Captured by the Sheikh

‘And that pleased your Council?’

‘My Council was not aware of all the terms of the marriage. They probably assumed I’d be more under Aziz’s influence.’

‘And they didn’t mind a stranger helping to rule their country?’

‘He’s royal in his own right, and as I explained they’re traditional. They want me under a man’s influence.’

Khalil nodded slowly, his forehead knitted in thought. ‘And what about heirs?’

A blush touched her cheeks. ‘Why are we talking about this, exactly?’

‘I’m curious.’

‘And you want me to satisfy your curiosity?’ Her temper flared. ‘What for, Khalil? None of it is going to happen anyway, and in any case it has nothing to do with you.’

He turned to her with a granite stare. ‘Humour me.’

Her breath came out in a rush. ‘We planned for two children, an heir for each of our kingdoms.’

‘And where would these children have been raised?’

‘Initially they would stay with me, and when they were older they would split their time between the two countries.’ She looked away, uncomfortably aware of how cold and clinical it sounded. ‘I know it’s hardly an ideal solution, but we were both desperate.’

‘I realise that.’

‘Like I said, it doesn’t matter anyway.’

‘But you still feel you need a husband.’

She sighed and leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes once more. ‘I do, but maybe you’re right. Maybe I can face my Council on my own, convince them not to call the vote.’

‘It’s a risk.’

She opened her eyes. ‘You don’t sound nearly as encouraging as you did before.’

He shrugged. ‘You have to choose for yourself.’

‘Seeing as there’s nothing to choose, as I have no prospective husband, this whole conversation seems pointless.’

‘Maybe,’ Khalil allowed, and turned back to the window. ‘Maybe not.’

* * *

He could marry her. The thought made everything in him rear up in shocked panic. Marriage had never been on his agenda. Yet ever since he’d seen that serving girl this morning, and realised the repercussions of his night with Elena, the thought had been rattling around in his brain like a coin in a box.

He could marry her—marry the woman who was intended as the Sheikh of Kadar’s wife. It would help strengthen his claim, stabilise his throne, and it would give Elena what she wanted too.

Why not?

Because it’s dangerous. Because the emotional risks you warned her about apply to you too.

Because you care about her already.

Elena had spoken of a cold, convenient union    , but would it be like that if he was her husband? Would he be able to keep himself from caring for, even loving, her?

Did he even want to?

His mind spun and seethed. He felt the clash of his own desires, the need to protect himself and the urge to be with her—care for her.

And did Elena even care for him? Just what kind of marriage would she want them to have?

* * *

Once back at the camp—which to Elena looked like just another huddle of tents, horses, cars and camels amidst the dunes and black rocks—Khalil strode away and Leila met Elena and brought her to her private tent.

‘A bath, perhaps,’ she murmured and Elena thanked her, nodding wearily. She felt overwhelmed by every aspect of life at the moment: the end of things here, her responsibilities in Thallia, her non-relationship with Khalil.

A quarter of an hour later she watched as two men filled the copper tub with steaming water. Leila scattered it with rose petals and brought a thick towel and some lovely smelling soap, and Elena’s throat suddenly went tight with emotion.

‘Thank you. This is so kind...’

‘It is nothing, Your Highness. You could use a little pampering, I think.’

The older woman’s sympathy was almost her undoing. Elena nodded, swallowing past the tightness in her throat as Leila quietly left.

As she soaked in the tub Elena’s thoughts returned relentlessly to Thallia and matters of state. She had no husband. She could explain why and, since it looked as if Khalil would become Sheikh, she thought her Council would accept it.

But in a few weeks’ time, if she were still single, Markos would call for the vote to abolish the monarchy. Somehow she had to convince him not to call it, or at least convince her Council not to vote against her.

Could she do it on her own? Did she dare risk her crown in such a way? Khalil believed in her, perhaps more than she believed in herself. Just remembering the warmth of his smile, the confidence she’d seen in his eyes, made her ache.

No, she couldn’t risk it. A royal wedding and a devoted husband were what had been going to save her, no matter what Khalil said about her being strong enough to face her Council alone. He didn’t know what she was up against. Didn’t understand what she’d been through.

Sighing, Elena leaned her head back against the tub. The only way to avoid such a disaster would be to prove Markos wrong—to return with a husband.

Too bad that was impossible.

Unless she married Khalil.

Elena smiled mirthlessly as she imagined Khalil’s horrified reaction to such an idea. He would never agree to marry her. He’d been appalled by the possibility that she might harbour any tender feelings for him. He’d sounded contemptuous of her arrangement with Aziz.

Elena sat up suddenly, water sloshing over the sides of the tub. Marrying her could potentially be beneficial for Khalil. She’d seen the approval of the Bedouin they’d been with, how they’d liked seeing him with his bride.

And since he’d already acted as if they were married...

Could it be possible? Did she even dare suggest a thing? The potential rejection and humiliation she faced made her flinch.

Then, in a sudden, painful rush of memory, Elena recalled her father throwing himself over her, saving her life from the explosions and gunfire around them. Sacrificing himself...for Thallia. For the monarchy.

How could she not do whatever it took to ensure her reign?

An hour later she was dressed in another outfit Leila had brought her, a simple dress of rose-coloured cotton. She twisted her hair up in a chignon and wished she had some make-up or jewellery to make her feel more prepared. She was going to talk to Khalil. Beard the lion in his den.

Taking a deep breath, Elena square her shoulders and exited the tent. Two guards immediately moved in front of her, blocking her way.

Fury surged through her, shocking her with its intensity. ‘Really?’ she asked them. ‘After everything, you still think I’m going to run off into the desert?’

They stared back at her blandly. ‘Do you want for something, Your Highness?’

A husband. She took another deep breath. ‘I would like to speak to Khalil.’

‘He is not—’

‘Available? Well, make him available. I need to speak to him, and it’s important.’

Leila came hurrying over, her face creased with concern. ‘Your Highness? Is something wrong?’

‘I’d like to speak to Khalil,’ Elena stated. Her voice wobbled and, furious with herself, she bit her lip. Hard. ‘Do you know where he is, Leila?’ she asked, and thankfully this time her voice was steady.

Leila gazed at her, a certain sorrowful knowledge in her eyes, and Elena had the sudden, awful suspicion that Leila knew she and Khalil had slept together.

‘Yes, I know where he is,’ she said quietly. She spoke in Arabic to the two guards, but her voice was too low for Elena to make anything out. Then she turned back to her and said, ‘Come with me.’

Elena went. Leila led her to a tent on the opposite side of the camp, pausing outside the entrance to turn back to her.

‘Khalil has been through much, Your Highness,’ she said quietly. ‘Whatever has happened between the two of you, please remember that.’

So Leila had definitely guessed, then. Elena forced the realisation away and met her gaze squarely. ‘I just want to talk to him, Leila.’

‘I know.’ The older woman smiled sadly. ‘But I can tell you are hurting, and I am sorry for it. Khalil is hurting too.’

Khalil hurting? I don’t think so. But Elena was still considering Leila’s words as she stepped into the tent and looked upon Khalil.

He was seated at a folding table, his dark head bent as he scrawled something on a piece of paper. He didn’t look up, just lifted one hand, signalling her to wait.

‘One moment, Assad, please.’

‘It’s not Assad.’

Khalil glanced up swiftly then, his gaze narrowing as it rested on Elena. She stared back, levelly, she hoped, but after a taut few seconds she knew she was glaring.

‘Elena.’

‘Khalil.’ She mimicked his even tone, slightly sneering it. Oops. Not the way she’d wanted to start this businesslike meeting, but then Leila was right. She was hurting, even if she didn’t want to be.

He sat back, resting his arms lightly on the sides of his chair. ‘Is there something you need?’

‘You had said you would look at the news,’ Elena reminded him. ‘Find out if people know what has happened.’

‘So I did. I haven’t seen anything so far. Aziz is keeping quiet.’

‘And how will you return me to Thallia?’ she asked coolly. ‘Royal jet? Economy class? Or will you roll me up in a carpet like Cleopatra and then unroll me in the throne room of the Thallian palace?’