I was going to take a bath and then go to bed.”

“I shall make your bath.”

“Oh, no, I can start it myself. But I would like something for dinner. Perhaps salad or a sandwich?”

The young woman stared at Poppy clearly not understanding. “No bath?”

“Yes, I’ll have a bath, but I can start it myself. I’d prefer if you could check on dinner.”

“Please, more slowly.” The girl’s face crumpled. “My English is not so good.”

So that was it. The poor girl didn’t understand her. Poppy managed a tired smile. “Okay. Yes, I’ll have a bath. Thank you.”

* * *

Dal slept deeply, sleeping through the night and then until late in the morning, the blackout curtains in his room keeping the light out, allowing him to sleep far later than usual.

When he woke he was disoriented for a moment—the blackness of the room didn’t help—and then it all came back to him.

The wedding.

The flight to Mehkar.

The helicopter ride to the Kasbah.

Dal left the bed and drew the heavy blackout curtains open, revealing brilliant sunshine. He could feel the heat trying to penetrate the thick glass windows. Thank goodness for thick stucco walls and triple glazed glass. The Kasbah remained cool even when temperatures soared outside.

He walked around his room, looking at it properly. This wasn’t his room, at least, not the room he’d had as a boy. This room had been his grandfather’s. It was the room reserved for the head of the family.

Apparently, here at Jolie he was the head of the family.

He felt like a disgrace.

He should have called his grandfather personally to let him know he was returning. He should have gone to the palace in Gila and met his grandfather for coffee or tea. He should have invited his grandfather here...

Dal opened the door to one of his terraces and stepped outside. Despite the heat, the air smelled fragrant, sweet.

He’d wondered if Jolie would still smell the same. It actually smelled better than he remembered—lavender and thyme, jasmine and orange blossoms.

He glanced down at the patio far below, and then at the tower off to his right. Past the tower he could see one of the tall external walls.

The Kasbah had been in the family hundreds of years, originally built as a fortress with thick external walls and tall towers offering vast, panoramic views ensuring that no one approached the Kasbah unseen.

The external walls were over fifteen feet tall and the same soft rose-peach hue as the palace itself, but once inside the huge gates, the hard surface of the walls disappeared, becoming a living garden, the plaster covered with flowering vines and lush scarlet, pink and white bougainvillea.

The Kasbah had been designed to protect the royal family in the event of a siege, with everything necessary for survival, but for a young boy that hadn’t been its charm. Dal loved the towers and the secret rooms, the cool cellars and sunlit terraces with low couches piled high with silk pillows. He loved the clay pots used to cook his favorite dishes, chicken and lamb fragrant with saffron, fruit and spices.

The staff at Jolie was friendly, too, and in his mind, the staff had felt like family, always nodding and smiling and greeting him with warmth and pleasure.

Langston House was different. Even as a young boy he was aware of the difference and how no one smiled at Langston House. At Langston House the staff did not feel like family. They were servants. Menial. It was how his father liked things, the separation between classes, the distance between upstairs and downstairs. His father was the Fifth Earl of Langston, after all, raised with a clear sense of distinction and entitlement.

Dal’s chest tightened up again, and he shifted in his seat, wishing he could just walk away from his past, and his father, but that would be the ultimate failure.