Gambling With the Crown by Lynn Raye Harris Page B

father made a dismissive noise. “You have defied me, Kadir.”
    “I am in love, Father. I cannot live without her.” A lie, but a necessary one.
    “I see.” King Zaid closed his eyes and swallowed. “I never thought you would disrespect my wishes as your brother has so often done. I thought you were the good son.”
    Kadir wanted to lash out, wanted to tell the old king that both his sons were good sons—but that he was too hard and proud and blind to realize it.
    “A man will do things for love that he would not otherwise do.” He should feel guilty for lying, but strangely he did not. “Besides, I’ve told you many times before that I often blamed Rashid for things I had done.”
    His father waved a weak hand as if annoyed. What Zaid did not want to hear, he did not hear. One of the reasons why his sons had left Kyr long ago.
    “The succession is not decided,” King Zaid rasped. “There is time for you to renounce this woman and take your place as king.”
    Kadir felt the chill of that pronouncement like a dip into an arctic pool. “I am not prepared to do so.”
    “And if I were to order it?”
    “Choose Rashid, Father. He is the right man for the job.”
    His father spat—and then he began to cough. Kadir stepped forward, alarmed, but the nurse who sat nearby was there instead, offering King Zaid a glass of water and straightening his pillows.
    “Leave me,” his father said when he could speak again. Kadir had stalked out, furious with the stubbornness of his father and brother both. And perhaps even with himself. He should just go to the council and announce he was not going to accept the throne even if the king chose him, but he wanted very much for his father to make a different choice. A conscious choice.
    Kadir wanted the king to pick Rashid, which would be the best choice for Kyr, and then he might feel as if he’d finally done something right by his brother. As if he’d righted the wrongs of their childhood in the palace. Perhaps the things he’d done were not so extreme when viewed through the lens of boyhood—but they felt like crimes against his own flesh. In seeking his father’s approval, he’d actively encouraged the king’s barely suppressed frustration with Rashid.
    And Rashid had been too proud to fight back, which only exacerbated the situation.
    After the meeting with his father, Kadir had returned to his room and found Emily fretting over the sleeping arrangements. She’d seemed so ordinary and normal that it had been everything he could do not to drag her into his arms and just hold her close. But she would not have understood, so he had not done it.
    The night air whipped up from the sea, ruffling his hair, but it was not quite cool enough to dampen his heightened senses. He remembered their arrival on Kyrian soil. He could still feel Emily in his arms, still taste that kiss as they’d stood in the doorway to the plane. He wanted her with a sharpness that was uncharacteristic of him, and he didn’t know why.
    Kadir swore softly. He should not be thinking about this. How was he going to lie in a bed with her and not touch her? He was growing hard just thinking about it. He told himself it was the stress of the current situation making him want her. Rewind the clock a day, and she would still be his PA, dressed in her stark suits and ugly shoes, and he would be none the wiser about what kind of woman lay beneath the professional polish.
    He stood for a long time in the night air, until he was chilled and tired, and then he turned and went inside. The lights were dim and the room quiet. He shed the dishdasha he wore and padded over to the bed in his underwear. Emily lay on her side, as far from his side of the bed as possible. She was a small lump under the covers. Her hair, he was shocked to realize, was braided. He’d pictured it free, streaming over the sheets, but she’d very sensibly confined it.
    Of course she had.
    She had also lined the center of the bed with