Stars for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 8)

by Annabelle Winters

  She does not believe, came the answer from Hilda’s subconscious. Remember, this woman isn’t just a bystander. It is still her story! That girl from the attic at some level truly believed she was a queen, in the innocent way a child can make herself believe anything! But this woman has suffered years of indignities and hardships, insults and injustices. She has made mistakes, compromises, small decisions that have chipped away at her sense of self-worth. She may dream of being a queen, but can she actually get herself to believe it? That’s what’s preventing me from taking this to a new parallel world even though the solution is in sight. Her negative emotions are holding us back.

  I don’t have the time to coax and coddle you, Hilda had thought as she watched the conversation go on, somehow firmly within the woman but also above her and able to think in parallel. It could take days or weeks for this man to convince you that you deserve to be a queen. I need to short-circuit this story, force this dark king to stake his claim in the quickest way possible and make you a queen, whether you believe in yourself or not. And to do that, I need to bring my king into it.

  And that’s when she’d reached out to him, to her king, her Sheikh, her Rahaan. I need help, she’d said, somehow knowing he’d hear her. I need help, she thought again, a strange feeling that perhaps this was an important part of the sequence, that perhaps this was training in a sense, that she needed to figure out how to bring in Rahaan because although she might eventually work her way through this story on her own, she’d need all the help she could get in the next one, the final chapter.

  58

  The Sheikh stared at the long, twisted cut on his right arm. Blood flowed like a river as he spun around and grabbed his curved sword, standing back up and taking a stance that seemed natural, like he’d been trained in the art of the scimitar! By Allah, where was he? Who was he?

  He glanced over at his opponent, a bearded man who stood almost a foot taller than the Sheikh. He was not as broad though, and Rahaan decided that this needed to become a close-quarters battle to take advantage of his own size. The thought came to him naturally, adding to that sense of wonder the Sheikh was feeling—wonder at how he was himself but also someone else, like in that half-dream state where you’re aware of the dream world and the real world at the same time.

  Ya Allah, but which is the real world, because this feels bloody real, Rahaan thought as the pain shot through his arm while he reflexively raised his sword and repelled a swift attack from his opponent. Can I die here? What happens if I die?

  The thought occurred to him even as he instinctively looked toward the crowd, and immediately he locked eyes with her—his woman, his wife, his queen, his lover. His Hilda. She looked different, darker, not as confident. But it was her, he knew. And the boy with her . . . was that his—

  Just then a new sliver of pain ripped through the Sheikh, and he realized he’d been slashed again, this time across his chest. The cut was deep enough that it immediately began to bleed, drawing a gasp from the crowd as Rahaan grunted and tore off his tunic. What in God’s name is happening, he wondered as he faced his opponent again, wondering if this was some completely different timeline where he was a gladiator or something ridiculous like that.

  No, this is the same world where she and I made love in the carriage, where I returned to England on a quest to find her—to find her for no other reason than I wanted her and no one else! Why—I do not know. I barely knew her except for that one night. But somehow I was compelled to return, and somehow it was so easy to find her, and somehow—

  “Focus!” the Sheikh said out loud, gritting his teeth as he tried to push away the thoughts of the man he was in this world. It took him a moment to realize that they were the same person, but still separate strands of consciousness. The Sheikh had some access to this man’s thoughts and emotions, but certainly not all of it. This man was a shadowy figure to the Sheikh, like it was the darker part of him.

  The Sheikh circled away from his opponent as he pieced together the sequence of events. We’ve jumped from England to wherever this is—somewhere hot and sandy: maybe North Africa, Morocco, or even Egypt. But who pulled us here? Hilda? Me? The two of us combined? And why in Allah’s name am I fighting for my goddamn life here?! Why would I or Hilda pull this event into our timeline?!

  He parried another blow and circled again, and then he saw her: a flash of golden hair in the crowd, a look in those sand-colored eyes that chilled the Sheikh to the bone as he bled and sweated in the arena. Instantly he knew he was running out of time, perhaps was already out of time. Time! Hah! What did the word even mean now!

  But how do we get out of this world and into that third dream when I have no idea what in Allah’s name is happening here! Or do Hilda and I not need to move to that world anymore? Is Diamante here with us now? Is this the new battlefield? Ya Allah, I am going mad trying to use logic even though I know it does not work when dealing with the paradoxes of time. Focus!

  He glanced quickly at Hilda and then over at Diamante again—or at least to where he swore he’d seen Diamante. But the golden-haired princess was gone. Had she ever been here? Was it his imagination? Was it a dream within a dream? By Allah, am I truly unhinged in space and time?!

  He looked over at Hilda again, and she was staring calmly at him, one arm around her son, holding the boy facing forward so he could see his father. It seemed strange to subject a child to the gruesome sight of his father bleeding in what certainly appeared to be a fight to the death. Why am I fighting? Why are they watching?

  It does not matter, came the answer suddenly. How the hell does it matter? What matters is that you are in a fight! Save the questions for later, you fool! Your job is simple and straightforward: There is a man who has cut you and slashed you and clearly wants to kill you. Still your mind and stop him. How can there be any other objective for you? Just win the goddamn fight! Your answer lies in the physical. The flesh, the bone, the goddamn blood!

  Now clarity rushed through the Sheikh even as he felt the warm blood on his body, took in the stench of his opponent’s sweat, tasted the salt from his own sweat on his lips. And all those questions dissolved into the ether as Rahaan felt himself take over this body, pouring in his own will and combining it with the training and instincts of the man he was in this world.

  He held his ground and crouched as his opponent came in, scimitar flashing in the sun. The man was quick, but Rahaan was feeling a new energy, an invincibility almost, and he dropped to the ground and raised his own sword, fending off his opponent’s swipe and simultaneously striking at the taller man’s knee with his free left hand.

  The bearded man’s knee-joint snapped and with a scream he went down. The Sheikh swiveled his body around, a smooth, natural motion driven by years of training. He watched his own arm wield that curved sword, bringing it down swift and silent, cutting the man’s throat wide open like it was nothing. And just like that it was over.

  What in Allah’s name is happening, thought the Sheikh, wanting to feel horror but feeling nothing but the adrenaline throbbing through his veins. The blood pounded in his ears as he stood and raised his arms, the blood still flowing down his bare torso as he took in the crowd, listening to their cries. They were calling his name. They were calling him . . . king. King?

  What in bloody hell is happening, the Sheikh thought when he saw Hilda smile at him, relief apparent in her expression. But it was more than just relief he saw in her eyes when he went close to her. There was triumph. There was excitement. There was . . . an apology?!

  59

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Rahaan,” she sobbed as the Sheikh pulled out of her and lay flat on his back by her side on the soaked sheets. His massive chest was furiously rising and falling and he breathed hard and heavy, muttering in Arabic as he rubbed his head. “I didn’t know what else to do!”

  She waited as the Sheikh caught his breath, until he exhaled hard and finally turn
ed to her. “What did you do? What did I do? I do not understand. I do not think even the man of that world understood. Did you pull a new parallel world into that timeline? It was all you?”

  “I . . . I guess so. I think so,” she whispered, looking at his smooth brown chest as she thought back to that sword slashing him in her dream. “I just tried to focus all my will on finding the fastest way to resolve our story in that world, to get to a point where you were king and I was your queen and our son was with us. I mean, I didn’t know it would play out like that, with you having to kill . . . to kill . . .”

  “It is all right,” the Sheikh said, pulling her close. “It is all right. Whatever I did had its place in that world, I suppose. The man I was in that world seemed to know what to do, and he did not hesitate to finish his opponent. And so . . . hold on, what is it, Hilda? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You don’t remember?” Hilda said, blinking and looking away. She swallowed hard before summoning up the courage to face him again. “I guess you didn’t get a clear picture of all the memories and feelings of the man you are in that world. Probably for the best, I suppose.”

  “Why? What is it? No, I thought the man in that world was as confused as I about how he got to be in that arena, fighting some bearded goon.”

  Hilda sighed and shook her head. “No, it wasn’t that. The man you were knew what he was doing. He knew what he was fighting for, and he knew who he was fighting. I didn’t know it would play out that way, but I guess that was the shortest path to being king and so that’s the parallel world I must have pulled into that timeline, to claim the throne. You’d said there might be one more challenger, but I didn’t think . . . oh, God, Rahaan, I didn’t think . . .” She paused and took another breath, wondering if perhaps she’d unwittingly made a mistake, that she’d lost her nerve and sent them down a dark path. “It was his brother, Rahaan. The man in that world killed his own brother. Without remorse. Without hesitation. While I watched. While our son watched.”

  60

  “How can this be right? How can that life of ours be defined by me cutting my own brother’s throat while my woman and child watch?” the Sheikh asked her, sitting up against the heavy wooden backboard of the oversized bed. Outside the porthole the sky was turning from black to a deep blue, and soon hints of orange would flicker at the horizon. They were running out of time, though perhaps it no longer mattered.

  “I don’t know,” Hilda whispered, pushing herself up alongside him and covering her bare breasts with the sheets. “Perhaps it’s a flaw within me. Perhaps there’s some kind of darkness in me that pulled that event into that couple’s timeline. Perhaps I’m so desperate to get my happy ending that I don’t care how I get to it! Oh, Rahaan, what kind of a person am I! It’s—”

  “It was not you,” he said suddenly, cutting her off as he turned to her with a look of shock, his eyes widening as if he’d just remembered something. “I saw her, Hilda. She was there. It was just for a moment, but she was there. Diamante. Di. Both of them. I don’t know. But she’s the one who did it. It has to be.” He looked full upon her face, smiling and shaking his head as he reached out and touched her chin. “Hey, I know you. I know you in at least four lives, flaws and all. You did not do this. You did not engineer this. It was her.”

  “But how? Diamante was never in that world with us when I dreamt about it before—at least not in any meaningful way,” Hilda said, blinking and shaking her head as she tried to make sense of it. “But you’re right. The shift to a new parallel world did occur almost too suddenly, like maybe Di’s emotional energy reached across somehow? God, I don’t even know what I’m saying!”

  Rahaan nodded as he turned to her. “No, you are correct, I think. Somehow she reached across from that third world into the second one. That is why I saw her briefly. Perhaps she wasn’t meaning to do that, but it just happened. A side-effect of the force of her will, her dark emotional energy. After all, these worlds are connected—we already know that. Her power wasn’t enough to stop us getting the ending we wanted: Me, you, and our child together, the royal family. But . . .”

  “But she managed to infect those lives by twisting the path we took to get our ending in that world. She made it hollow, meaningless, dark,” Hilda said as that sense of dread began to rise up in her again. “And so if she was able to exert so much power in a world where she didn’t have a major role to begin with, it could mean . . .”

  “It could mean she’s firmly in control of the third world right now, that she’s already changing the timeline to get her ending,” said the Sheikh. He took a breath. “Which means we have to get there now.” He glanced out the porthole and then back at Hilda.

  She nodded and then shook her head. “I don’t know if I can, Rahaan. I feel drained. I mean, how do I get back in . . . um, in the mood, I guess! I’m way too wired, too worked up. How can I relax enough to get back to the place I need to be? Rahaan, I . . . wait, why are you smiling?”

  The Sheikh was suddenly looking exceptionally relaxed, his hands lazily propping his head up as he glanced at her. He held her gaze and he held his smile until finally she understood that he was taking over, taking control, showing her that he was indeed a king in this world, that she should follow his lead and trust in him.

  “OK,” she said, trying to match his calmness as she forced a smile and tried to pretend they were two lovers who were in bed together, nothing more, nothing less.

  They both stayed silent for a long moment, listening to the waves lap against the metal frame of the oil rig. The gulls that had taken up residence on the rig were waking up, and the looming dawn was undeniable. Outside preparations would soon begin for the opening ceremony of the rig, the closing ceremony of their lives. Hilda could feel herself losing her nerve, and she opened her mouth to speak and say it was no use. But the Sheikh spoke first, his voice smooth and deep, graceful and resonant.

  “You know, Hilda,” he said in that Arabian accent. “In all of this it occurs to me that I have not heard about Hilda Hogarth’s dreams. Not her dreams of other worlds and other lives. Her dreams of this world and this life. What did little Hilda dream about when she was alone in her room? What did—”

  “Magic,” Hilda said without thinking, and now the smile on her face came from the unconscious as she felt the Sheikh pull her close and listen. “When I was a kid I dreamed I was magic.”

  “You mean you dreamed you had magical powers? Like a witch or wizard?” the Sheikh asked as his soft stubble brushed against her cheek, making her shiver.

  “No,” she whispered as she felt herself warming again, opening up again. “I dreamed I was magic! I don’t know how to explain it. I mean, I was a . . . oh, God, Rahaan, OK, although I’m pretty comfortable with it now, I really struggled with my weight as a girl. But the weird thing is I never really dreamed of being thin or skinny or even really losing weight. I dreamt about being . . . I dunno . . . light as a feather, airy and free. I always pictured myself as sort of the same shape and size, but somehow weightless! And that would be magic, to be the same size and shape but also weightless, yeah? So I guess I imagined that my body was made out of magical things, magical dust. I imagined that I was magic.” She gasped as she felt the Sheikh pull the sheets away from her breasts and gently begin to kiss her bare chest. “Are you even listening?” she said, covering her nipples with her hands.

  “Your body is made of magical things,” he grunted as he forced her hands away and glanced intently at her bare breasts. “And I am looking at two of them right now. Keep your hands off your breasts, woman. They belong to me now.”

  She giggled and swatted at him, then gasped when his warm lips closed around her right nipple. He sucked hard, again and again, moving to her left breast while pinching her swollen, glistening right nipple. Soon she was moaning uncontrollably beneath his hot, heavy body, and before she knew it her eyes were closed and the Sheikh was beneat
h the covers, his face between her legs, his tongue pushing its way into her as she cried out in ecstasy.

  “Light as a feather,” he gasped from between her thighs, kissing her pussy once more and then rising to his knees and rolling off the bed. He stood there for a moment, naked and hard, every muscle in his body peaked and shining with the effort of the night. Then he leaned over and lifted her in his arms, like she weighed nothing.

  She squealed in surprise at being carried like that, and then she gasped at his strength as he walked with her across the room, crossing the threshold and stepping onto the private metal balcony overlooking the dark waters of the Arabian Sea. The gulls were awake, the sun’s glow lighting the horizon. But the sun was not up yet, and as the Sheikh pushed her against the warm wooden top of the railing, she glanced up and gasped at the sight of a million stars, still bright even though morning approached.

  I am made of stardust, she thought as she looked into the diamond-studded sky. I am magic. And this is my night.

  And as she drifted away, light as a feather, in the arms of her king, in the dark waters those three dolphins swam silently by, three bodies writhing against one another, three souls intertwined.

  61

  “It is just the three of us now,” Diamante said through the night sky.

  Hilda came to with a gasp, the now-familiar inrush of a new woman’s emotions and memories still hitting her so hard she almost passed out. For a moment she wanted to leave this world, to go back to her Sheikh, to be in his arms, death be damned. But she couldn’t, she knew. The previous world had been a training ground, she realized. Both for her and Rahaan. Was he here with her? Where was she, anyway?

  She was seated on a wooden chair, her robes filthy and worn, chains around her ankles, irons holding her wrists firm. Her body hurt. Her heart pounded. Her vision was blurry. Now the memories came rushing in: The band of exiles set upon by a hundred armed horsemen, Princess Diamante at the helm on her black mare. Every man and woman was cut down, leaving just the exiled king and his commoner bride, Rahaan and Hilda.