zafar, show them your strength. Give them a reason to stand behind you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Z AFAR LOOKED IN the mirror, which was something he didn’t particularly like to do. It was a difficult task over the past few years, as he, in many ways, hated the man he saw. Plus, it wasn’t like he carried a compact in his pocket. He saw no point in owning a mirror out in the desert.
But he was looking now. He’d had a haircut, and he had shaved himself in the few days since the shave Ana had given him.
He looked very different than he’d thought he did. He’d seen himself as a boy. Since then he’d always had a beard and long hair, and he’d looked at himself infrequently.
Seeing himself without anything covering his face, his hair short, was more shocking than he’d thought it might be. He was a stranger to himself, this, admittedly, more civilized version of the man he was looking back at him from the mirror.
His appearance had never mattered to him. Every day he rode through the desert, the safety and well-being of the people there his job. His duty. If he had word his uncle’s men were around then he was there with his men, preventing any injustice that might happen, by any means necessary, and then melting back into the desert as though they had never been there.
As far as Zafar knew, his uncle had never known it was him. His uncle hadn’t known of his continued existence. He was sure Farooq imagined that he’d gone back to the dust, another victim of the unforgiving desert. And that had suited him well. The Bedouins were loyal to him, above all else. And the few times he’d tangled with soldiers from the palace...
They had left no men to return with a tale.
He looked at his reflection again, caught sight of the ruthless glint in his eye. The pride. The lack of remorse. Ah, there he was. This was the man he knew.
He pushed off from the sink and turned to walk out of his chamber and into the
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