The Desert Lord's Baby (Throne of Judar 1)

An incredible burnt red-orange the exact color of her hair three-piece Pakistani/Indian/Arabian-design creation, it had a jamawar silk corset top with wide shoulder straps and a concealed zip closure at the back. It was scalloped on all edges, more elaborate at a décolleté that dipped just above her cleavage. It was heavily hand-embroidered with intricate floral designs of silver and gold thread and embellished in sequins, beads, pearls, crystals, semiprecious stones and appliqué in every shade of turquoise, azure and sky-blue, all the shades of her eyes. It had echoing armbands that rained gold beaded tassels, with matching chiffon veils attached that cascaded to her hands.

The skirt was a trailing lehenga of turquoise chiffon over shimmering azure silk taffeta lining, its embroidery and embellishments echoing the top’s, in coral, ruby and garnet shades with scalloping at the hemline. The third piece was a veil dupatta in dual shading of coral/crystal-blue with scalloped, heavily embellished borders and vivid azure edging on the corners.

When Ameenah moved to the next item on the list, adjusting it to fit her, Carmen threw herself into the pleasure of handling such exquisiteness, letting her sewing skills loose. Among them they turned it into a custom-made creation in under an hour. The enjoyment lasted until it was time for the next item on the list.

Choosing the accessories.

From Farooq’s mother’s jewelry. And Judar’s royal jewels.

Ameenah and half a dozen guards escorted Carmen to a gigantic vault deep underneath the palace. As she stepped inside, she knew how Ali Baba had felt on entering the cave of the forty thieves.

Beyond dazzled at the treasure she thought reason enough to have an invasion mounted on the palace, on Judar, she hesitantly chose a set matching her outfit’s colors. She wouldn’t have been able to choose based on anything else. It was a twenty-four-karat gold-lace Indian-style choker with a design undulating to a central pendant reaching below her collarbone, matching shoulder-length earrings, bracelet and anklet. All pieces were inlaid in aquamarines, sapphires and rubies, with eight-point star motifs with a diamond center, one karat each in the necklace and a ten-karat stone in the pendant.

She still wanted to be reassured that Farooq had been serious when he’d said she could wear them. Ameenah insisted she owned them.

And she panicked. “Who’d want to possess something that needs to be kept in a vault and guarded by an army round the clock?”

“Now you are the crown prince’s wife,” Ameenah said sagely. “Without a stitch of possessions, you’re worth far more, would be ransomed for a hundred times the royal jewels’ worth.”

Carmen was stunned that she hadn’t realized this before. “God, you’re right. I’m still thinking as an ordinary person, thinking how vulnerable I’d be if people knew I possessed something of that value. But we’re not ordinary anymore. Mennah and I have become two of the most coveted targets in the world.”

“This is true of every member of the royal family,” Ameenah soothed. “But it’s a potential that has never come to pass. And it will never be a consideration for somow’ek or somow’el Ameerah Mennah. Beyond the invisible protection Maolai Walai’el Ahd will provide for you, no criminal or power in the world would touch a hair on your heads anyway. No one would risk his wrath. Or that of somow’wohom, Shehab and Kamal.”

She conceded that, her alarm subsiding. No one would be stupid enough to piss off any of those all-for-one-and-one-for-all men at all, let alone that much.

On returning to Farooq’s apartments, Carmen took a bath with Mennah in one of the magnificent bathrooms spread with marble and gold, then collapsed into a bed by Mennah’s crib. She woke up eight hours later and Ameenah started the henna even as Carmen and Mennah had breakfast, to give it time to dry and stain.

Ameenah wasn’t happy that the color wouldn’t ripen to its deepest for the ceremony or even for the wedding night, but said, “There’s tomorrow night, and the night after, then a lifetime of joy in your husband-and-prince’s arms, as he enjoys you and your efforts to make yourself beautiful for him and pleasures you in turn.”

Carmen simulated a smile for the kind woman. Even if she could confide in her, she wouldn’t burden her with her despondency. Whatever awaited her with Farooq wasn’t a lifetime of anything. She probably had until he was sated and avenged. There was no point in projecting how soon that would be.

As he’d said to her two days ago, there wasn’t a choice here…

Mennah scampered off the sofa, wrenching Carmen to the present, and dashed toward the polished brass tray table laden with multicolored, hand-painted-in-gold tea glasses.

To her baby’s chagrin, Carmen intercepted her, scooped her up, turned to Ameenah. “Okay, I’d say its time to bring in your team.”

They were coming to childproof the living quarters, and to make adjustments to the bedroom suite per Farooq’s instructions.

She hadn’t spent the night there. She’d only taken a look inside. The sparsely furnished suite was as big as the whole apartment outside, with soaring domed ceiling, ringed by the same Arabian-style columns and arches, permeated by an overpowering male influence in every brushstroke and article. His.

She wondered about the “adjustments” he’d ordered. The place looked perfect as is. But she wouldn’t be around to see them being installed, being busy starting the dressing up procedure.

She’d see them soon enough, though.

The wedding was in two hours.

She looked down at Mennah who was looking longingly at the glasses, lips drooping at the corners. “Don’t be sad, darling. Everything I do is to keep you safe and happy. It’s all for you.”

“It’s time, ya Ameerati.”

Carmen started. She’d known Ameenah would say that. It still jolted her. Time. It was time.

She was marrying Farooq. A real marriage. At least, real in form, in the physical side. It wasn’t permanent, but who ever entered marriage positive it would last? People only assumed, hoped it would. It made no difference that she was entering theirs ahead in the game, without assumptions, without hope, knowing it wouldn’t. She’d decided to make the best of it. While it lasted.

She was marrying him in a ceremony attended by the king of Judar, by world leaders. And she wasn’t just some jittery, out-of-place, over-her-head waif.

Well, okay, she was. But that was only a part of her. The personal part, the one no one had to know about. She had more components to her. She was also the mother of Judar’s princess. And she was a highly skilled professional, armed with every ability and knowledge to handle such a situation. In fact, it felt as if everything she’d learned and practiced in life had been preparing her for this moment, this event. As he’d said, who better than her? To navigate the rapids of an international gathering, bridge differences, meet disparate expectations?