Wedlocked: Banished Sheikh, Untouched Queen

by Carol Marinelli

  There was.

  Xavian’s large office had a smaller room that adjoined it, one where his PA could work and easily be summoned, but the PA had been temporarily relocated, and the room had been prepared for Layla, following her strict specifications. Her computer was already set up, and a mountain of paperwork waited to greet her, but there was fresh orange blossom in the vases and a jug of sparkling iced water on the table. After Layla walked in she immediately opened the doors to the gardens, but there was a strong breeze, and the ocean was whipping up, so she quickly decided to close them.

  ‘It is rather small,’ she pointed out, because even if she loved him she was still Queen, and on that score she refused to make do.

  ‘I will have something more suitable arranged for the next time you are in residence,’ Xavian responded. ‘I think my staff have done rather well for such short notice.’

  ‘You’ve had years of notice…’ Layla responded crisply. ‘You and your aides all knew you would be marrying a working queen…’

  Xavian sucked in one of his cheeks and stopped himself from biting on his gum. He was not used to being reprimanded. ‘I suppose there is a fully equipped, vast office just waiting for me back in Haydar, for when I am in residence…?’ he replied, with more than a dash of sarcasm.

  ‘Of course there is,’ Layla said, smirking just a touch, enjoying the purse of his lips at her answer. ‘You use a different computer system from myself, but it has been installed for you, and there is paper and envelopes bearing the Royal Qusay Crest, and a seal with your name…’

  ‘I get the picture.’ Xavian said. ‘Okay—yes, this is a bit small, but for the moment you can work in mine, alongside—’

  ‘No, thank you—though I will leave the adjoining door open, if that is okay with you?’

  ‘We can wave to each other…’ Xavian made a thin joke, but Layla had other ideas.

  ‘I won’t have time for waving, Xavian. I would like to get through my work as quickly as possible. We have the formal reception tomorrow; there is much to do.’

  Which told him—again!

  Not that he had time to dwell on it. After the week he had been away, there were a thousand signatures required. But he was looking forward to losing himself in work, to forgetting about guests’ arrivals and the reception tomorrow, instead focusing on what he did best: ruling his kingdom.

  Akmal, having read through the documents, told Xavian the relevant information and awaited his response as other staff trooped in and out. It was a hive of activity—whereas he noticed a couple of hours later, as he drank coffee, that she had refused, obviously preferring to sip at her water rather than take a break with him, Layla worked completely alone.

  He didn’t get it.

  She had brought an entire entourage with her to Qusay—elders, advisors, her maidens, Baja—yet she sought no one’s assistance. He sat watching, liking the tap, tap as she worked on the computer, or the occasional scratch of her pen as she signed off on something or scored a bold line through a page, and he liked the look of deep concentration on her face as she pored over a document.

  He could not take his eyes off her.

  They had completely different working styles. Layla hardly moved, worked silently on, whereas Xavian worked in short, rapid bursts, pacing his office in between, his restless mind working things out. He paused now, watched a helicopter hover for a short time before landing. His lips were dry.

  Work was no longer a sufficient distraction.

  Soon…He could feel it. Soon they would be here.

  He stared at where she sat, but Layla did not look up, so Xavian walked over.

  ‘May I make a suggestion?’ So deep in her work was she, Layla hadn’t heard him come over, and now he sat on the edge of her desk, looking down at her…

  ‘Please do,’ Layla responded, politely but coolly.

  ‘I always have Akmal, or one of my other senior aides, read through things—they highlight the relevant parts. Of course I would prefer to take the time to go through everything personally, but…’ He looked at the document she was holding. ‘May I?’

  His shrewd eyes scanned it in a matter of minutes. ‘Here Akmal would have highlighted the fact that I have already approved the drilling to commence for the new sapphire mine…’ he skimmed the page again ‘…and here is the date that you approved for the opening of the new mine to fund the hospital and pay for doctors…’ He was quite enjoying himself, showing her, helping her see just how much time she was wasting, how doing it the hard way wasn’t always necessary—and anyway, he wanted to take her upstairs and go to bed.

  Actually, ruling was what he did second best!

  ‘There is nothing new in this document; it just requires your signature.’

  ‘No,’ Layla said very deliberately, very slowly. ‘I approved the drilling for a new opal mine—the income from that mine was to fund a teaching hospital…for Haydar to begin the process of educating doctors instead of importing them.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘No, Xavian, you don’t. Your elders and advisors listen to you—I have heard you this morning, giving orders and expecting them to be followed.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘My country resists change. It is my opinion that we have relied on the sapphire mines to support us for too long. Yes, we are wealthy, but we are far from self-sufficent. I shop in Aristo for my clothes; we send our most promising children overseas for higher education. Yes, we have the best doctors, because we rely on the mines to fund them…What happens if the mines do not yield?’

  ‘They are plentiful, though.’

  ‘Or if a vast sapphire mine is discovered here in Qusay?’ Layla offered. ‘We have other exports, of course, but I would like to see Haydar truly flourish and prosper, to be truly self-sufficient—and yet my advisors and elders resist.’ She ran a tired hand over her brow. ‘At every turn they change things, little details that they hope I will not notice…’

  ‘Fire them.’

  ‘I cannot. To appease the people when he did not produce a son, my father passed long and complicated legislation. The elders have considerable weight.’

  ‘But you are Queen,’ Xavian, said. ‘Ultimately you rule.’

  ‘Of course,’ Layla responded. ‘Which is why I check everything, and which is why—’ she gave a short smile that didn’t even turn her lips ‘—I will sit for several more hours, reading paperwork that they hope I am too tired for.’

  She lowered her head and tried to continue reading. He knew he should leave her to work—on any other day he would have—except helicopters were still landing outside, and soon they would be here. He would far rather be here with her than alone with his thoughts, Xavian decided, playing with a strand of her hair.

  ‘Leave it for now, Layla.’

  ‘I cannot,’ Layla said, biting her lip as his hand slipped under her hair and now stroked the back of her neck. ‘In time, as you slowly come to understand the ways of Haydar…’ He stood now, and still she did not look up. The words she had to read blurred on the page as he lifted her hair. She felt his lips on the back of her neck and how she wanted to turn to him, to ask for his help, to trust him with her burden. But she had trusted once before: Noor’s husband, Ahmed, her own brother-in-law. A prince himself, he had shouldered some of the burden, till the elders had worked their ways on him too, reminding him of his guilty secret and the shame it would cause if it got out. But Ahmed was weak, Layla reminded herself, whereas Xavian was strong.

  His warm lips nuzzled her neck, and how she wanted to leave the paperwork, to be with him—to be a wife.

  ‘Just leave it for now, Layla, surely it can wait…?’

  And she glimpsed it then—the impossibility of it all. Xavian’s first duty was to Qusay—or right now his first duty was satisfying his ardour. What did he care if she signed away a hard fought-for hospital so long as he got his way?

  ‘Surely you can wait?’

  ‘Tonight we have to sleep apart…’
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  Xavian reminded her of the annoying custom that, even though they were married, on the night before the formal reception she was to be readied as if a new bride. His hands were on her breasts now as still he kissed her neck, stroking them, cupping them through the fabric. She could feel her panties damp…she wanted to rest back against his body…except she could not, must not give in and rest awhile in his arms—duty had to come first.

  ‘I am trying to work, Xavian!’ Her voice came out too brittle, and she jerked her body away too sharply, but it was either that or succumb.

  ‘Then work,’ Xavian said tartly, and as he left her alone with her precious documents he was not best pleased. He was not used to strong women, nor to women who refused his advances.

  He walked over to the window and silently fumed, seeing but not focusing on the arriving guests. The thick glass silenced the buzz of the helicopter rotors, the noise of royals and their aides spilling out on the manicured lawn…But then his mind stopped thinking about work, and about a wife who sometimes did not act like one—his blood turned to ice as Queen Stefania stepped out…How she had changed. Gone were the frumpy creations she had worn in the early days of her marriage to King Zakari—now, even having just had a baby, she was sleek and well groomed. But it was only a passing glance he gave her…His eyes were fixed on the helicopter door, and he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, his hands bunched into fists as he waited. Then suddenly there he was.

  King Zakari Al’Farisi, dressed in a pale blue robe, strode across the lawn and caught up with his wife. She must have said something that pleased him, because he smiled and then looked up at the palace, looked straight up to the window where Xavian stood. Though he knew it was impossible, knew no one could see in, Xavian stepped back. He knew they would soon be inside the palace now, and his breath was coming rapidly through his nostrils because his jaw was clamped together. The dread that had been chasing him, swirling around him for so long, had captured him now, enclosing him…And then he turned and saw Layla, oblivious, calm, and he wanted her in a different way.

  ‘Layla!’

  She glanced up and he saw her frown. He wanted her to come over to the window, to show her, to tell her—and then there was a knock at the door and Akmal came in. Xavian felt as if he lived in a goldfish bowl at times—a vast, luxurious one, perhaps, but a goldfish bowl all the same.

  ‘Wait till I tell you to enter!’ Xavian snapped, and Layla felt her cheeks pinken at how embarrassing it might have been had Akmal walked in just a few minutes earlier—or, worse, if she had given in to her own secret wishes and Xavian’s demands.

  ‘I apologise, Sire, but I wanted to inform you that King Zakari of Calista and Queen Stefania of Aristo have arrived.’

  ‘We are expecting many guests,’ Xavian answered evenly, but there was something in his voice that had Layla’s eyes snap to him. She could see a muscle leaping in his cheek as he continued, ‘I do not need to be informed when people arrive—it is customary that we greet them tomorrow, at the formal reception.’

  ‘They have asked if they may dine with you tonight,’ Akmal went on boldly. ‘Of course it is irregular, but these are the rulers of the Kingdom of Adamas.’

  ‘No.’ He gave no elaboration, no qualification, just a straight no.

  ‘Perhaps I could suggest that you meet for refreshments this afternoon? Only they have to fly back to Calista straight after the reception. They have asked that I explain that their son, Prince Zafir, is too young to be left for long.’

  ‘No.’ Again Xavian’s response was direct, and he dismissed a worried-looking Akmal, who now somehow had to soften his King’s rude refusal.

  ‘It might be nice to dine with them…’ Layla suggested once they were alone. She knew better than to argue in front of Akmal. ‘Or just to spend a little time with them. Perhaps they can offer us some advice—after all, they too rule two separate lands…’

  ‘I have given my answer.’

  ‘The invitation extends to both of us.’ Layla would not be silenced. ‘I would love to accept.’

  ‘You will follow my wishes,’ Xavian retorted sharply. ‘In my palace, in my home, you will follow my rules.’

  ‘I follow my own rules, Xavian.’ She stood defiant before him. ‘Don’t try and pull rank on me just to get your way. There is surely time at least to take refreshments with them?’

  ‘I thought you said that you had to work,’ Xavian retorted. ‘You made it clear that you are too busy to spend time with me, to satisfy me, and yet you are happy to make small talk with strangers.’

  ‘Satisfy you!’ She bristled at his choice of words. ‘Is that what I’m here for?’

  ‘We are supposed to be producing an heir…’ Xavian said nastily. ‘I am sure your people would rather you concentrated on getting pregnant than worried about some hospital or how Haydar will spend its billions.’ She was too stunned to deliver a response, so, savagely he continued. ‘I suggest that you need to sort out your priorities, Layla—because, frankly, they’re shot!’

  And with that he stalked out. Layla blinked as he slammed the heavy door behind him. She had no idea what had just happened—there was no warning of these black moods; they just swept in from nowhere—yet she refused to run after him, even if it meant she wouldn’t see him now till the reception.

  She sat down and picked up her documents, willing herself to concentrate even though her hands were shaking, even though her heart was hammering. But she couldn’t. Putting down the documents, she rested her head in her hands. Oh, his words had stung, and she was a long way from trusting him with her burdens, but there was something else that knotted her stomach, something else that had fingers of dread squeezing around her heart.

  There was something seriously wrong. She knew it.

  She closed her eyes, cast her mind back to the last time Xavian had been like this, when he had suddenly chosen to go deep into the desert…They had been in the bath—talking, bathing, laughing, loving, sharing…

  And then she looked up—looked up unseeing, blinking a couple of times. She had been talking about the coronation, the night she had stood beside him and he hadn‘t even known she was there, talking about Queen Stefania and King Zakari that time too.

  But it made no sense—how could rulers from another land, people he barely knew, affect him so?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HE HAD dreaded this day.

  Xavian did not wake, because he had not slept. He had been tempted, on so many levels, to break with tradition and join Layla—had even walked down the corridor. But Baja had sat outside the bedroom, guarding the Queen, assuring that she rested, and her currant eyes had held his for a long, silent moment before Xavian had retreated.

  For months Xavian had dreaded this—not his wedding, but the reception.

  Since the Aristan coronation, in fact. Lining up at the Aristan palace, waiting to greet the newly crowned Queen, he had had little idea of what awaited him.

  There had been moments prior to that, of course. Sometimes over the years he would turn the wrong way in a corridor and there would be a small flash of confusion, when the door he was expecting wasn’t there and then, there had always been the dreams.

  Dreams that even as a child had troubled him, though they were not nightmares. Xavian had never ridden a horse, yet in his dreams he did—could feel the powerful movement of the beast, could hear his brothers laughing.

  He was dreaming of what he yearned for, his mother had explained, for the brothers she could not give him and the horses that she forbade.

  And it had made sense.

  Till the coronation.

  Glancing down the line-up, he had felt his eyes drawn to King Zakari—to a face that somehow he knew well—and he had felt dread rising. Then he had realised he was not alone with this feeling, because as the Queen had greeted him Xavian had seen the shock on Stefania’s face, the question in her eyes as they met his. Such shock that she had paled and almost fainted. Zakari had stepped in then
, had swept her away without even a glance towards Xavian.

  It should have been forgotten.

  But then the letters had started.

  And telephone calls too.

  Sometimes an invitation.

  All of them he had ignored—yet now duty gave him no choice but to face them.

  Xavian was usually happiest when alone and pensive, but today he didn’t want to think—he had even inspected the ballroom where the function would take place, just to fill his time. Today he could not stand to be alone. This day would be impossible without Layla there with him.

  Usually he gave no thought to a row, but he felt a rare need to put things right, to have her by his side today for reasons other than duty.

  Until Layla he had known nothing of true need—all his desires, be they thirst, women or power, were instantly met—yet with Layla there was no ending. The need remained. A different need—an endless need—and one he could not explain.

  Once shaven and bathed, and with too many hours till he saw Layla again, Xavian’s patience ran out as Akmal came in to go through the finer details.

  ‘Here is the Qusay emerald necklace.’ He opened the box for Xavian’s sighting. ‘The Queen will wear this tonight.’

  Xavian looked at the glittering jewels that were to be worn by the wife of the Qusay King at all official functions. It was a clear show of wealth, the finest stones had been cut and polished to display the best of Qusay, and surely he should be the one to give it to her?

  ‘I will give it to Layla myself.’

  ‘She is to wear it this evening, though.’ Akmal pointed out. ‘She is being prepared…’

  ‘Then I will take it to her now.’

  His eyes dared Akmal to argue. He was tired of tradition, Xavian told himself as he summoned his dresser and put on the royal wedding robes—it was a stupid tradition anyway, he decided, as his kafeya was secured with thick gold braid. They were already husband and wife; why should they be kept apart? He was King, he made the rules, and surely, he thought, as he walked through the corridors to her door, it was a better tradition that he, the ruler, presented her with this gift.