Page 29

Lottie placed her hand palm up on the console between them. Without a second’s hesitation, Zynara linked their fingers.

“Whatever you say, Qasira,” Lottie murmured.

Zynara swore again.

Zynara flew them to the very edge of the world, where the stoney canyons finally succumbed to the sands and a small camp hunkered in the shadow of an immense dune. She touched down near a date palm and a twisted acacia tree.

A small group of camels regarded them balefully. It wasn’t quite the glamour Lottie had been expecting.

“Camels?” she asked. “Please say no.”

“City girl.”

Zynara hooked Lottie’s hand into the crook of her arm and led her toward the tents. There was a relaxed, casual air about her that Lottie very much liked. When a cheerful gaggle of people emerged from the tents, her smile widened beautifully.

The tattered-looking tents were gathered around a tall palm, and though they looked old from the distance—coarse dark brown fabric that had been patched time and time again—the area they enclosed was nothing short of magical.

The ground between them was strewn with carpets of rich reds and vivid blues.

Cushions were scattered around a fire pit.

Ornate glass lanterns, not yet lit but glittering brightly in the sunlight, hung from curved metal hooks that rose out of the sand.

The walls of the tents that faced the circle were all drawn up, showing the vibrancy within—one tent decorated with swathes of deep emerald fabric edge with gold, another in startling blues and oranges.

If the desert was monotonous and endless tones of earth, every other colour in the spectrum blossomed inside those tents.

It was a home , Lottie realised. A genuine Amazigh family home of desert travellers in the timeless way.

And Zynara plainly loved it here.

“Uncle!” she cried in Arabic.

A man in traditional desert clothes with a smile as wide as the dunes bowed to her from the waist. She rolled her eyes at his formality and from beneath the miles of bright blue scarf wrapped around his head, the man’s brown eyes were warm. There was a beat—and then they hugged.

“Welcome, binti,” he said. “It soothes the soul to see you. You do not visit often enough.” His eyes flicked to Lottie’s, took her in, darted back to Zynara’s and his grin widened. Lottie had just been ‘approved’. Zynara chuckled. “Come into the shade, both of you. We’ll dine!”

“Nizzy!” Two women rushed forward, each seizing one of Zynara’s hands. They dropped instantly to the Qasira’s feet in a deep curtsy right at her feet, kissed her fingers, then surged up again. With perfect synchronicity, they kissed her cheeks, giggled, and began talking in rapid Tamazight.

Zynara, to Lottie’s absolute delight, blushed.

The man shooed them away. Zynara reclined on cushions beneath the palm tree and looked regal enough to draw Lottie to her knees next to her, casual enough that she wanted to capture this version of the Qasira forever.

She tilted her head at the women. “Cousins?” she teased quietly while the man rallied his family into cooking a feast.

Zynara looked coy. “No relation.” She held up a finger to stall Lottie’s inevitable cheek. “It’s traditional.”

“Uh-huh…”

“A customary greeting. For royalty. Out here, beyond the Tell. It’s ceremonial.”

“Right.” Lottie shuffled closer. She dropped her voice. “So, can I do it too?”

Zynara choked. Her customary loftiness returned extremely quickly. “Like being on your knees for me, zin dyali ?”

“You know I do.”

Zynara’s smirk became very pleased with itself. Her eyes went dark for one glorious moment, then she shook it all away. “Uncle,” she called. “I hoped we could take the birds out.”

“Of course. But first we eat!”

It was a long, leisurely meal. Lottie leaned back in the cushions, their fabric warm from the sun.

Palm fronds rustled overhead and cast shifting shadows over the happy crowd.

A group of almost twenty people arrived from out of the dunes, all bringing food.

They greeted Zynara with a respectful bow and then treated her as casually as family.

Two kids wanted to play in the flier. A toddler waddled up to Zynara and squashed dried fig pulp against the pristine fabric of her trousers. Zynara pulled the kid onto her lap and pretended to nibble its fingers and laughed at its squealing. Lottie was astonished.

Uncle—who Lottie soon realised was called that by everyone and who, out here in the desert, commanded more respect than the Qasira—directed the preparation for the feast. He won Lottie’s heart when he instructed his wife to sit on the cushions with Zynara while everyone else did the work.

He dragged Lottie to her feet and gave her trays to carry, and when she returned with them, Auntie was braiding Zynara’s hair.

Zynara had her eyes closed and a soft expression on her face. She was beautiful.

The meal was heavenly, and by its end, Lottie had a contented belly, a slight sugar overload from the date and rosewater sweets, and a dull ache in her cheeks from laughing too much with people in English and in Arabic.

Zynara looked completely different here—softened somehow, stripped of the razor-sharp edges she wore like armour in Azzouan. She was barefoot, her long trousers dusted with sand, and she was smiling—properly smiling. Lottie couldn’t stop staring.

Uncle clapped his hands as the afternoon shadows lengthened, and Zynara suddenly looked cunning.

“You ready for this?” she asked.

“Ready for what?”

Zynara stood, stretched like a cat, and reached for Lottie’s hand. “Flying.”

Lottie didn’t even bother pushing for an explanation. Hadn’t they already been flying? She held her attitude in check too. Whatever the desert was doing to Zynara was too wonderful to ruin.

Ten minutes later, after a short ride through the desert in a convoy of immaculately maintained Range Rovers—which, again, simply appeared out of nowhere—they stood on a ridge of rock in the golden light of late afternoon, the sands turning flame-red and copper around them.

Zynara held out a thick leather glove and slipped it onto Lottie’s hand.

Uncle brought a falcon toward them, a fierce-looking bird standing proudly on his wrist.

“Her name is Dihiya,” Zynara murmured. “She’s my favourite. Fast, difficult to train, moody as hell.” She gave Lottie a heavy look. “And deadly.”

Lottie wasn’t sure she was talking about the bird. She put her other hand on her hip. “Sounds familiar,” she deadpanned.

Zynara smirked. “She’s named after a queen.”

The bird was placed on Lottie’s glove, heavier than she’d expected.

Talons gripped her wrist, certain to draw blood if she wasn’t careful.

There was a warm smell of feathers, and a tingle of power bursting to be unleashed.

Uncle removed the bird’s hood and two terrifyingly wild eyes bored into Lottie’s.

Dihiya was sleek, beautiful and fierce, and she looked at Lottie like she wanted to eat her. It was exactly the way Zynara looked at her. Lottie wasn’t sure she was going to make it out of the desert.

“Hold her like this.” Zynara stepped close and wrapped her arms around her. She steadied Lottie’s wrist, guiding her, her breath hot in Lottie’s ear, her entire body like fire against Lottie’s back. “She won’t fly until you release her,” she whispered.

“And then?”

“And then she goes where she pleases.” There was a soft kiss to her ear. “But she always comes back.”

Lottie’s heart twisted. She didn’t know what the hell she was doing anymore. She’d come here to convince this woman to take the throne. To seduce her, manipulate her, and force her toward a destiny chosen by others. To have a little fun as she did.

But here she was, falling for her mark, a woman who seemed to know precisely what she was—and for some crazy reason, trusted her anyway. What messed up shit was this?

Behind her, Zynara held her breath, a sudden tension back in her body that hadn’t been there all day. And then she twitched their hands—and Dihiya exploded into the sky.

“Oh!”

Lottie suddenly saw it all from the falcon’s perspective.

A vast country alive with extraordinary beauty.

A vibrant people poised on the edge of a glittering future.

A single woman destined to lead them but hesitating at the edge of a precipice, yearning to fly but constrained by tradition.

Admired and respected for her intellect with a heart uncherished and alone.

She saw herself too. All the greed and self interest that had charted her course until now.

The whole parade of chaotic disasters that had led her to a world far wilder than the London she knew.

The games, the fakery, the posturing and pretending, so deeply ingrained she no longer knew her own truth, her own values.

She watched the falcon’s proud silhouette against the burnished sky and knew she had no values. Her principals shifted like the endless dunes. Her heart was the scrabbling, panicking mouse that scurried in the sand, not even seeing the lethal beauty that bore down on her from above.

Zynara gave a sharp whistle and Uncle spun the lure. Dihiya returned with a bloodied creature in her claws.

“A jarboa! Lucky girl,” Zynara cried as the falcon circled.

Then she snapped her fingers at Lottie and Lottie held up her hand.

Dihiya punched down out of the sky so hard Lottie nearly toppled over—and would have if Zynara hadn’t been behind her again, holding her up.

The falcon blinked at Lottie, the horizon still sparkling in her eyes, her beak red with blood.

The bird dismembered her prize and endured the cooing praise from Zynara and Uncle. Zynara watched Lottie just as hungrily.

Lottie slipped her hand into Zynara’s and was rewarded with a deep, slow kiss, her lips warm as the evening’s chill swept over the desert. The sun set over the crest of the dune and everything, Lottie thought, was perfect.

Yet another point in the autonomous flier’s favour was that Lottie could straddle Zynara’s lap all the way back to the solar fields.

Zynara’s hands slipped under Lottie’s top and rested gently on the curve of her hips, not possessive or greedy, just soft and warm.

The depth in her gaze was frightening, so Lottie kissed her instead, her hands cradling Zynara’s face, as careful as Lottie knew how to be.

They kissed all the way to the car, then Zynara drove back to the palace, one hand tucked between Lottie’s thighs. A companionable silence settled over them like a blanket and, for once, Lottie couldn’t think of a single smartarsed thing to say.

Zynara escorted her to the door of her new room and stood gallantly at the threshold, their fingers still linked. The Qasira’s assistant appeared out of the shadows, bowed and handed Zynara a tablet.

Whatever Zynara read made the carefree woman who had entranced Lottie all day retreat behind her royal mask once more.

“I should go.” Zynara pressed her lips into a thin line, but she didn’t move.

“Is the world ending?” Lottie asked. “Has something exploded? How much damage can your brother do in the next few hours?”

Zynara grimaced. “You’d be surprised.”

Lottie turned to the assistant. “Can it wait until morning?”

There was a nod, and the woman took the screen back. With one more bow, she left.

Zynara looked stubborn. “I really should go.”

“You should , but you won’t.” Lottie kept hold of Zynara’s fingers and drew her into the room with a soft smile.

“This is serious, Lottie. I can’t ignore—”

“Oh, princess, not even you can be serious every single moment. Today was wonderful. Let’s make tonight perfect too.”

“I have responsibilities—”

“And you’ve shouldered them alone.” Lottie stood on tiptoes to whisper against Zynara’s lips. “But who takes care of you?”

They were next to the bed then and Zynara was weakening. Her proud posture melted a little at Lottie’s words, and she smiled against Lottie’s lips.

“Apparently a cheeky British girl who never takes no for an answer,” she snarked.

“It’s in the job description,” Lottie said innocently, then giggled as Zynara reached around to swat her arse. She knew she’d won now. “Stay, princess. Let me look after you.”

With a breath of surrender—or possibly exasperation—the last of Zynara’s resistance melted away, and her arms slid around Lottie’s waist and pulled her close. “Only because you’re so persuasive,” she sighed.

Lottie took her hands and dropped into a deep curtsy just as she’d seen the women in the desert do. When she looked up, Zynara’s eyes were black.

“Oh, darling,” Zynara whispered. “While you’re down there—”

Lottie giggled, kissed her Qasira’s hands, surged up to kiss her mouth, and took very good care of her indeed until the sun came up.