Reclaimed by the Powerful Sheikh

‘This gala is getting completely out of hand.’

‘Not as much as my soon-to-be mother-in-law’s wedding plans. Fifty doves. The woman wants to release fifty doves as we leave the church. Never has Las Vegas looked so appealing!’

‘Las Vegas?’ Danyl struggled to keep track of the words pouring from Antonio’s mouth.

‘Are you even listening to me?’ Impatience bit into the earpiece of the phone.

‘Las Vegas. If you really want to move the wedding there, count me in,’ Danyl said, forcing an energy he didn’t feel into the promise.

‘Appreciated. Look, the point of the call... I need to know who your plus one will be for the wedding. So, who do you have up next to audition for the role as your future and perfect Queen? I have to admit, from what Dimitri said about Birgetta—’

‘I’ll let you know, when I know,’ Danyl bit back.

‘It’s just that, given the recent press attention from McAulty’s win, we’re having to get extra security in place.’

‘Got it. Look, I’ll get back to you on the plus one. And I’ll see you and Emma in a week for the gala.’

Danyl hung up on whatever response Antonio would have given, knowing that his friend would forgive him.

Things to do, countries to run...

He slipped his phone into his pocket, rather than hurling it across the room as he wanted. What on earth was his mother thinking, bringing their racing syndicate’s trainer John and their prize thoroughbred Veranchetti to the gala? Not only that, but also to go behind his back and speak directly to Dimitri and Antonio? She was clearly up to something and he had to put a stop to it. Now. The more she added to the line-up of entertainment, the more risk there was that something would go wrong, that it wouldn’t be perfect. And the gala had to be perfect.

He backed the chair away from the solid wooden desk piled high with paperwork and yellow legal notepads full of his tightly scrawled handwriting, so different from the sleek glass design and state-of-the-art technology of his office in central Aram, capital of Ter’harn. He missed the smooth efficiency and calm simplicity of his professional setting, gently cursing his mother for the melodrama that had brought him reluctantly back to the royal palace.

Entering the hallway sent a couple of house staff scattering and drew his personal bodyguard along in his wake. His parents would be in the dining room at this hour, Danyl was sure of it. Marching along the hallways with brusque determination, he failed to take in the centuries of elaborate decoration lining the walls, the fine tiled details on the flooring, soft earthy tones contrasting with bright whites, blues and greens, yet his shoulders still felt the burden of the palace. If he twitched them in reflex, he didn’t realise it.

Ter’harn was an oil-rich country, perfectly placed for both the desert climate and the almost Mediterranean temperature of the mountainous coastline that gave way to the Arabian Sea. It was a heady mix of cultures and influences, everything from the remains of the Ottoman Empire to modern Africa and Arabic nations, brought together within Ter’harn’s borders. Of the country’s three palaces, this was by far the grandest. It had withstood five centuries, three invasions and one attempted coup. Every corner, hallway, room and garden proudly displayed the fingerprints of those who had come before. Whilst other countries had shifted allegiances, royals and rulers, Ter’harn was one of the few kingdoms that had stayed immovable. His family one of the last to remain unseated. It was all resting on his shoulders. And to ensure that their legacy continued, he needed to find a queen to provide an heir. A thought that twisted and turned in Danyl’s stomach.

Travelling at such a speed didn’t give the house staff enough time to announce his presence at the dining-room doorway, a mistake he realised only too late.

His father and mother were by the window in what could only be described as a clinch. His father’s hands clutching his mother’s...

Danyl spun on his heel, facing the wall as if he had been caught out rather than his parents. He wasn’t a prude. But they were his parents!

He cleared his throat, heard a somewhat flustered response and a shifting of movement, counted to ten, and then an extra five for good measure, before turning back to find them facing him, neither a hair out of place nor a shred of embarrassment visible.

‘Did you really need to bring Veranchetti halfway round the world for a party? Don’t you think it a little ostentatious to parade a horse from my syndicate in front of all your guests?’

‘Darling, we’re fine, thank you for asking. It is good to see you too,’ his mother mocked. She often complained that he only had one speed: ruthless efficiency. ‘We’re royal, Danyl. People are going to think that anything we do is ostentatious. We might as well have a little fun and play up to it, no? You used to love playing up to it,’ she said, unable to hide the hint of censure that often came with such a declaration. A silent reminder that he used to have fun. Once. ‘Besides, I simply spoke to the boys—’

‘They are not boys, Mother.’

‘I have known them since you were all at university together. You were boys then, and you’ll always be boys to me.’

‘You went behind my back.’

‘Oh, Danyl, don’t be so dramatic.’ Her exasperation was undermined by an overly emphatic and somewhat disappointed sigh. ‘Veranchetti was already due to come to Ter’harn and you know that. I simply asked if they would be able to move up the date of their arrival for the New Year’s Day race to coincide with the gala, which is—in part—a celebration of your achievements.’

‘I would hardly call it my achievement, Mother,’ Danyl replied.

‘Ah, yes. The delightful Mason McAulty. She has yet to respond to our invitation.’

‘You invited Mason?’ If his mother noticed the ice-cool tone his voice had contained, she didn’t show it.

‘Yes, what a wonderful feat, winning all the three races in the Hanley Cup. Quite extraordinary. For a woman.’

Elizabeth Al Arain’s words settled into a buzzing sound between Danyl’s ears. Just Mason McAulty’s name was enough to short-circuit his perfectly ordered mind. Images of thick, dark brown hair curling over a sun-kissed shoulder haunted his mind, the echo of a laugh from ten years before, the slight smell of leather and hay...odd scents of feminine silk-soft skin. His mind reared back in self-defence and Danyl sought anger, fury, anything to cover over the moment of mental weakness her name had brought.