Read Online The Last Prince of Dahaar by Tara Pammi - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tara Pammi
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“No.”
Her mouth was still compressed but a spark of something wicked lit up his mother’s gaze. “The husband, Princess Zohra,” she said, studying him with an intensity that twisted his gut.
Zohra reached for a silver spoon, and scooped up a little of the charred halwa with it. “Traditions, of course, have to be followed. Do they not, King Malik?” she said, throwing the challenge at his father across the table.
Chuckles and approvals rang around the huge room, followed by his father’s comment, “Of course, Princess Zohra,” laden with laughter.
Knowing that he was well and truly caught, Ayaan looked up at Zohra. And opened his mouth when she brought the spoon to his mouth, victory dancing in her beautiful gaze.
* * *
When was the last time the palace walls had heard laughter like that? The last time his mother had smiled even if it had been buried under affected displeasure? The last time they had remembered the past with a smile?
With his chest feeling amazingly light, Ayaan reached Zohra’s suite. The scent of scorched carrots and burned pistachios lingered in the air, bringing a smile to his mouth. He closed the huge doors behind him, suddenly craving the very privacy he usually avoided with her.
Leaning against the closed doors, he lost himself to the sheer pleasure of watching her. Cinched tight at her rib cage with a jeweled belt, the copper-sulfate-colored silk caftan she wore billowed from her tiny waist, highlighting the long line of her legs. The puckered sleeves showed off slender arms, the intricately designed diamond bracelets on her wrists twinkling in the light thrown by the lamps around the room.
She turned around, her hennaed hands tugging at the pearls threaded into her hair. The silky material cupped her breasts like a lover’s hands, her stark sensuality robbing his breath.
Feeling like a teenager getting his first sight of a beautiful woman, he pushed away from the door.
He would ensure she was all right—a small courtesy after the past two weeks—summon a maid, and leave. “Do you require help?”
She threw a quick look at the closed doors behind him and the slender line of her shoulders tensed up. “Have you not had enough fun at my expense, Prince Ayaan?”
He crossed the room and took her hands in his as she went to pull another pearl from her hair. Sensation skittered up his fingers, like a spark of fire. She wrenched them back right as he dropped them. “You do that a lot,” he said, before he could think better of it.
“What?”
“Take your temper out on your beautiful hair.”
It was a personal comment that shocked them both, instantly filling the air around them with tension. He had not intended to touch her, either.
“Why are you here?”
She had every right to question him and yet he couldn’t turn around and leave. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I am fine.” Struggling with the clasp of the necklace at her nape, she glared at him. “Except for the small fact that I am now the laughingstock of the Dahaaran palace.”
“I will pass a law that enforces the strictest punishment on anyone who dares laughs at you,” he said, surprising himself again.
“Will it apply to the king and the crown prince?” she challenged. “Because as much as I would like to forget that image, it was your father and you that were laughing.” Her gaze stayed on him, surprise in it, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she had seen. “That sound is still ringing in my ears.”
She dropped onto a divan with her feet stretched in front of her. Scrunching her nose, she grabbed the sleeve of her caftan, sniffed it and made a face. Ayaan clamped his mouth shut and rocked on his heels. She looked up at him, her mouth turned down. “Oh please, go ahead and laugh. I know you are dying to.”
Ayaan laughed, the sound barreling out of him again. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t been sitting there. You should have seen my mother’s face
Her mouth was still compressed but a spark of something wicked lit up his mother’s gaze. “The husband, Princess Zohra,” she said, studying him with an intensity that twisted his gut.
Zohra reached for a silver spoon, and scooped up a little of the charred halwa with it. “Traditions, of course, have to be followed. Do they not, King Malik?” she said, throwing the challenge at his father across the table.
Chuckles and approvals rang around the huge room, followed by his father’s comment, “Of course, Princess Zohra,” laden with laughter.
Knowing that he was well and truly caught, Ayaan looked up at Zohra. And opened his mouth when she brought the spoon to his mouth, victory dancing in her beautiful gaze.
* * *
When was the last time the palace walls had heard laughter like that? The last time his mother had smiled even if it had been buried under affected displeasure? The last time they had remembered the past with a smile?
With his chest feeling amazingly light, Ayaan reached Zohra’s suite. The scent of scorched carrots and burned pistachios lingered in the air, bringing a smile to his mouth. He closed the huge doors behind him, suddenly craving the very privacy he usually avoided with her.
Leaning against the closed doors, he lost himself to the sheer pleasure of watching her. Cinched tight at her rib cage with a jeweled belt, the copper-sulfate-colored silk caftan she wore billowed from her tiny waist, highlighting the long line of her legs. The puckered sleeves showed off slender arms, the intricately designed diamond bracelets on her wrists twinkling in the light thrown by the lamps around the room.
She turned around, her hennaed hands tugging at the pearls threaded into her hair. The silky material cupped her breasts like a lover’s hands, her stark sensuality robbing his breath.
Feeling like a teenager getting his first sight of a beautiful woman, he pushed away from the door.
He would ensure she was all right—a small courtesy after the past two weeks—summon a maid, and leave. “Do you require help?”
She threw a quick look at the closed doors behind him and the slender line of her shoulders tensed up. “Have you not had enough fun at my expense, Prince Ayaan?”
He crossed the room and took her hands in his as she went to pull another pearl from her hair. Sensation skittered up his fingers, like a spark of fire. She wrenched them back right as he dropped them. “You do that a lot,” he said, before he could think better of it.
“What?”
“Take your temper out on your beautiful hair.”
It was a personal comment that shocked them both, instantly filling the air around them with tension. He had not intended to touch her, either.
“Why are you here?”
She had every right to question him and yet he couldn’t turn around and leave. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I am fine.” Struggling with the clasp of the necklace at her nape, she glared at him. “Except for the small fact that I am now the laughingstock of the Dahaaran palace.”
“I will pass a law that enforces the strictest punishment on anyone who dares laughs at you,” he said, surprising himself again.
“Will it apply to the king and the crown prince?” she challenged. “Because as much as I would like to forget that image, it was your father and you that were laughing.” Her gaze stayed on him, surprise in it, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she had seen. “That sound is still ringing in my ears.”
She dropped onto a divan with her feet stretched in front of her. Scrunching her nose, she grabbed the sleeve of her caftan, sniffed it and made a face. Ayaan clamped his mouth shut and rocked on his heels. She looked up at him, her mouth turned down. “Oh please, go ahead and laugh. I know you are dying to.”
Ayaan laughed, the sound barreling out of him again. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t been sitting there. You should have seen my mother’s face
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