The Sheikh’s Royal Seduction: Desert Sheikhs Book One

by North, Leslie

  Minutes or maybe an hour passed by. A scuffling at his feet made his eyes pop open. Timak gently shook his arm. “Sir. The guards need you outside the enclosure.”

  Zatar scrambled to his feet, eyes burning with exhaustion. He staggered after Timak, the enclosure gate clanging shut behind him as he greeted two guards outside.

  Before he could speak, both guards took a knee before him.

  Zatar blinked lazily, his mind not able to fully comprehend the sight. The guards never kneeled for him. Only for his father. Inside the enclosure, Alex was awake and curious, her bright eyes flitting between him and the guard.

  “Your highness.”

  Zatar lifted a brow. They never referred to him this way either. “Speak.”

  “We have some tragic news to share.” The leader of the palace guards bowed his head, his dark robes flowing down around him. “The King’s helicopter crashed as it was taking off from Cote d'Azur Airport in Nice, France. There were unfortunately no survivors.”

  Zatar blinked, his mind still struggling to fully wake up.

  “You are now the king of Kattahar.”

  Zatar stared at the palace guard for a long time. So long that Alex approached him, shaking him gently through the enclosure bars.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled, and dismissed the guard. The news cycled strangely inside him. Alex slipped through the gate, wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and pulled him tight against her.

  “Zatar, I’m so sorry.”

  Tears threatened at the corners of his eyes, but none made the leap. He frowned down at the ground, half hugging Alex with one arm. His entire body felt dull and useless. The guard’s words churned inside him, and Zatar could not settle on a single emotion. Shock melted into grief into relief into anger.

  Anger about what remained unsaid, the ways in which his father deserved something for the disrespect paid to his late mother. Relief that now the obstacles were gone. The ridiculous rules and restrictions were magically dissolved. And shock, because maybe he’d misheard. Maybe this wasn’t real at all.

  Zatar melted into Alex’s embrace, the only thing that could anchor him in this moment.

  14

  Alex ran her hand over the silky bedspread the next day, trying to memorize the stitches in the mauve fabric. They looked done individually. Probably everything in this palace was hand crafted, specifically for this family. She smiled wistfully out over the room.

  It was time to say goodbye—if only she could see Zatar one more time to actually say it. Zatar had been whisked away immediately after hearing the news of his father’s death to begin the transition and prepare for his coronation ceremony. Not seeing him for over twenty-four hours had left an empty place in her core. She’d gotten so used to his presence so quickly. And now she was here, packing her things in her bedroom, unsure what to do with the sudden unrestricted freedom in a palace where her duties had come to an abrupt end.

  It only seemed right to leave. Sala and her cubs were well. Zatar was in mourning or something like it. Not to mention being in charge of an entire country suddenly. She frowned as she folded her few items of clothing. Besides, she had other clients to tend to. Paris needed her. She stared at her luggage.

  Okay, so that was a lie. Paris couldn’t give a shit if she came back. And other clients? Well, she’d sacrifice a few of them to stay here a while longer. She looked at the door, hoping for someone, anyone, to come through and tell her that Zatar needed her. Was looking for her. Was desperate for her to stay.

  God. She’d never felt so low in her life. She heaved a big sigh, flopping belly first onto the bed, grabbing the comforter as if it might somehow allow her to stay. Whatever was going on inside her heart with Zatar was crazy. Insane. Totally illogical. She heaved another sigh. But calling it crazy didn’t make it any less real.

  Did she love him? Tears pricked her eyes as she thought again about leaving. Never seeing him again. She played out a scenario in her head: silently leaving the palace without even a trace of Zatar except the healing scratches from Sala, their magical week relegated to a painful memory of just how fulfilling having a friend, lover, and partner might feel.

  Dread shuddered through her. That didn’t seem right. This had just been a regular call to assist a client, but it had turned into so much more. Home, even. Not the palace as much as Zatar.

  She groaned, pushing herself up. This was getting out of control now. She was worse than Juliet. If she flew back to Paris, she would be fine in a few days. Or weeks. Possibly months, if she was as lovesick as she feared.

  When she thought back on their time together, it had a gauzy quality, like it had already been glazed over with dreaminess, even the initial imprisonment, which would make a great meet cute story for their kids and grandkids someday. She nodded, looking around. Maybe this was a dream. She could have been knocked out by a Bengal tiger somewhere in Saudi Arabia. Kattahar might be a figment of her imagination. All this desperation to save Sala just a whimsy of her subconscious.

  A knock sounded on her door. She tripped over the carpet as she ran to open it, her shoulder grazing the door. With a groan, she pulled open the door.

  Zatar stood, an amused look on his face, sexier than hell in crimson robes.

  “Wow,” she whispered, rubbing her shoulder. “Look at you.”

  His grin was contagious. “Are you okay?”

  “Just fell.” She shrugged. “Do I have to, like, kneel when I see you now?”

  “Well, I’m not the sort of king who will demand it,” he said, reaching for her hand. His gaze flicked over her shoulder. A line formed between his eyes. “Are you packing?”

  She jerked her head into a nod, avoiding his gaze. This felt awkward. Terribly awkward. What right did she have to expect to stay?

  “I figured that it was time for me to go. Sala is better. You’re…the king now. I mean…”

  He shook his head, cupping her face with his hands. “Wait for me. We will talk. I’m on my way to the coronation ceremony now. Will you attend?”

  Her mouth parted. “I…Wearing this?” She gestured down at her plain clothes. “I can’t watch you get coronated looking like I just waltzed in from the grocery store!”

  His soft chuckle warmed her insides. “It doesn’t matter. You can stay in the back, if you’d prefer. Or we can give you a shawl. One that my mother used to wear.”

  She softened, the idea striking her as particularly heartfelt. Important, even. “Sure.”

  “I’ll have an attendant bring it to you, and then he’ll show you to the ceremony. Stay here. I must be off.” He kissed the top of her hand and then hurried down the hall, his shiny alligator shoes scuffing softly against the marble floor.

  Alex wrung her hands as she waited for someone to show up. A coronation ceremony—yet another situation where everything happening so fast made her highly uneasy. She needed at least a week to mentally prepare for something like this. Combined with the little sleep two nights running, she was jittery and drifting. And it was barely noon. What else might this crazy day throw her way?

  When the attendant showed up at her door, Alex whooshed a sigh of relief. The shawl in his hands shimmered orange and red with ornate streaks stitched in that looked like actual gold fibers. A breath escaped her as she swished the shawl from one hand to the other. Good lord, this was nice. The man waited patiently outside her room as she shrugged the shawl on, and then stepped into the richly adorned green skirt that accompanied it. Sequins rimmed the skirt; a sewn in belt was studded with actual gemstones. It fit perfectly, as though it had been tailor made for her.

  She gasped when she looked at herself in the mirror. If she wasn’t coronation ready before, she was now. She turned from side to side, admiring the way the fabrics fell around her. She’d gone from grungy veterinarian to Kattaharan princess in the blink of an eye. She hurried into the bathroom, applied a quick coat of foundation and a bit of eye makeup, and then rushed out to follow the attendant.

  She had a corona
tion ceremony to attend, and God help her if she didn’t witness the man she loved become king.

  * * *

  Zatar’s stomach flopped as he beheld the crowd attending the ceremony. The octagonal room overlooking the palace garden bustled and thrummed as people took their seats. This room was specifically for coronations and nothing else. The last was around the time of Zatar’s birth. Gold Arabic script circled the sky-blue walls just beneath the ceiling—ancient blessings and exhortations for the new sheikh—and white pilasters at each corner bore the symbols of the ruling family—crown, baton, fountain, falcon, scroll, scales of justice, open hands, and lion. Though the air smelled musty, with a hint of lavender from the servants’ quick freshening, the room itself felt timeless and sacred.

  For such short notice, they’d managed to drum up an admirable crowd. As soon as Patar’s death had been announced to family and the Kattaharan parliament, the news went out first to local press and then foreign journalists in the country. A few members of Zatar’s extended family had made the trip as soon as they’d found out, as well as dignitaries from neighboring countries. He suspected nobody was sorry that Patar had passed.

  He scanned the crowd for Alex. No sign. He cleared his throat, straightening his back as the Chief Magistrate prepared to begin. He had no recollection of his father’s coronation, of course, so he’d be relying heavily on the guidance of the magistrate and the single walk-through of the ceremony they’d managed to squeeze into the short, hectic hours since his father’s death.

  A hush fell over the audience. The magistrate’s deep voice filled the room, sounding more like a chant than an introduction. Zatar fell into something of a trance as he listened to the proceedings, stepping forward when instructed to, offering hands to receive the hereditary baton, and kneeling at the foot of the throne when the magistrate commanded.

  The next time Zatar’s gaze swept over the crowd, he spotted Alex. She was crying and smiling; just the sight of her prompted him to grin mid-ceremony. She flicked her wrist at him, as though urging him to focus and stop looking at her.

  After more intonations, a group oath, and then the final laying on of hands that made him king, the room exploded with applause. Zatar faced the crowd as king, his body vibrating with the enormity of this day.

  When the hubbub calmed, the press was allowed to snap photos and ask questions. Most questions came at him in English—standard things that foreign newspapers would report on, like what he planned for the Kattaharan economy and whether he and his father had always disagreed about the exportation of oil.

  Toward the end, a French reporter stood and asked, “Now that you are king, when does the queen arrive?”

  A titter of laughter cycled through the room. Zatar’s heart swelled, recognizing this window of opportunity.

  “Well, she’s already arrived, in fact.” Zatar’s gaze landed on Alex, whose mouth slowly formed an O. “But if I divulge much more, then I’ll ruin the surprise of asking her to be my queen.”

  Alex stood rigid and red faced in the back, but all he could do was flash her a grin and finish out the questions. Every cell of his being itched to go to her, to continue that train of thought—but not until they were alone.

  Once all the journalists had been addressed, his friend Alair Sabar stepped forward. Hands in his pockets, he had a knowing smile on his sun-worn face.

  “Old friend.” Alair clapped Zatar on the shoulder. “Congratulations. And I’m sorry about your father.”

  “We will mourn, but the country will be better off now.” Zatar squeezed his friend’s arm. “Thank you for coming. And I still owe you for the use of your jet.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Alair paused, looking Zatar up and down. “In fact, I’m ready to claim my favor.”

  Zatar’s stomach cinched. Here it was. Who knew what the millionaire might request of him? “Tell me.”

  “I want to be the godfather,” he said in a low voice, searing Zatar with a look. “Whenever you and this lovely lady get around to it…promise me.”

  Relief flooded him, and all he could do was laugh. “Of course. Consider it done.”

  “Then consider the debt repaid.” Alair clapped him on the shoulder again and winked before heading out of the coronation room, which had started to empty. Zatar whispered to an attendant to bring Alex to the preparation room immediately.

  Zatar excused himself, escaping into the small alcove behind the coronation room. He removed his headpiece, sighing heavily. The thing weighed a ton, a potent symbol of the weight of responsibility now on his shoulders.

  But the future of his country would come later. Right now, he needed to secure his own future.

  Alex appeared a moment later, still flushed and radiating nervousness. When the door closed behind her, they stood watching each other, an indefinable tension cinching the air tight between them.

  “Alex—”

  “Yes,” she breathed at the same time he spoke. Her eyes were pinched shut and she looked like she might dissolve into pieces. He laughed softly, crossing the distance between them, gathering her into his arms.

  “What did you think I was going to say?” he asked, running his thumb along her jaw.

  She gulped, meeting his gaze hesitantly. “Either you were about to break the news that you’re betrothed to someone else…or…”

  “Or…?” He replaced his thumb with soft kisses. She shivered underneath his touch.

  “Or you were going to ask me to stay for dinner.”

  He caught the amusement in her voice and pulled back to look at her, her blue eyes sparkling. He grinned so hard it felt like his cheeks would split open.

  “You’re right. Please stay for dinner. For every dinner, for the rest of our lives.” He paused, searching her face, knowing down to his bones that he’d never tire of looking at her, of feeling her beneath him, of spending the days by her side. “It doesn’t have to happen now. But Alex, I want to make you my queen.”

  She sucked in a breath, her eyes filling with tears.

  In a soft voice, he added, “Will you marry me?”

  “Pfft! Of course I will!” She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. “What, do you really think I’m gonna say no? I love you, Zatar. Even if it’s crazy and whirlwind and makes no sense at all.”

  Bliss thrummed through him, every ounce of his being confirming her words, vibrating in the truth of their union. He hugged her so tight his vision went spotty. “It makes perfect sense. It was meant to be.”

  She pulled back, her laughter ripping through the air. “And to think what would have happened if it had really been a male Alex when you called that day!”

  Zatar threaded his fingers through hers. “It just goes to show you. Fate brought you to me. Sala brought you to me.”

  He pressed his lips to hers, the first kiss of the rest of their lives together.

  End of The Sheikh’s Royal Seduction

  Desert Sheikhs Book One

  The Sheikh’s Royal Seduction, 13 September 2018

  The Sheikha’s Unexpected Protector, 20 September 2018

  The Sheikh’s American Fiancée, 27 September 2018

  PS: Do you love passionate Sheikhs? Then keep reading for exclusive extracts from The Sheikha’s Unexpected Protector and The Sheikh’s Diamond.

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  About Leslie

  Leslie North is the USA Today Bestselling pen name for a critically-acclaimed author of women's contemporary romance and fiction. The anonymity gives her the perfect opportunity to paint with her full artistic palette, especially in the romance and erotic fantasy genres.

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  BLURB

  He once destroyed her life; now he’s getting the chance to save it.

  Princess Salari moved to Paris after her father, the king of Kattahar, exiled her. But when she hears about his sudden death, she’s ready to come home. After ten years away, she’s stunned by the sight of Kalif, the man who destroyed her life. Her former childhood friend and the only man to ever break her heart has morphed into the sexiest royal guardsman she’s ever seen. Although she refuses to even entertain the thought of falling for his seductive glances again, she won’t have a chance to avoid him. Someone doesn’t want Salari back in the palace, and they’ll stop at nothing to make sure she ends up dead. With no choice but to accept Kalif’s protection, she’ll have to guard her heart against the one man who can destroy it.

  Kalif Nazat never expected to be tasked with guarding Princess Salari. She still despises him, despite his attempts to apologize for his part in her exile. He’d had no good options that day ten years ago, and even the lesser of two evils had terrible consequences for the only woman he’d ever loved. But with someone wishing Salari dead, he figures keeping her alive is the only way he can redeem himself. As the killer closes in, he’ll risk his life to keep her safe, and in turn risk losing his heart forever.

  Grab your copy of The Sheikha’s Unexpected Protector from