The Sheikh's Claim (Desert Nights 2)

Fadi’s eyes shot her a bolt of disapproval. Didn’t approve of ladies swearing, eh? Tough luck. Right now, she’d do far more than swear at any further provocation.

Her uncle turned to her, that aching mixture of disbelief and hope fluctuating in suddenly expressive eyes, turning their turbid hazel into pools of agitated flame. “Our family is related to the royal family…”

“Ex-royal family,” Fadi corrected.

The growled qualification zinged through her. Though her mind was spinning from her uncle’s revelation, Fadi’s vehemence still had her curious antennae standing on end. Though he was related to said family, too, those core royals seemed to have left no one with an ounce of goodwill toward them.

Which wasn’t important now. She urged her uncle on with a gesture, and with her other hand she warned Fadi to just shut up and let the man explain before her head burst.

“The Al Ghamdis were once Aal Ghamdi,” her uncle said, his face working as if he’d weep any moment now.

Lujayn stared at her uncle. That difference in tashkeel—the diacritic that changed pronunciation—transformed everything she’d ever known about her mother’s ailah—family. It changed them from a family who took their name from a gabeelah—a tribe they served, to that gabeelah itself. It was one known for its warriors who “sheathe their swords in their enemies’ chests” in the service of their kings, and second only to them.

“We are first maternal cousins to the Aal Refa’ee.”

That was Jalal’s mother, Sondoss’s, maternal family, the other half of the royal lineage of Azmahar. The serpents named after a snake master. One quarter of Jalal’s heritage.

Her gaze traveled from her uncle to her mother to Fadi. Then she burst out laughing.

At her mom’s and uncle’s gasps, and Fadi’s deepening scowl, she spluttered, “C’mon, guys, you gotta admit…this is hilarious.”

What could be more ridiculous than finding out that her family was related to Sondoss’s? That her mother was related to her former enslaver?

That she was related to Jalal.

Another bubble of incredulity rose from her depths, burst on her lips in unrestrained cackles.

She heard her uncle’s choked apologies. “I beg your pardon, Sheikh Fadi. We’ve never told our children, so this is a surprise to Lujayn.”

“Surprise?” And she howled with laughter again, tears of hilarity beginning to pour down her cheeks, her sides starting to hurt. She leaned forward, pressing her hands to the ache clamping her midriff, barely catching enough breath to cough out words. “A surprise is when you pop up on my doorstep in New York, Uncle. This? Try identity-pulverizing cataclysm!”

Fadi pursed his lips, the timbre of his displeasure abrading. “The issue is in no way primarily your own, but your uncle’s and mother’s. They were the ones who lived through their family’s disgrace and dispossession firsthand. And they were the ones who lived with the knowledge and injury. While you might think this rewrites your history and identity, it’s them that this reinstatement will vindicate.”

She shook her head as she straightened, his sternness suppressing the advancing hysteria. That and the sinking realization of what this meant, for the future, and for the past.

This explained so much about her mother’s and uncle’s characters. She’d thought they were like this as a result of their hard lives in an unforgiving land. But that thread of melancholy, of mourning, in both of them had been the result of injustice and oppression of an even worse sort than she’d imagined.

“So what happened?” She turned to her mom and uncle. “How did you get demoted from relatives to servants?”

“It’s…it’s a long story,” her mother mumbled, looking anywhere but at her.

“Nothing can be long enough to explain this. I’m going nowhere until you tell me everything.”

Before either her mom or uncle could react, Fadi raised a hand, silencing them. She was beginning to hate this guy.

“I will thank you all if you postpone your familial disclosures until I’m gone,” Fadi said.

She turned on him. “You came to make your prince’s offer. Now you did. So what are you waiting for?”

One dense, imperious eyebrow rose at her unveiled attempt to kick him out. Then with his voice lowering, deepening, becoming even more hair-raising for it, he only said, “An answer.”

“You expect my uncle to give you an answer about something so…out of the blue, just like that?”

“What I expect him to do is talk for himself.”

She’d never presumed to have a say in her family members’ opportunities or decisions. But when one would involve her uncle with Jalal, she’d damn well have one. A resounding no way!

There was only one reason Jalal was making this offer. Her. And she’d be damned if she let him use her uncle as a bridge to reinvade her life.

She turned to her uncle, her eyes pleading with him not to commit to any answer now. His feverish eyes didn’t even see her. His gaze was turned inwardly, flitting from the ordeals of his lost youth to the dream of a dignified future.

Then he turned his gaze to Fadi, his focus barely on him, either. “Please, convey my deepest gratitude to Prince Jalal for his generous offer and this unrepeatable opportunity. It would be my honor and privilege to join his campaign for the throne.”

A groan bled from her as she turned her eyes to Fadi. And again his expression distracted her from her distress. Her uncle’s delighted acceptance had been the last thing he’d wanted.

Sure enough, after a terse nod of acknowledgment, and a moment’s thought, he said, “I was honor- and duty-bound to convey Somow’woh’s offer as is. But I will take the liberty of adjusting that offer, to ease the steps of your reinstatement, and to make sure no…ill-considered—” his eyes left her in no doubt this was meant for her, too “—decisions on Somow’woh’s part upset the delicate balance of his campaign.”

If his adjustment offered her uncle anything else that didn’t involve Jalal, she might forgive the guy. She might even kiss him for averting this catastrophe-in-the-making.

Her uncle nodded, all the animation that had been creeping into his stance and demeanor draining. “Yes, yes, of course, the first priority is to safeguard Prince Jalal’s efforts.”

God! What was it about Jalal that made people ready to throw themselves under a train to please him?