The words leapt off the page, and he saw. He finally saw what everyone else had been talking about, including Piper.

  His grandparents’ relationship had been a true and solid thing, built on respect and sacrifice. Camil hadn’t known in such specific detail how his grandmother had had to leave her family in order to be with his grandfather, or just how much of a scandal it had been at the time. It was an epic battle against the forces of her family’s wishes and—

  And what? Was this the impossible beast that all of his relatives aspired to and failed to get?

  It must be, but something eluded him as he read and read and read. It seemed simple. Almost foretold. She loved him, and so she left her family and risked destroying her life.

  Could it be real? Could it be true? It was written on the pages, but not everything was true just because it was in print—or handwriting, like some of the journals. Camil couldn’t make up his mind. One minute, he believed in the story, believed that it was real, and believed that their love had overcome all of those challenges. The next minute, he was filled with skepticism.

  His indecision pissed him off.

  A week went by, and Camil paged through the journals again and again, getting more frustrated with every word he read. His temper frayed. First with himself, then with the staff. He spoke less to them and sent them out early. The council irritated him, and then finally his father.

  It came to a head at the next council meeting. One of the older members went on and on about some dispute in the city, and finally Camil couldn’t take it anymore. “If you’re going to take this long to get to the point,” he snapped, “then perhaps it’s time to retire and stop wasting everyone’s time.”

  Shocked silence reigned in the council chamber.

  “Camil.” His father’s voice was tight with disapproval. “You’re excused.”

  He’d been dismissed like a child, and Camil went. Who cared what his father did? He didn’t. Not right now. Camil bypassed his office and went back to his rooms, where he sat at his dining table and scrolled through his phone like a man without a single responsibility.

  It wasn’t long before the door to his chambers burst open and his father strode in. “You fool,” he said, and Camil glowered at him over his phone. “You let Piper get away. Unacceptable behavior. Unacceptable.”

  Camil tossed down his phone. “What are you playing at, Father? You demanded I put her away like some kind of sordid secret. You insisted on it.” He rose to stand in front of the sheikh, feet planted. There was no way he’d have this conversation sitting down.

  “I said to marry her or keep her out of sight.”

  What?

  Jal took a long-suffering breath. “I want you to marry Piper. You’ve always had a head for leadership, Camil, but you haven’t had a gentle touch. This last week, you—” He waved a hand in Camil’s direction. “You reverted to your harsher ways. After Piper left, you went back to the way you’d been before, and only then did I realize how much she’d changed you. You’ve become—”

  “Stop this,” Camil said.

  “You’ve become more approachable. Less cold. Quicker to laugh.” Jal laughed himself. “I haven’t heard that much laughter from you since you were a boy. Those things took me by surprise, I’ll admit. Perhaps I wasn’t sure how to handle them, but they were there, nonetheless. And they were reflected in some of the things you’ve brought up in council meetings.”

  Camil felt struck, like one of the chimes that hung in the garden, the sensation reverberating through him for several moments until he realized it was shock. His mind refused to wrap around what his father was saying, and when it finally tried, he couldn’t force the pieces of his life into an order that made sense. His father wanted him to marry Piper, but Piper was gone. Piper had changed him, and those changes had been for the better. He could not disrupt her life again. He had to disrupt her life again.

  “I need to request a leave of absence.” Camil drew himself up to his full height and schooled his expression into the careful neutrality that he’d practiced for most of his life.

  His father eyed him, hope and wariness battling in his gaze. “A leave of absence from royal duties or for travel?”

  “Travel.” He’d go to visit Faidh in Nouzar. He’d always had sound advice. Amare would be more appropriate to ask for romantic advice, given that he was newly married, but Camil wasn’t ready for that yet. He wasn’t ready to see his friend in all his happiness when it didn’t fit with the plans they’d laid out together. As young men, the three of them had promised never to marry, and if they had to marry for their kingdoms, they would not fall in love.

  Amare was in love. There was no doubt about it. And now Camil had the sinking feeling he’d missed his chance to have the same. He’d never allowed himself to want it or hope for it—he knew the consequences for that mad rush of emotion. But now...

  “Granted,” his father said. He reached a hand toward Camil, then dropped it. “Safe travels, son.”

  Camil sweated beneath the helmet on his head, his hands on the wheel of Faidh’s new Formula One car at a test track on the outskirts of the city at the heart of Nouzar. Faidh was a huge fan of Formula One racing and wanted to become more active on the circuit, so as early in his visit as possible, they’d spent a few hours looking through Faidh’s cars and taking them to the track to race against each other.

  The next turn surprised him, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. He threw himself into it, pulling too hard on the wheel. It started to go off course, go slightly out of his control, and the edge of the track reared up in front of him.

  Camil corrected at the last moment, before he drove off the track. That had been close. Very close. Camil brought the car to a stop and climbed out. That was the end of racing for the day. Further down the track, Faidh followed his lead and jogged to meet him. The two men headed back to the pit area, side by side.

  “I saw that,” Faidh said as he came close. “You lose control?”

  “Only for a moment.”

  Faidh nudged him as they walked, and Camil pulled off his helmet. “Tell me why you’ve come to Nouzar on such short notice.”

  It was an odd trip, and Camil knew it. The three friends usually planned to meet up far in advance, and Camil had been distracted during the visit. He’d been distracted for days. He’d been distracted since Piper left the palace.

  “It’s Piper,” he said, and at those words, a weight lifted from his shoulders. “We agreed not to have any attachments. Any feelings. And it’s become complicated.”

  Faidh listened intently as Camil took him through the story of meeting her that first day. Of dancing with her in an empty ballroom. Of her return to the palace and the announcement she made. Camil told Faidh everything. About his great-grandparents’ epic love story. About his plans for the desert resort.

  She had been horrified, he realized now. Horrified that he wanted to replace the original with something meant for tourist consumption.

  They paused near the pit area, where a crew bustled around the car Camil had driven. It had already been retrieved from the track.

  “Do you care for her?” Faidh met his eyes, solemn and serious.

  “I do,” he said, without hesitation. Of course he did. “But I don’t know if that’s going to be good enough for her. She wants real love, and I don’t think that kind of love exists.” Faidh wasn’t the best person to bring this to, and Camil regretted saying that to him—he’d only confirm it, and—

  “Why do you feel you’re incapable of loving her?”

  The question sounded so genuine, but Camil felt like a human sandstorm, blinded by conflicting emotions. “I—”

  Because he wasn’t incapable. He didn’t think he was, either. He loved her, and he hadn’t told her, and hadn’t even been able to admit it to himself. Not until this moment.

  “I’m not,” he said, testing out the new truth. “I’m not incapable. It’s only that to me, love has always seemed like a unicorn. Mythical and unreachable. But it’s not. I’ve even read about it in my great-grandparents’ journals. It’s proof, right there on paper. Love is more like—more like a horse. It’s majestic and beautiful, but very real.”

  “Where is she now?” Faidh asked softly.

  “She’s still in Al-Fahr.” Panic gripped his heart. “If she leaves—” He could not speak the words. If she truly left him, if she went back to the US... “I can’t lose her,” he heard himself say. “I would be devastated if she went back to the States, and not only because she’s having my child, because—because I love her.”

  Faidh sighed good-naturedly. “I’ve lost both of my brothers to this silly love business now.”

  He laughed, the panic relenting. “You haven’t lost us. But...what am I supposed to do now? I need to show her, to prove to her, that what we have is worth saving.”

  “Oh, you know what to do.” Faidh waved him off. “You call the only one of us who’s ever been good at romantic gestures. Get Amare on the phone.”

  12

  Piper threw herself into her work.

  What else was there to do, now that her heart was broken? She had to do something. The trip to Al-Fahr wouldn’t become a waste. And come to think of it, she wouldn’t walk around with a broken heart, either. Finishing her project would give her a sense of closure, and then she could move on, and her disappointment would be healed by time.

  At least she hoped it would.

  Piper spent her days back in her flat, huddled over the coffee table as the days filled up with book planning. She mapped out the chapters one by one, making a detailed outline. This wasn’t a project she could set aside. She needed to see it through, and luckily, she could, because she’d made copies of all her material from the palace.

  She didn’t have to go back, thank god.

  The days went by, and Piper read and re-read the materials as she sketched out her book.

  The more she read, the clearer the story became.

  Clearer and clearer until she saw it for what it was.

  One afternoon Piper set down the copies she was holding and stared out into the empty space at the center of her flat. A sunbeam caught motes of dust hanging in the air. When she’d been young, she thought those flecks of dust floating there looked like magic.

  But the dust motes weren’t magic, and Camil’s grandparents weren’t a fairy tale. She glanced down at the sheaf of papers again—a segment from one of the journals. Camil’s grandmother wrote about his grandfather in a way that brought tears to Piper’s eyes. But not because she described a life of perfection, of something otherworldly and unattainable. Because she wrote about their relationship with such sincerity. It was real, what they’d had. Ups and downs and a fierce dedication to each other at the heart.

  Why was she crying? The love in the journals, yes. But also because she’d wanted it to be a magical tale of love at first sight, a love that swept away all the problems of life and left everything shining and perfect. And it wasn’t.

  A knock at the door pulled her attention away from the journals and she wiped at her eyes. Piper went to the door without daring to imagine who might be on the other side. A package, maybe.

  She opened the door to find Farah standing there instead.

  Piper put a hand to her chest. It was so strange to see Farah outside the palace. Her hair was swept into its same neat twist, and her dark eyes skimmed over Piper, and—

  “I came to remind you that you need to eat and drink plenty of water and—” Farah sniffed delicately. “Bathe. You’re pregnant, after all, and shutting yourself up in this little apartment for weeks at a time isn’t healthy.”

  “How do you know—” Piper put a hand on the doorframe. “How do you know I haven’t gone out?”

  Farah tilted her head, seeming almost sad for her. “Piper, the palace isn’t going to let a woman pregnant with the prince’s heir just disappear completely.”

  So they’d been watching her. Her stomach went tight with distaste. It wasn’t Piper’s favorite thing, being watched, but she stepped back and welcomed Farah inside anyway. If there were eyes tracking her movements, they would know if she made Farah leave. And anyway, she didn’t want to.

  “Would you like some tea?”

  Farah accepted, and the two of them sat at the little table in the kitchen. Piper couldn’t remember the last time she’d brewed a cup of tea.

  “You’ve been working?” Farah asked, peering at her over her teacup.

  “I’ve been working,” she confirmed. “I’ve been reading over my research, and—” Her throat went tight. “I feel foolish for having believed in the fairy tale version of Camil’s great-grandparents. I wanted that kind of magical, perfect love to be real.” She couldn’t bring herself to say that now she thought it wasn’t.

  Farah nodded and sipped her tea. “Have I ever told you about my husband?”

  Piper’s mind ticked through the conversations they’d had in the palace. “No. You’ve never mentioned him.”

  A sad smile. “He died young. Much too young. We were only twenty-six.” Her eyes glistened, but no tears fell. “I like to remember my marriage as perfect, but of course it wasn’t. Not by any textbook definition of perfection. We had our disagreements. We had to work on our relationship, just like anyone else.”

  Silence fell over the kitchen, and Piper felt her own tears beginning to well up. Like Farah, she blinked them away.

  “But if I can look back and feel warm thinking of the time we had together, then isn’t that perfect too?”

  Farah met her eyes, and something untwisted around Piper’s heart. Of course. Of course she could take the best parts of what she had with Camil and move forward. She didn’t have to wallow in heartbreak. Not that she’d allowed herself to do that. It was an option to feel it, take the things that had made her happy, and continue on.

  “It is,” she said. “I would say it is.”

  Farah put down her teacup. “I came to get a promise from you.”

  “What?” A breeze from the cracked-open window ruffled the curtain. The particular way the fabric curved on the wind—that was a kind of magic, wasn’t it? Beauty could be a kind of magic.

  “Promise not to shut yourself in the apartment, mourning what might have been.”

  Piper took a deep breath. “No more,” she agreed. “I promise.”

  Farah’s timing was perfect. Without her visit, Piper might not have shaken herself out of her obsession with work enough to remember her eighteen-week checkup at the doctor. After the other woman left with a quick embrace and an order to get in contact with the palace if she needed anything, Piper showered, dressed, and walked the several blocks to the doctor’s office. The breeze was gentle in her hair, and the air smelled sweet and fresh.

  She could go home. That was an option. She could go home to the US and start fresh.

  In the crisp, sterile doctor’s office, a tech led her back to a darkened room for an ultrasound. The conversation floated over her thoughts about returning home. Yes, she felt good. No, she hadn’t experienced any odd symptoms. A little tired, that was all. Piper lay back on the table and lifted her maternity top to give the tech access for the ultrasound. The cool of the gel made her shiver, but then there was the pressure of the wand, and the image of her baby on the screen—

  Piper couldn’t take her eyes off that little being, which kicked and stretched inside her belly, then settled again. The tech watched intently. “Would you like to know what you’re having?”

  She had hovered the wand in a spot on Piper’s belly, and Piper still looked at the screen.

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I would.” It would be nice to have something to imagine. A little piece of the future that wasn’t so uncertain.

  The baby changed positions, and the tech moved the wand again. Piper fought the urge to hold her breath. She hadn’t spent much time considering the sex of the baby—it had been surprising to learn she was pregnant, and then she and Camil had been wrapped up in everything else. But now she felt flooded with an intense curiosity. Would she have a son? A daughter?

  “You’re having a son.”

  “Oh!” Tears sprang to her eyes along with a proud smile, and Piper clapped a hand over her mouth. Why? It wasn’t embarrassing to be proud. To be delighted. “That’s amazing. That’s great.”

  What wasn’t great is that she’d heard the news alone. Someone should have been sitting next to her, waiting along with her.

  Camil should have been there.

  The rest of the appointment made no impression, and when she got back to her apartment, she got out her laptop and placed a video call to her mom. Her mother appeared on the screen a few moments later, her blonde hair in a messy bun on top of her head. She was out in her garden, the phone propped somewhere as she worked in the dirt. “Hi, sweet pea,” she said, beaming into the screen. “How are you?”

  “I have news!” Piper said. “You’re going to have a grandson.”

  Piper’s mother shrieked, and Piper felt a flicker of joy against the sadness of being alone in the moment. Her mom thrust a trowel into the air. “A grandson! What does Camil think?”

  The smile dropped away from Piper’s face, but she put it back. “I actually haven’t seen him in a while,” she said breezily. “I got all the research I needed, so I don’t need to be at the palace. It’s been good to spend some time alone with the material.” Piper went on about the plans for the book, about the chapter outlines, about her deep dives into the story.

  Piper’s mom stopped digging in the dirt and picked up the phone to hold it closer. She sat in a deck chair and waited for Piper to finish. The more Piper spoke, the deeper her mother’s frown became.

  Finally she couldn’t ignore it anymore, and her breezy tone disappeared with a sigh. “Mom, Camil isn’t the guy for me after all.”

  Her mother considered this. “Does he treat you well?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Will he be a good father?”

  Piper thought about Camil’s determination, his sense of responsibility. “Yes, absolutely.”