Sacha nodded. "You know I would help you more if I could?" He shook his head. "A second son has little power in a monarchy."

Galen smiled as he urged his horse into a trot. "You've done more than I hoped. You've introduced me at court and persuaded your father to listen to the wild man from Sedikhan. I wouldn't have received even that boon if you hadn't interceded."

"I may not have done you a favor. Both my father and older brother have little use for me… I'm much too flippant for their tastes."

But, Galen knew, beneath Sacha's flippancy lay keen intelligence and a good heart. Soon after making the acquaintance of Sacha Rubinoff, Galen had realized that the young prince's notorious pranks and mischief-making stemmed from boredom. The society into which he'd been born simply did not suit his volatile nature. Of late, Galen had begun to wonder what kind of man Sacha would have been if he had been raised to the sword and seasoned by battle. "You've done me a very great favor. You've given me what I came to Tamrovia to obtain."

Sacha's smile faded. "Don't count too much on this audience. It's difficult to stir my father into any decisive action these days."

"I have to try." He tried to suppress any show of desperation. "I have to make your father see that an alliance must be formed for the sake of both our countries."

Sacha pushed back his chair and stood up when Galen strode out of the audience chamber into the anteroom. "How did it—" Galen's stormy expression answered his question. "Not well."

"No alliance," Galen said curtly. "His Majesty sees no advantage in aligning himself with a primitive tribe that can offer him nothing for his protection but promises." Galen strode down the hall past the row of footmen, his every step charged with explosive energy. "Fool! Can't he see that a united Sedikhan could offer Tamrovia more than he could offer us?"

"You're speaking of my august father," Sacha reminded him mildly as he fell into step with Galen.

"He is a fool."

"Yes," Sacha agreed amiably. "A very stubborn one."

"I needed this alliance to mold the tribes into a single central government. With Tamrovia as an ally the El Zalan could use the threat of a foreign invasion to rally the chieftains. There's little as powerful as a threat from an outside force to unify those who enjoy being at odds." Galen's voice vibrated harshly off the fresco-decorated domed ceilings. "Dammit, the wars can't go on. They're ripping Sedikhan apart. We can't go forward as long as the tribes continue to raid and kill each other. "

Sacha had heard it all before and remained sympathetically silent.

"Tamrovia's forces are puny compared to the might of Sedikhan's warriors. Your father is a lunatic to believe we couldn't help defend his borders."

Sacha didn't mind this further insult to his father as he felt much the same. However, he wasn't sure he liked his country's military might impugned. He decided to change the subject. "So what do you do now?"

"Go home," Galen muttered savagely. "What else is there for me to do? Go back to warring and killing and protecting my own. It's the way of life in Sedikhan."

"You could stay here."

"Where I'm looked upon as a barbarian?" Galen shook his head. "No, my friend. I'd soon grow tired of the jokes, the innuendos, and show them how a real barbarian behaves." He glanced at Sacha. "Why don't you come to Sedikhan with me? You have no fondness for the life here at the court."

"I might do that. I hear your women are beautiful and exceedingly generous to us poor males."

"Come and find out."

Sacha's eyes gleamed with mischief. "But one can spend only so much time involved in bed play. And, since you're determined to make Sedikhan into such a boringly peaceful place…" He studied Galen speculatively. "I've always wondered why you chose such a path."

Galen didn't respond.

"You're matchless with a sword, a dead shot. Yet you—"

"What does it matter?"

"I'm curious. I've found that anything I do well I wish to do again."

"I… I like it too much," Galen said haltingly, not looking at him.

Puzzled, Sacha gazed at him. Then, suddenly, he understood. Powerful emotions seethed beneath Galen Ben Raschid's apparently calm exterior. Once allowed beyond Galen's facade, Sacha had found the sheikh possessed a recklessness and undisciplined nature that matched his own.

How would a nature so untamed respond to the unlimited opportunity for violence now existing in Sedikhan?

Galen was watching the expressions flitting across Sacha's face. "Yes," he said quietly. "I'm even more of a savage than they think I am." His lips tightened. "But I don't have to be. I have intelligence and strength of will. A man need not remain uncivilized because of his birth and perhaps even his instincts."

But it would be a lifelong battle between Galen's innate savagery and reason, Sacha thought with sympathy. "When will you leave Tamrovia?"

"Tomorrow at dawn." Galen smiled brilliantly. "Stop frowning. I haven't given up. I'm just going home to regroup my forces. If I can't get Tamrovia for an ally, perhaps I'll go to France and apply to Napoleon."

"France is a long way from Sedikhan."

"And Napoleon is very greedy. He might decide to 'protect' me out of all the gold in Zalandan." Galen shrugged. "Still, it's something to consider."

"Your mother was French, wasn't she?"

"Yes," he said curtly as he stopped at the foot of the marble staircase. "French and Tamrovian." He changed the subject. "I'm going back to my apartment and tell Said to make arrangements for the journey."

"But I'll see you this evening?"

Galen nodded, and a reckless smile lit his face. "By all means. Meet me here in the hall at eight. We'll find several accommodating ladies, and I'll show you how a warrior of the El Zalan takes his pleasure."

Before Sacha could speak, Galen was swiftly climbing the staircase.

"Several?" Sacha murmured, intrigued. He was suddenly sure it was going to prove a most interesting evening.

Someone was watching him.

Galen came wide awake in bed.

His muscles were tensed, ready to spring, but he lay quite still, his eyes slitted. His dagger was on the table by the bed, but he'd have to reach over the woman curled on his left to reach it.

"My lord Galen."

His lids flicked open. Gray eyes gazed down at him from a white, strained face surrounded by a riot of auburn curls, a child's face.

Tess Rubinoff's small hand tightened on the copper candle-holder she held. "Have you had too much wine too?" she whispered.

"What the devil are you doing here?" He jerked upright, instinctively reaching for a sheet to cover his nudity.

Tess breathed a sigh of relief. "You're not drunk. I went to Sacha's chamber first and could not make him understand…" She took a step back. "I need help. I can't do it by myself. Will you—" Her glance fell on the naked woman curled up on the far side of him. "Two of them? Pauline never had more than one at a time. Why do you—"

"How did you get in here? I wasn't too drunk to lock the door."

"Through the dressing room. There's a secret passage that leads into many rooms in the palace. I discovered it three years ago," Tess murmured absently, still studying the golden-haired woman nestled close to Galen. "That's Lady Camilla, isn't it? She looks thinner without her clothes. Who is the other one?"