Protecting the Desert Heir

The little man’s eyes glittered with a sort of impotent fury that Sterling knew—she knew—would translate into yet another revolting piece about her in the morning papers. She could practically read the article now as it scrolled across the man’s dirty mind.

To this man I will never be anything but a woman like that, Sterling thought miserably, but she only smiled at the reporter as she moved past him to take Rihad’s arm. The Queen Whore herself, parading around like so much pollution.

“You shouldn’t antagonize him,” she said softly as Rihad drew her out onto the dance floor, the elegant crowd parting all around them to let them take its center, as if the tense exchange had never happened. “Not him or any of his little cronies.”

“Must I introduce myself to you all over again?” Rihad’s voice was arrogant, and his dark gold eyes still glittered furiously. “I am the King of Bakri. He should not antagonize me.”

“You are the king, yes,” she agreed, trying to keep her smile in place and her voice low, as befitted such genteel and public a place. “And you should not condescend to notice a man like him. That you do at all is my fault.”

Sterling felt one of his hands tighten against the small of her back, and the other where his larger one gripped hers, and her curse was that she felt all of this like light. It was as if he poured straight into her, banishing all the darkness.

But she knew that wasn’t true. She knew nothing could.

“Do not start this again,” he warned her, his voice harsh despite his placid expression. “Not here.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” she murmured, so submissively that it startled a laugh out of him. Which in turn made her laugh, too, when she’d have said that was impossible under the circumstances. And still he spun her around and around that dance floor, as if they were nothing but beautiful. As if all of this was.

And some of the papers the next morning thought so, it was true.

But the others were vile.

There was a list of Sterling’s supposed conquests, spanning the globe and including some countries she’d never visited and many men she’d never met. Another featured a list of her “raciest moments,” which mostly involved skimpy outfits from her more outrageous modeling shoots held up as if she’d paraded around the streets of Manhattan wearing so little.

They didn’t actually call her a whore. But then, they didn’t have to call her anything. The comments section did that for them.

Sterling didn’t mention the articles. Still, she could see the temper crack across Rihad’s face and thought he tried to conceal it from her. Because that was Rihad, she understood now. Duty before all else. And he’d decided she was one of his duties. She cuddled Leyla on her lap and pressed kisses into the sweet crown of her head, and she only smiled when Rihad excused himself.

Because she knew what he refused to accept: this was never going to get better. She was never going to get better, or any less the subject of the repulsive speculation of the public.

And if she stayed here, Rihad and Leyla would rot right along with her.

Sterling might not have known a lot about love, but she knew—deep down she knew—that if she really, truly loved them, she wouldn’t condemn them to that kind of life. Not when it took so little to save them.

So very little.

All she had to do was leave.

* * *

When his chief of security strode into Rihad’s private conference room, scattering the gathered aides and the handful of ambassadors Rihad had been sitting with, he assumed it was about Amaya, at last.

“Has she been found?” he asked when the room was clear.

He thought the feeling that moved in him then was something far closer to regret than relief. But that made no sense. Amaya needed to be found and should have been found months ago. She needed to do her duty, no matter how Rihad might have come to sympathize with her plight. He hadn’t lied to her when he’d told her there were no other options available to them.

But he couldn’t deny the part of him that admired his younger sister for having stayed out of Kavian’s reach all this time. Rihad liked the other man well enough. Respected him, even. But he doubted very much that any other creature on earth had led him on such a merry chase.

“We are tracking her, Your Majesty,” his security chief said, standing at rigid attention, quite as if he expected a reprimand. “We have video of her leaving the palace an hour ago. It looks as if she’s headed for the city limits.”