14
Do not be stupid, Ephraim, he told himself as he clinked the ice cubes in his glass and watched Darius and Jan greet the chairperson of the Foundation. Darius was playing his role as the good and elegant Sheikh, while Jan was smiling bright and nodding graciously. What role was she playing? Did she even know this was a game?
But you know it is a game, Ephraim. So do not be stupid. Darius has brought this woman here for one reason: To meet you. It is not clear why he is doing this, but there can be no doubt he is parading her in front of you, his royal arm around her waist, her curves on display in a gown that looks suspiciously like it has been created for her by Noramaar’s Royal Tailors. He has already slept with her—that much is clear from the way they danced, they way they look at each other. Yet I see a deep tension in Darius when the three of us are together. I can sense that a part of him wants to take her away from my presence, while another part wants to . . . what, push her toward me? Pull me toward her? What is your game, good Sheikh Ephraim? What are you thinking?
As he watched Jan and Darius, Ephraim’s thoughts drifted back to that night at Oxford, when Darius was drunk out of his young mind and Ephraim had grudgingly left the party and helped the stumbling king back to their residence buildings.
“Ya Allah, never again,” Darius had slurred as the two young Sheikhs took the solid wooden stairs up to the third floor of the old manor house on the eastern edge of the Oxford campus. “I blame you, Ephraim. You did this.”
Ephraim had laughed. “If I recall, it was you who insisted that a king must try everything once, so he might gather experience and wisdom.”
Darius had stopped outside the dark oak door to his room and pointed at the ceiling with a flourish. “That is correct. Wisdom comes from experience, and tomorrow I will be wiser! Wonderful! My own wisdom already astounds me, so I cannot wait for tomorrow!”
“What are you two princes laughing about?” came a female voice from down the hallway just then, and Ephraim and Darius had turned to see the tall Norwegian heiress who was a year ahead of them at Oxford. She’d been at the party earlier, but had left to work on her final thesis. She wore red silk pajamas and a flimsy white t-shirt through which her nipples were clearly visible, and her blue eyes sparkled as they alternated between the two Sheikhs. Ephraim had slept with her several times the previous year, and in fact he’d wanted more than just sex. But she’d refused, saying she was committed to marrying a Swedish millionaire so that their two families’ business empires could be merged down the line. What was she doing in the hallway near Darius’s room, Ephraim had wondered at the time, a cloud of jealousy whipping through him.
“Darius was just saying he needs to try everything at least once,” Ephraim had said, frowning as he glanced at her erect nipples pushing against the thin cloth of her t-shirt. “What do you think about that?”
“I think it’s a fine idea. So what’s on the agenda for tonight’s first-time experience?” she’d said, coming closer.
Ephraim’s jaw had tightened as he noted the way Darius was looking at her. Had Darius fucked her too? Was she here to see him? Had she chosen Darius over Ephraim? Did she like his cock better? Did she love him?
The thoughts had rushed through Ephraim in a fury, and it had ignited a wild competitiveness in him. Even then he knew it wasn’t so much about that Norwegian heiress as much as it was about something else: Competition. The thrill of the fight. The need to win. Ephraim wouldn’t have given the woman a second thought if he hadn’t sensed that she might prefer Darius to him, that she might be willing to give Darius more than she’d given him, that Darius had satisfied her more than Ephraim had, that Darius had made her come harder.
One look at Darius and Ephraim sensed it in him as well: That feeling of competition. Darius’s jaw was fixed and hard, his green eyes focused as if the adrenaline had sobered him up. Slowly Darius turned his head and made eye contact with Ephraim before glancing back at the smiling heiress in her silk pajamas.
“I think you know what is on the agenda,” Darius had growled, stepping forward and grabbing the woman by the hair as she gasped in shock, her mouth hanging open. But Darius stopped short of kissing her. He held her tight, glanced at Ephraim, and then back into the woman’s blue eyes, which had widened at first but were now narrowing and showing that sparkle once more. “Yes?”
Ephraim had stared at Darius, then at the woman as the adrenaline shot through his own body. But it was more than just adrenaline, he knew. Something else was fueling his arousal, and Ephraim knew that Darius could feel it too. Was Darius more attracted to her because he knew that Ephraim had slept with her? Was there something about the two of them fighting over something that got both of them going? Fighting over territory? Possessions? Who knew. All Ephraim knew at the time was that if this woman nodded her head and said yes, this was going to happen. A one-time experience.
Ephraim was broken out of the daydream by the sound of applause, and he looked toward the stage to see the good Sheikh Darius stepping up to accept some kind of award for his donation. Ephraim scanned the crowd and quickly found Jan, his cock stiffening when he caught a glimpse of her from behind, the rounds of her bottom perfect and pronounced in that regal blue gown as she clapped her gloved hands along with the crowd.
Yes, he thought as he drained his drink and turned to the bar, his frown deepening. There is no doubt Darius is recalling that experience and wants me to recall it too. But why? Has it something to do with the woman’s views on shared marriages? But what sense would that make? The only shared marriages in our world involve one man and multiple women. This does not make sense, unless . . . unless Darius actually believes . . . ya Allah, no. That is too radical. Too much. Sharing a woman for a night is one thing. But sharing her for longer? Sharing her for more than just sex? Sharing her for . . . ever? Forever?
A chill ran through Ephraim as he tapped his knuckles on the oakwood bar and asked for a glass of iced-tea. The thought had crossed his mind when he’d read Jan’s research, and now, after seeing Jan, the way she carried herself, the way she’d responded to him calmly after he’d tried to rattle her . . . yes, now Ephraim was forced to consider the thought again, that this really might be Darius’s plan. After all, Ephraim knew enough about history to understand how marriages created political alliances, how a strategic marriage could prevent a war. And it didn’t take much to understand what it might mean for two Sheikhs to marry one woman: They could turn tradition on its ear, shock and delight the world, make Noramaar and Habeetha the toast of the world’s media! A wild idea, but not impossible. Was that seriously Darius’s game? Did he seriously believe such a plan could work out over the long term? And what about Jan? What did she think? What did she even know?
Yes, what about her? She was the biggest unknown, was she not? And Ephraim could not consider anything before knowing more about her, before knowing her. All of her. Inside and outside.
So Ephraim took a breath as he glanced at the tall glass of iced-tea in front of him. Then he reached into the inner pocket of his maroon jacket and pulled out a small vial. “The sweet nectar of our shared land,” he muttered as he poured the aruha extract into the tea and stirred it carefully. “All right, Darius. I will play. But not by your rules. I will not politely step onto the dancefloor and ask to cut in. I will step in and take control. On my terms.”
He straightened his tie and took the glass over to where Jan stood, looking deep into her eyes as he watched her drink it. She frowned after taking a sip, licking her lips and cocking her head as she looked at the glass. Then she looked back at him, holding the eye contact even though he thought he saw a streak of fear whip through her behind those big brown eyes. A moment’s hesitation, and then she gulped the rest of the glass down and handed it back to him.
“I must be insane,” he heard Jan whisper as she leaned against him, and a chill ran through Ephraim when he realized that ya Allah, she knows what is happening and she is going forward anyway! She is not some innocent in the game. She is a player in the game.
She might even be in control.