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didn’t make a habit of looking at mirrors.
    The man was, per the paperwork he’d seen of his uncle’s, important to the running of the country. At least he had been. Zafar suspected that many of the “trade agreements” ran more toward black market deals. But he lacked proof at the moment.
    They’d been making tentative conversation for the past few minutes, and Zafar felt very much like a bull tiptoeing through a china shop.
    “This regime change has been very upsetting to those of us at the embassy.”
    “I am sorry for that,” Zafar said. “My uncle’s death has inconvenienced you. I’m not certain why he couldn’t postpone it.”
    Rycroft simply looked at him, offense evident in his expression. “Yes, well, we are eager to know what you intend to do with the trade agreements.”
    “Your trade agreements are the least of my concern.” Zafar began to pace the room, another move that clearly unnerved his visitor. He supposed he was meant to sit. But he couldn’t be bothered. He hated this. Hated having to talk, be diplomatic. He didn’t see the point of it. Real men said what they meant; politicians never did. There was no honor in it, and yet, it was how things worked. “I have stepped into a den of corruption and I mean to sort it out. Your trade agreements can wait. Do you understand?”
    Rycroft stood, his face turning red. “Sheikh Zafar, I don’t think you understand. These trade agreements are essential to the ease of your ascension to rule. Your uncle and I had an understanding, and if you do not carry it out, things might go badly for you.”
    Anger surged through Zafar, driving his actions before he had conscious thought. All of his energy, seemingly magnified by the feeling of confinement he was experiencing in this place, broke free. He grabbed the other man by the shoulders and pushed him back against the wall, holding him firmly. “Do you mean to threaten me?”
    Politicians might use diplomacy. He would not.
    “No,” the ambassador said, his eyes wide. “I would not...I would never.”
    “See that you do not, for I have erased men from this earth for far less, and don’t forget it.”
    He released his hold on Rycroft and stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest.
    “I will go to the press with this,” the other man said, straightening his jacket. “I will tell them that they have put an animal on the throne of Al Sabah.”
    “Good. Tell them,” he said, anger driving him now, past the point of reason. Past whatever diplomacy he might have possessed. “Perhaps I will have fewer pale men in suits to deal with if you do.”
    * * *
    As she sank down into the recessed tub, made from dazzling precious stone, and the warm water enveloped her sore, dusty body, Ana had to rethink the savior thing.
    These bubbles, the oils, the bath salts...it all felt like they, and by extension, Zafar, might very well have saved her life.
    She would have liked to stay forever and just indulge, but she knew she couldn’t. She didn’t just relax and indulge. It wasn’t in her. She had to be useful. There was always something to do. Except, right now there wasn’t really anything.
    Such a strange feeling. She didn’t like being aimless. She didn’t like feeling out of control. She needed purpose. She needed a project. Something to keep her mind and hands busy. Something to make her feel like she was contributing.
    Being kidnapped wasn’t engaging much, except the constant war between her fight-or-flight response. It was terrifying, all of it, and yet she didn’t know the right thing to do.
    She’d been working so hard for so many years. The desert trip was her last and first hurrah. Post-graduation, pre-public engagement. She’d wanted a touch of adventure, but nothing like this.
    She pushed up from the bench and stepped out of the bath. There was a plush towel and a robe waiting for her. And she would be lying if she wasn’t enjoying it all a little bit. Premature princess points being