Leanne Banks - Royals - A Dutiful Princess

‘Then to whom?’ he demanded, the punch in his gut delivering the answer before Jazz had chance to speak.

‘The headman’s somehow got the idea that I’ll be marrying you,’ Jazz told him faintly above the roar of the crowd.

CHAPTER NINE

‘WE NEED TO TALK, JAZZ.’

‘We certainly do,’ she agreed, all business now, ‘but not here and not now. These people deserve everything we can do for them, but the one thing they don’t need is our problems on their shoulders.’

The meeting was breaking up. ‘We’ve got work to do. You go and round up the children, while I make sure everyone gets home safely.’

‘And then we’ll talk,’ Jazz assured him tensely.

‘You bet we will. I’ll come and find you.’

‘Tell me you’re not thinking of coming round to check out my accommodation?’

‘The headman’s little speech has changed nothing, Jazz. I still owe it to your brother to keep you safe, so, however much of a pain in the backside you are, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’

‘I’ve lived in the desert all my life, Tyr.’

‘In a palace, Jazz.’

‘Have you forgotten our camp-outs when we were younger?’

How could he ever forget? Worms in his bed? Stones in his boots?

‘Back off, Tyr. Just leave me to work this out, will you?’

‘I’d love to,’ he assured her, ‘but something tells me it’s going to take a concerted effort to solve this one. And right now, I have bigger concerns, like making sure you’re safe. One thing I do know is that Sharif would never forgive me if any harm came to you. More importantly, I would never forgive myself.’

Straightening up, Jazz pulled the regal card. ‘My people will make sure I’m safe. And now, if you will excuse me?’

He almost bowed mockingly, but he was all out of humour and confined himself to watching from the door as Jazz shepherded the children home through swirls of sand until finally she was lost to sight.

* * *

By the time he’d delivered the last older person safely home, the storm had the village in its vicious grip. The roar of sand driven at speed by gale-force winds was deafening and his only concern now was for Jazz. Fighting against the power of the wind with one arm over his face and his bandana tied over his nose and mouth, he finally reached the large guest pavilion nestling against the cliff. His feelings lurched from concern to relief when he spotted the hurricane ropes connected to the cliff face, which Jazz had already secured across the entrance.

‘Jazz?’ Shaking the brass bell, he yelled her name again. He wanted to check the struts holding the pavilion before the wind really got up.

‘I’m coming in.’

‘Don’t let me stop you,’ she yelled from somewhere deep inside the tent.

‘You should have stayed in the hall until I came back with you to check everything was safe.’

‘How many times, Tyr?’ Jazz demanded as he closed the roar of the storm out behind him. ‘There’s no need for you to come and check up on me. Why risk your life for no reason?’

‘Maybe I disagree with you about there being no reason for me being here?’

He went about doing the job he’d come for, shaking poles and checking roof beams. ‘Move aside, Jazz. I need to make sure this structure’s safe.’

She stalked round after him. ‘Do you really think the Wadi people don’t know how to build a structure that can weather a storm?’

‘Like your brother, Jazz, I have only survived this long because I never take anything for granted.’

‘Are you satisfied now?’ she demanded, when he stood back to take one last long look around.

‘Not nearly,’ he said. ‘How long do you think you might be confined here? Do you have enough water? Enough to eat?’

‘Look around, Tyr.’

He dragged his gaze reluctantly from Jazz to take in the platters set out on low brass tables. They were laden with sweetmeats and fruit. ‘Jazz.’

‘And don’t Jazz me. I’m not a child,’ she snapped. ‘Well? Are you satisfied now? Oh, and there’s an underground stream running through the back of the tent, should I start to get thirsty.’

He glared back at her.

‘So, what are you going to do now, Tyr? Stroll back to your place in the village—get knocked off your feet and killed?’

‘Hopefully not.’ Jazz sounded belligerent, but her expression was both wounded and touchingly concerned for him. This had to be embarrassing for Jazz. According to the headman, they were destined to be married, though not a word of romance had passed between them. Jazz didn’t know how to handle it, and for once he had no advice to offer her. ‘I’m satisfied you’re safe in here,’ he said to break the tension.

‘The pavilion is well insulated, thanks to its outer skin of camel hide,’ Jazz confirmed with a dry throat, clearly relieved to seize the distraction lifeline he’d offered her.

‘And you’re right, saying no one is safe outside in a storm like this,’ he agreed for the sake of encouraging Jazz to use her sensible head, rather than the turbulent emotion he could sense bubbling so close to the surface. ‘Not even me.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’ And then she fell silent. ‘You should never have come here,’ she said at last in a strained voice.

‘I’m supposed to pretend nothing happened back there?’ He jerked his head in the general direction of the village hall.

‘Can’t you see how bad you’re making things look by coming here, Tyr?’

‘Your safety comes first. And considering you weren’t supposed to be here when I arrived, that’s rich, coming from you. But we are where we are, Jazz, and it’s no use looking back.’

‘If you’d left me on that dune as I asked you to, this wouldn’t have happened.’

‘If I’d left you on that dune, you’d be dead. And if one of my sisters was stranded in the middle of a sandstorm when Sharif was close by, I would expect him to do exactly what I’m doing for you.’

‘But this is different, Tyr.’

‘Why? Because you’re a princess of Kareshi? You’re also a human being, aren’t you?’

‘I’m alone with a man.’

‘Who is here to make sure you’re safe, and for no other reason, Jasmina.’

‘You can’t even call me Jazz now?’

‘You’re a princess,’ he reminded her coldly.

But there was more to it than that. Jazz was the woman he wanted to take to bed, while Princess Jasmina was the innocent sister of his closest friend, and therefore untouchable. Princess Jasmina had nothing to worry about where Tyr Skavanga was concerned. Another tense silence hung between them. And just like the old days, neither one of them was prepared to back down first.

‘Well, I might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb,’ Jazz said finally. ‘You’re here, and, as you say, we’re in this situation, so I might as well offer you a drink.’

He slanted a wry smile at her. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’

‘Juice?’

‘Thank you.’

While Jazz was arranging things, he took the chance to stare around at all the rich hangings and the jewel-coloured rugs. The Wadi people had really pushed out the boat to show their love for Jazz by offering her the best of everything they had. The smell of precious incense rose from brass burners, while a honeyed light shone from intricately pierced brass lanterns, which were almost certainly centuries old. And there were enough sumptuous throws and hand-sewn silk cushions to make up ten beds.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she commented, seeing his interest and perhaps relieved for another chance to move onto safer ground. ‘Though you forgot to secure the storm sheet when you came in.’

Surprised, he glanced around.