They’d been out since dawn, occupied by a full day of hawking and riding events designed to entertain and display the prowess of the tough mountain men who gave Mustafa their allegiance. A day designed to exhaust anyone not born to the gritty life of a fighter. It had been a ploy to give Mustafa the upper hand in the negotiations to come. He’d miscalculated. Mustafa knew, of course, about the scandals that had dogged Amir. Who his parents were, his early years of luxury in foreign lands where men weren’t men but had grown soft and lazy. Unpromising beginnings for a prince in a land where uncompromising grit and honour were prized. But his host, like so many before him, hadn’t done his homework thoroughly. He’d assumed that old story summed up the Sheikh of Tarakhar. He hadn’t bothered to discover that although Amir’s past had shaped him into the man he was today it had made him tougher, stronger, more determined, more focused than any of the so-called warriors surrounding them.
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