Free Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride by Marguerite Kaye

dishonour my future bride. The marriage will be onerous enough for both parties. I do not wish to start the journey on a note of resentment.’
    â€˜Onerous? Don’t you wish to be married, Kadar?’
    â€˜No more than you do.’ Another measure of sand trickled down. ‘But like you, my personal preferences are of little consequence. My fate, like yours, has been defined for me, my bride chosen for me. Duty, honour, obligation are my motivation, though we differ in one fundamental way, you and I. The beneficiary of your marriage is your father. The beneficiary of mine will be my kingdom.’
    Constance stared at him open-mouthed. So much, contained in those few clipped words uttered in that expressionless tone. ‘Your bride—did you say she was chosen for you?’
    â€˜Actually, that’s not strictly accurate. She was in fact chosen for my brother,’ Kadar said drily. ‘I inherited her, along with his kingdom.’
    â€˜No, no, you can’t possibly be serious.’ But one look at Kadar’s expression told her he was perfectly serious. ‘Goodness,’ Constance said, ‘that is very—odd to say the least. Don’t you object to having a hand-me-down bride?’
    â€˜There you go again with your unedited, albeit truthful observations. As I said, my personal preferences...’
    â€˜...are of no consequence. But you are a prince!’
    Another of those harsh little laughs. ‘Exactly, and as a prince I must put my kingdom first, my own desires—last. My people were anticipating a royal wedding, the dawning of a new era. The date was set for a mere two weeks after my brother was tragically killed.’
    â€˜What happened to him?’
    â€˜A riding accident.’
    There was the tiniest flicker, not quite a blink, of his right eye. She had noticed it before, when he mentioned his brother. She had asked if they were close, and he had not answered. She decided to try a more roundabout approach. ‘Was he much older than you?’
    â€˜Two years.’
    â€˜I don’t have any brothers or sisters,’ Constance said. ‘I’ve always wished—’
    â€˜We were not particularly close,’ Kadar interrupted, ‘if that is what you want to know. It was one of the first things you asked me about Butrus the night you arrived.’
    â€˜You didn’t answer me.’
    â€˜Until I returned for his wedding, I had not seen him for seven years. We are very—unalike. Butrus found my love of scholarly pursuits simply incomprehensible. As did our father, who was for ever grateful that I was the second son and not the first born. I was temperamentally, intellectually and in many ways ethically unsuited to life in the palace, while Butrus...’ Kadar shrugged. ‘Oh, Butrus was cast in our father’s image. The only thing we had in common latterly was a love of horses. Unfortunately, he had a rather higher opinion of his ability to ride than was warranted. Even more unfortunately, he was not a man who learned from experience. I found it easier, in the end, simply to refuse to race him.’
    â€˜It was not—dear heavens—it was not in a race with you that he died, was it?’
    â€˜No.’ That tiny flicker of the eye again. Kadar stared out at the sea. Constance waited, holding her breath to prevent herself from speaking, and her patience was eventually rewarded. ‘He had a new horse. A wedding present, ironically. A wilful brute of an animal which most certainly did not come from the stables at Bharym, though that is what Butrus had been told. I advised him at once that he should not attempt to master it. Perhaps if I had held my tongue, he would not have felt the need to prove himself to me. It threw him. He hit his head on a boulder, he was dead before I reached him.’
    â€˜Kadar, I am so sorry. How very, very terrible for you.’
    Constance reached for his hand, pressing it