It was fascinating, shattering, this glimpse into his past.
Another reminder that she hadnât known him at all, another proof of how unimportant sheâd beenâthat he hadnât shared this with her, clearly a major incident in his life.
But it was worse than that. Sheâd believed heâd been born without the capacity for emotional involvement. It had been what had mitigated her heartache and humiliation. Believing heâd never given her what he hadnât had to give.
But his emotions existed. And they could be powerful, pure. It seemed that it took something profound to unearth it, like what heâd shared with others. Not as trivial as what he had with her.
The discovery had the knife that had long stopped turning in her heart stabbing it all over again.
Dear Reader,
Writing Haidar Aal Shalaanâs story was a surprise with each word. He first appeared in Pride of Zohayd, his halfbrothersâ trilogy. In the last book, To Touch a Sheikh, he found out his mother was conspiring to depose his father and brothers to make him king. But even though he did all he could to abort her conspiracy, I knew then that it wouldnât end with him a hero and the near-catastrophe forgotten, or forgiven.
And it wasnât, least of all by him. As I wrote his story, he showed me his turmoil over his dichotomy, a man both blessed and cursed by birth. He shared with me how heâd had to fight all his life against what he thought to be his inherited nature, which he believed had cost him everyone heâd ever loved and stigmatized him forever. He was on a mission to redeem himself from the taint of his motherâs treachery, and to reclaim his heart from the woman whoâd once trodden all over it. I thought heâd be a stoic, vengeful, hot-blooded knight of the desert as he accomplished both missions.
But he kept surprising me, demonstrating his duality in every word and action. He was fierce yet tender, unyielding yet flexible, unstoppable yet vulnerable and most of all, the last thing I expected him to be, he was funny. And fun. And boy, was he irresistible for it. His heroine, Roxanne, wholeheartedly agrees.
I truly hope you enjoy Haidar and his journey toward making peace with himselfâand finally loving Roxanne wellâas much as I did.
I love to hear from readers, so e-mail me at [email protected]. And please stay connected with me on Facebook at my fan page, Olivia Gates Author, and on Twitter, @OliviaGates.
Thanks for reading!
Olivia
OLIVIA GATES has always pursued creative passions such as singing and handicrafts. She still does, but only one of her passions grew gratifying enough, consuming enough, to become an ongoing careerâwriting.
She is most fulfilled when she is creating worlds and conflicts for her characters, then exploring and untangling them bit by bit, sharing her protagonistsâ every heart-wrenching heartache and hope, their every heart-pounding doubt and trial, until she leads them to an indisputably earned and gloriously satisfying happy ending.
When sheâs not writing, she is a doctor, a wife to her own alpha male and a mother to one brilliant girl and one demanding Angora cat. Visit Olivia at www.oliviagates.com.
To my mom. The most courageous, persevering and accomplished woman I know. Thanks for being you.
Twenty-four years ago
The slap fell on Haidarâs face, stinging it on fire.
Before he could gasp, another fell on his other cheek, harder, backhanded this time. A ring encrusted in precious stones dragged a ragged line of pain into his flesh.
Disoriented, he heard a crack of thunder as tears misted his sight. Admonishments boomed again as more slaps tossed Haidarâs head from side to side. One finally shattered his balance, sent him crashing to his knees. Tears singed the fresh cut like a harsh antiseptic, mingling with the blood.
A tranquil voice broke over him. âShed more tears, Haidar, and Iâll have you thrown in the dungeon. For a week.â
He swallowed, stared up at the person he loved most in life, incomprehension paralyzing him.
Why was she doing this?
His mother had never laid a hand on him. Heâd never even gotten the knuckle raps or ear twists his twin, Jalal, drove her to reward his mischief with. He was her favorite. She told him so, showed him her esteem and preference in every way.
But there had been times lately when sheâd been displeased with him, when heâd done nothing wrong. Actually, when heâd done something praiseworthy. It had bewildered him. Still, nothing could have prepared him for her out-of-the-blue, ice-cold fury just when heâd expected her to shower him with approval.
She stared down from her majestic height, looking as heâd always imagined a goddess of myth would, her eyes arctic. âDonât compound your stupidity with whimpering. Stand up and take your punishment like your twin always doesâwith dignity and courage.â
Haidar almost blurted out that it was Jalalâand their cousin Rashidâwho deserved the punishment. The âexperimentâ heâd warned them against and had refused to take part in had caused the fire that had consumed a whole chamber in the palace and ruined his and Jalalâs tenth birthday party.