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outcropping, he knew. He knew just what nameless fear had clutched at him since Kalila had apologised in the church, or perhaps even before then, when he’d heard her unhappy sigh in the garden.
    For on the other side of the rocks, there was nothing, no princess. But on the horizon, riding towards the storm, was a lone figure on a horse.
    Kalila, Aarif realised grimly, was running away.

CHAPTER FOUR
    K ALILA knew where she was going. It was that thought that sustained her as the wind whipped the headscarf around her face and the gritty sand stung her eyes. She pictured the scene behind her, how quickly it would erupt into chaos, and felt a deep shaft of guilt pierce her.
    How long would it take Aarif to realise she had gone? And what would he do? Even with her brief acquaintance of the man, Kalila knew instinctively what the desert prince would do. He would go after her.
    The thought sent a shiver of apprehension straight through her, and she clenched her hands on the reins. Arranging her disappearance had not been easy; the plan had crystallised only that morning when she’d looked down at the courtyard, seen the dismantling of her life, and realised she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t ride like a sacrifice to Calista, to marry a man she didn’t love, didn’t even know. Not yet, anyway.
    Yet even as she rode towards a grim horizon, an uncertain future, she knew this freedom couldn’t last for ever. She couldn’t live in the desert like a nomad; Aarif would find her, and if he didn’t someone else would.
    Yet still she ran. That was what fear did to you, she supposed. It made you miserable, sick, dizzy. Desperate. Willing to do anything, try anything, no matter how risky or foolish, how thoughtless or selfish.
    So she kept riding, heading for the one place she knew she’d be safe…at least for a little while.
     
    Two kilometres behind her Aarif grimly wound a turban around his head to protect himself from the dust. Already the wind was kicking grit into his eyes, stinging his cheeks. What was she thinking, he wondered furiously, to ride out in weather like this? He’d warned her of the storm, and surely, as a child of a desert, she knew the dangers.
    So was she stupid, he wondered with savage humour, or just desperate?
    It didn’t matter. She had to be found. He’d already sent an aide back to fetch a horse and provisions from the city.
    The aide had been appalled. ‘But King Bahir must be notified! He will send out a search party—’
    Aarif gestured to the darkening sky. ‘There is no time for a search party. The princess must be found, and as soon as possible. I will go…alone.’ He watched the aide’s eyes widen at this suggestion of impropriety. ‘Circumstances are dire,’ he informed the man flatly. ‘If the princess is not found, it will be all of your necks on the line.’ And his. He thought of Zakari, of Bahir, of the countries and families depending on him bringing Kalila back to Calista, and another fresh wave of fury surged through him.
    ‘Prince Aarif!’ A man jogged up to his elbow. ‘There is a horse, and some water and bread and meat. We could not get anything else in such a hurry—’
    ‘Good.’ Aarif shrugged into the long, cotton thobe he wore to protect his clothes from the onslaught of the sun and sand. He’d exchanged his shoes for sturdy boots, and now he swung up onto the back of the horse, a capable if elderly mount.
    ‘Drive to the airport,’ he instructed the aide, ‘and shelter there until the storm wears out. Do not contact the king.’ His mouth curved in a grim smile. ‘We don’t want him needlessly worried.’
    The man swallowed and nodded.
    Turning his back on the stalled motorcade, Aarif headed into the swirling sand.
    The wind was brisk, stinging what little of his face was still unprotected, but Aarif knew it could—would—get much worse. In another hour or two, the visibility would be zero, the winds well over a hundred miles an hour and