Rafiq recognized he had been wrong to criticize Zain. “My apologies. I do appreciate your support, but I assure you I do not need a sabbatical.”

“A sabbatical would allow you to assess your feelings about the situation.”

Rafiq was growing weary of the interference. “My feelings are not significant. My duties to Bajul are of the utmost importance.”

“Yet your emotional upheaval has understandably begun to affect your leadership. Grieving requires time, Rafiq. You have not allowed yourself enough for that.”

He had grieved more than anyone would know. “It has been six months. Life must continue as planned.”

Zain whisked a hand through his dark hair. “Plans go awry, brother, and life sometimes comes to a standstill. You have suffered a great loss and if you choose not to acknowledge that, you will only suffer more.”

He could no longer suffer through this conversation. “I prefer not to discuss it further, so if you will excuse me—”

The sound of footfalls silenced Rafiq and drew his attention to Zain’s blonde American bride walking toward them, a round-faced, dark-haired infant propped on one hip. He immediately noticed the happiness reflected in his sister-in-law’s face and the obvious adoration in her blue eyes when she met Zain’s gaze. “I have a baby girl who insists on being with her daddy.”

Zain presented a warm smile. “And her father is more than happy to accommodate her.”

After Madison handed the infant to Zain, she drew Rafiq into an embrace. “It’s good to see you, my dear brother-in-law.”

“And you, Madison,” he said. “You are looking well, as usual. I would never have known you had given birth.” Ironically, only a few days after he had buried his wife.

She pushed her somewhat disheveled hair back and blushed. “Thank you. Elena told me to tell you that she’ll see you as soon as she has Joseph in bed. She seems to be able to calm our son better than anyone, but then after raising the Mehdi boys, she’s had quite a bit of experience.”

Zain moved closer to Rafiq and regarded his child. “Cala, this is your uncle Rafiq. And yes, we do favor each other, except for that goatee, but I am much more handsome.”

Rafiq experienced sheer sadness at the sound of his mother’s name that his brother had given his daughter. The mother he had barely known yet still revered. “She is a beautiful child, Zain. Congratulations.”

“Do you wish to hold your niece?” Zain asked.

If he dared, he risked destroying the emotional fortress he had built for protection. “Perhaps later. At the moment I have some documents to review.” He leaned and kissed Madison’s cheek. “You have honored my brother by giving him the greatest of gifts. For that, I am grateful.”

Needing to escape, Rafiq strode across the veranda, only to be halted by Zain, who handed the child back to Madison and followed him to the door. “Wait, Rafiq.”

He reluctantly faced his brother again. “What is it now?”

Zain rested a hand on Rafiq’s shoulder. “I understand why it would be difficult to discuss anything involving emotional issues with your siblings. For that reason, I believe you should seek out a friend who understands you better than most.”

He could only recall one soul who would currently meet that requirement, and they had not interacted as friends in quite some time. “If you are referring to Shamil Barad, he is away while the resort is being renovated.”

“I am referring to his sister, Maysa.”

The name sent a spear of regret through Rafiq’s heart, and a rush of memories into his mind. He recalled the way her long, dark hair cascaded down her back and fell below her waist. The deep creases in her cheeks that framed her beautiful smile. He remembered the way she had looked that long-ago night when they had made love—their greatest mistake. He also remembered the pain in her brown eyes the day he had told her they could never be together. “I have not spoken with Maysa at length in many years. She severed all ties when—”

“You chose Rima Acar over her?”

He did not care to defend the decision, but he would. “I was not consulted when the agreement between our fathers was made.”

Zain rubbed his shaded jaw. “Ah, yes. I believe Sheikh Acar trumped Maysa’s father’s offer during the bridal bartering. I also recall that you did nothing to plead your case. You never attempted to convince either party that you belonged with Maysa.”

And he had regretted that decision more than once. “In accordance with tradition, it was not within my power to do so.”

Zain’s expression turned to stone. “A tradition that forced me to choose between my royal duty and my wife. An antiquated custom that has done nothing but lead to your misery, and Maysa’s, as well. The choice the sultan made for Maysa resulted in divorce and nearly ruined her, and you were anything but happy with your queen.”

Anger as hot as a firebrand shot through Rafiq. “You know nothing about my relationship with Rima.”

“I know what I witnessed when I saw the two of you together.” Zain studied him for a long moment. “Were you happy, Rafiq? Was Rima happy?”

He could not answer truthfully without confirming Zain’s conjecture. “I cared a great deal for Rima. We were friends long before we wed. Her death has been difficult for me, whether you choose to believe that or not.”

“My apologies for sounding insensitive,” Zain said. “As I told you earlier, it’s very apparent you are in great turmoil, which brings me back to my suggestion you talk with Maysa. She will understand.”

Perhaps so, but other issues still existed. “Even if she agreed to see me, which I suspect she will not, any liaison with Maysa would not be considered acceptable. She is divorced and I have been widowed for only a brief time.”

Zain’s frustration came out in a scowl. “First of all, I am only suggesting you speak with her, not wed her. Second, if you are concerned that someone will assume an affair, then steal away in the night to prevent detection. It has always worked to my advantage. Should you need assistance, I will be glad to make the arrangements.”

He had no doubt Zain could. His brother had made covert disappearance an art form. “I do not need your assistance, nor do I plan to see Maysa.”

“Do not dismiss it completely, Rafiq. She could be the one person to see you through this difficult phase.”

At one time, that would have held true. Maysa had known him better than any living soul, understood him better, and she had been a welcome source of support during their formative years. She had also been his greatest weakness, and he had been her greatest disappointment.

For that reason, he should stay away from her. Yet as he left his brother’s company and returned to his quarters, alone with his continuing guilt, he began to wonder if perhaps Zain might be right. Reconnecting with Maysa again, if only for a brief time, could very well be worth the risks.

* * *

As the village’s primary physician, Maysa Barad answered the midnight summons expecting a messenger requesting she tend to an ailing child or a mother in labor. She did not expect to find Rafiq Mehdi, the recently crowned—and newly widowed—King of Bajul. Her childhood friend. Her first love. Her first lover.

The changes in Rafiq were somewhat apparent, but subtle. He was still tall and lean. Still as incredibly handsome as he’d always been, despite that he now chose to wear a neatly trimmed goatee framing his sensual mouth. His eyes and hair were still as dark, much the same as hers, yet maturity had lent him an even greater aura of power. A power that had crushed her resolve on more than one occasion many years before.

She could not remember the last time he had called on her. She couldn’t imagine why he was here now, but she intended to find out. “Good evening, Your Majesty. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I need to speak with you.”