His Defiant Desert Queen

The young maid was standing next to the trunks, smiling. “For you,” she said. “From His Highness.”

Jemma backed away from the trunks, panicked by the tower of gifts.

She didn’t want presents. Didn’t want to be showered with expensive gifts and jewels.

She wanted the life she had in London. She wanted her friends. Wanted her work. She wanted her own identity and freedom.

The maid watched Jemma, her dark eyes bright, expression cheerful and excited. “Shall I start your bath, Your Highness? We have much to do to prepare.”

Jemma shook her head, feeling anything but excited. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t go through with this. She wasn’t the kind of woman who just gave up, who just gave in. She was not meant to be Mikael’s queen. Her future was not here in Saidia, nor did she have any desire to bear the children that would heal the rift between families and countries.

“It is a very big day,” the maid added carefully, her confident expression slipping, revealing the first hint of concern. “Much to do. Much tradition.”

Jemma sat down on the edge of one of her low white sofas, her hands folding in her lap. “These are not my traditions.”

The maid knelt next to Jemma. “Your Highness, do not be frightened. His Highness, Sheikh Karim, is a very good and powerful man. He is very fair. A man of his word. If he tells you something, it is so.”

“I think you would say that about all Saidia kings.”

“No. I would not say that about the last king, Sheikh Karim’s father. The old king was not a good man. He made his first wife very sad. I think His Highness, Sheikh Karim, saw much as a boy. I think he saw things a child should not see. This is why he is different from his father. He has worked very hard to be a good king. The people love him. He honors and respects Saidia people, and Saidia tradition.” The maid smiled. “The king will be good to you. You will be happy. I am already happy for you.” Her hand indicated the trunks. “Already he has sent many gifts. He tries to show you already he is pleased with you. That you bring him honor.”

Jemma shook her head. “He’s trying to buy me.”

The maid frowned. “Buy you? Like a camel?”

“Yes. But I’m not a thing to be bought.”

“His Highness does not buy you. His Highness honors you. Gifts show respect. In Saidia, gifts are good things.” She smiled more brightly. “Maybe now you look at your gifts, and then we get ready for tonight.”

Jemma struggled to smile. “You open the trunks for me. Show me what is inside.”

For the next several minutes, all the maid did was unpack the trunks, starting with the largest leather trunk on the bottom of the stack.

The biggest trunk was filled with clothes. Kaftans, skirts, sarongs, tunics, slinky evening gowns. The medium trunk contained shoes and heels and elegant jeweled sandals. The small trunk held jewelry and accessories.

There was one last trunk, but this one wasn’t leather, but silver. The silver box’s gleaming surface was embossed with elegant scrollwork and a jeweled handle. Jemma carefully unfastened the latches. Inside the silver box was a white garment bag, white shoes and a small, delicate white silk pouch.

“This is for tonight,” the maid said, unzipping the garment bag to remove a long white satin gown that looked like something from a Hollywood movie. “Your bridal gown.”

“My wedding gown?” Jemma corrected, thinking maybe she’d misunderstood the girl’s English.

“No. The honeymoon gown. For pleasure.” The maid smiled, her cheeks pink. “Tonight is the first night. You go to him in white. You meet him in the Chamber of Innocence.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I come from the same tribe as Sheikh Karim. My mother and grandmother served the new Karim brides. And now I serve you. It is my job to prepare you for the king’s pleasure.”

Jemma was neither a virgin nor an innocent and yet she blushed, furiously, feeling ridiculously embarrassed, and shy. “I’m not sure about this.”

“You don’t need to worry. His Highness will know everything. He will teach you.”

Jemma flushed again, her cheeks burning, trying not to feel mortified. The maid must think she was a timid virgin.

“Do you want to try it on?” the maid asking, admiring the long white satin gown.

“No.” Jemma turned away from the gown, the fabric soft and begging to be touched, focusing instead on the remaining wedding night gifts and accessories. White satin shoes. Delicate white satin undergarments. And of course, the white silk pouch.

Curious, Jemma loosened the silver strings and emptied the pouch into her hand. Glittering diamond and pearl earrings spilled into her palm. A small card slid out last, landing on top of the stunning diamond drop earrings.

My first gift to you. Please wear them tonight. I think they will look magnificent on you.

Jemma read the card twice, and then slowly exhaled, her heart hammering.

Was this really happening? Would she really go to him tonight, dressed like a virgin sacrifice, dazzling in diamonds and white?

Jemma slipped the earrings back into the silk pouch, and then placed the pouch and shoes inside the silver trunk before closing the lid and fastening it shut.

Yesterday afternoon she’d been in the middle of a photo shoot when Mikael arrived. She’d known nothing about him, and very little about Saidia, and yet now she was his wife, and being prepared for his bed.

She still couldn’t wrap her head around it.

Jemma sat back on her heels and looked at the young maid. “Have you ever heard of a royal groom not satisfying his bride? Have you ever heard your mother or grandmother mention a kidnapped bride returning to her family? Has it happened in Saidia history before?”

The maid nodded. “Yes.”

“A long, long time ago, or more recently?”

“During my great-great-grandmother’s time, I think. Many, many years ago. And...” The maid chewed her lip, looking unsure of herself. “Maybe my mother’s time.”

Jemma frowned. “Your mother served my husband’s mother.”

“Yes.”

“Mikael’s mother was unhappy?”

“Not at first. Not during the honeymoon, but later.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I do not know. My mother would never say.”

The maid left to start Jemma’s bath, and rather than argue with the maid about privacy, Jemma stripped her clothes off and spent the next half hour soaking in the deep marble tub, lost in thought.

The Kasbah was a palace within a palace, and Mikael descended from a line of royal men who’d been taught that it was necessary to know how to please a woman in bed, and even his duty to give his woman pleasure. But not just pleasure. He was expected to make her fall in love with him. She needed to want to stay in Saidia. She needed to be happy. And if, during the honeymoon, the Saidia groom couldn’t make his bride happy, she could leave him after sixteen days.

The history fascinated Jemma. But it wasn’t just history. They were facts. And the facts gave her pause.

If a Saidia man couldn’t please his wife, he had to let her go.

Did that mean Mikael would let her go if he couldn’t please her?

Out of the bath, the maid set to work rubbing exotic fragrant oils into Jemma’s skin, and Jemma provided no resistance, lost in thought.

She’d been brought here as Mikael’s first wife. But perhaps now she could force him to free her following their honeymoon. If she wasn’t happy after eight days, she’d refuse him the next eight and demand to be allowed to return to her tribe.

While the oil dried, Jemma walked around the courtyard in her cotton kimono, letting the sun’s warmth help her skin absorb the oil.

She knelt by the pool in the courtyard, and gazed down into the clear blue water, the bottom of the pool covered in cobalt blue tiles. Her face reflected back at her, her dark hair pulled back from her face, her expression appeared surprisingly serene in the water. Her calmness belied her resolve.

She would leave here.

She would not be charmed.

She would not fall in love.

She would not give him children.

What she’d give him were eight days and nights, and during those days and nights he’d have access to her body. But he’d never have her heart.

The maid fetched Jemma from the courtyard to do her hair.

Jemma’s stomach churned as she sat at the silver dressing table, while the maid combed and twisted her hair into place, roping in strands of pearls and clusters of diamonds until Jemma’s long dark hair was a glittering, jeweled work of art.

Was Mikael aware that he’d given her a way out? Did he know that she understood her freedom could be won?

But first she’d have to surrender to Mikael for eight days, and eight nights.

Could she do it?

Could she give herself to him totally? Handing over her body, her will, her need for control?

“Shall I help you with your dress now?” the maid asked, Jemma’s hairstyle complete.