She cleared her throat, frowning slightly as she blinked down at the sparkling gem nestled against her pale skin. ‘Thank you.’
Khal was suddenly very aware of the intimacy of their position. He stood, clasping both hands together. ‘We will stop first in Monteverre for a brief press conference, followed by an engagement party. The wedding will take place as quickly as possible, but likely will be in a few months’ time to allow for planning and invitations.’
Cressida frowned. ‘Oh... I hadn’t realised the wedding would be a big event.’
‘There is usually some fanfare when a King takes a woman to be his Queen.’ Khal fought the urge to laugh.
‘I was under the impression from your secretary that we would be married quickly, that’s all. That time was important to you.’
‘You have an objection to the timing of the marriage?’
‘No, not at all. The sooner the better, really.’ She shrugged. ‘I just thought there would be some kind of spin put on it. A secret elopement or something.’
‘You do not want a big public wedding?’
‘Well, it’s just... No offence, but you are hardly the most public of figures and I clearly have not lived in the spotlight. It might seem odd if we suddenly announce a big wedding. I don’t even know who I would invite, other than my family.’
Khal frowned, considering the logic in her words. The plan had originally been formed to account for his first bride—it was true that Princess Olivia was much more of a public figure in the media than her reclusive sister. Once again, it seemed his plans were being thrown to the winds. But perhaps, this time, a change in direction might benefit him and help him to make up for lost time.
* * *
Cressida noticed that the Sheikh seemed suddenly distracted as he called for one of his assistants to show her to her room. She barely had a moment to bid him goodnight before she was swept away and shown into a luxurious bedroom. A fresh silky towelling robe and slippers lay draped on the bed and she wasted no time in stripping out of her tight dress and heels before flopping onto the giant bed in the most un-princess-like manner possible.
The events of the night seemed surreal in her exhausted state. Almost as if she was living in some alternate reality of her own life. She raised her hand into the air above her head, staring at the ruby glinting on her finger. He had slid the ring on her finger with such businesslike finality, and yet the touch of his skin on hers had set her pulse racing.
She closed her eyes against the onslaught of memories from the hours before. The feel of his hands on her waist as they’d moved to the music, that first electric touch of his lips against hers. She would never let him know that he had been her first kiss; that would make it matter somehow.
Which it didn’t. It had just been a kiss. She closed her eyes, repeating the words silently to herself and letting the tiredness take over.
* * *
She was awoken before dawn and told that they would be travelling to the airfield immediately. The sky was still jet-black and the air frosty as she ascended the steps to a luxury jet bearing the Royal insignia of Zayyar. The Sheikh was already on board and conversing with a team of men and women in traditional Zayyari attire. He had changed into white robes and the elaborate headdress she had seen in pictures.
She was thankful that he’d had the foresight to have a small case of her belongings collected and delivered to her room during the night so that she didn’t have to wear the red dress again. She had not expected him to think of her comforts. Or, more realistically, it was his assistant who had thought of her. She took a seat near the front of the plane, swiping through the news on her phone as she waited for the meeting to end.
‘Cressida,’ a familiar deep voice called to her from within the cocoon of staff.
She stood, making her way down the wide aisle to the long conference table in the middle of the aircraft. The men and women of his staff bowed their heads, moving away and revealing their King, seated at the top of the table surrounded by official documents and paraphernalia.
‘I had not realised you planned to fly to Monteverre at first light,’ she said breathlessly, fidgeting with the hem of her simple white blouse. She felt ridiculously underdressed in her blue jeans and worn sneakers. Her more expensive royal attire was sadly out of date, considering she had not attended anything as Princess Cressida in years.
‘Change of plan.’ He looked up for the first time, pausing to sweep his gaze over her briefly. ‘We fly directly to Zayyar.’
‘You are not taking me home first?’
‘I thought it best to take you home after we are married. Which will now be in two days’ time.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘TWO DAYS? AS IN forty-eight hours from now?’
Khal had kept his tone deliberately neutral, taking in her pleasantly flushed cheeks and tied back hair. She looked younger without all the make-up from the night before, her ash-blonde hair was now swept neatly back from her face in a tight elastic band. The austere style only served to draw more attention to her wide-set blue eyes and porcelain skin. Of course, the red dress of last night had been more expertly cut to show off her curves than the plain blouse and casual jeans she now wore but he could still see the delicate dip and flare of her waist. If he thought hard enough, he could remember how good those curves had felt under his hands only hours before...
Redirecting his wayward thoughts, he cleared his throat and focused on the papers in front of him. ‘That is correct,’ he said coolly. ‘I ran your suggestion past my team last night, after you went to bed, and they took it quite to heart. It seems you may have averted us from a mistaken course of action indeed.’
‘My suggestion?’ she breathed, her eyes growing wider still.
‘The change in PR operation, of course. You alone spotted the likely backlash in public opinion. You were absolutely right to question it.’ He nodded in her direction as though congratulating her on acing a project rather than bumping forward an entire wedding. ‘You did say that you would prefer to get married as soon as possible.’
‘Yes... I did say that.’ She moved to a nearby seat and sat down heavily. She looked ashen all of a sudden, small and fragile in the large leather chair that cocooned her.
‘You have an entire bedroom to yourself for the duration of the flight,’ he said, motioning to a set of doors at the end of the main cabin. ‘You can’t have got very much sleep last night.’
She pursed her lips slightly. ‘Thank you. I could do with some more rest.’
Khal felt a momentary flash of conscience as she disappeared through the doors but pushed it away. He had done what was necessary in bringing forward the date. He had made the best decision to protect his deal. The sudden sense of urgency he’d felt—to take her far away from the life she had led in London and back to his kingdom—was purely down to expediting matters and avoiding any more risk of her going back on the agreement. The sooner Princess Cressida was his wife, the sooner he could get back to the business of growing his kingdom’s influence and doing what he did best.
Khal took the time alone to gather his thoughts, trying to shift the uncomfortable sensation that had settled in his gut. He felt completely unhinged, as though everything he had believed of himself was being challenged. This entire marriage debacle had done nothing but challenge him from the moment his advisors had suggested it as a solution to their problem with European trade.
From the start he had not been able to deny that an alliance with Monteverre made sense. The global perception of his country was vastly outdated, harking back to their war-torn history. Zayyar had enjoyed an age of peace and prosperity for almost a quarter of a century and still they hit wall after wall when it came to foreign politics. Monteverre was one of the oldest nations in the Western world; it had influence and sway and, best of all, it desperately needed help in the form of cash investments, due to years of spendin
g far beyond its means. It was simple mathematics.
What was not quite so simple was the old Zayyari law that demanded a marital alliance between two high-born members of aligning kingdoms. His advisors had already been fighting a backlash from the older generation, who disagreed with their country’s changing landscape. He needed a bride if he wished to avoid public uproar. Thankfully, King Fabian had assured him that arranged marriage for the royal descendants was still a firm practice in his kingdom. Khal was not overly fond of the King, but he had not believed him capable of coercing his own daughter to the point that she would run away to avoid a proposal.
Cressida had assured him that she was not being coerced as her sister had been, yet still he wondered what personal reasons drove her to accept a political arrangement. Clearly she had a strong sense of loyalty to her kingdom and her family. It did not take much imagination to picture her by his side, swathed in silks and jewels, hosting lunches and balls in the Zayyari grand palace for hundreds of guests from all over the globe.
The trouble was, he had imagined a cold marriage. So far, his response to his fiancée had been far from cold. He’d had a true marriage once, built on the foundations of love and companionship. He had no desire to try to recreate that, for many reasons.
But the attraction between them was a complication he had not foreseen. Five minutes with her in his arms and he had practically pulled her to the nearest private area, needing more. She had felt so good in his arms. Too good.
The moment that he had realised she was completely oblivious to his identity he had felt something awaken inside him that he had long buried. Suddenly his quiet political marriage had seemed a lot less straightforward. He had planned to sit and keep watch until she decided to leave of her own accord. Then someone had tried to dance with her and that small primitive part of him he tried his best to suppress had roared to life, moving in to claim what was his.
So much for changing his image of ruthless desert King.
He had not expected to be physically interested in the woman he married; it was not necessary to the arrangement, after all. His head was not usually turned by long legs and a short dress. But the moment he’d had her body pressed against his, he had felt his libido emerge from its self-imposed hibernation with a vengeance. He’d been possessed by the mad urge to press his lips to the soft parts of her neck and continue down... It had shocked him, the need.
The wedding would take place in two days. This time he had made sure of it. An iron-clad contract of law bound Princess Cressida to their agreement. If she went back on her promise, his financial investments into Monteverre’s failing economy became null and void. Perhaps it was severe, but he couldn’t take a chance on her backing out of the marriage just like her sister had. Not when the future of two countries lay in the balance. He was not a patient man, quite the opposite. He liked things to be done precisely when he planned. Soon he could get back to more important matters in his own kingdom.
* * *
Cressida tried to stifle a gasp as the helicopter lowered swiftly to the ground, depositing them on a crop of barren flatlands on the very outskirts of the Zayyari desert. Despite her attack of anxiety at the news that she would become Queen so soon, she had surprisingly managed to sleep for almost five hours before waking with a ferocious hunger. The rest of the flight had been spent nibbling on snacks and perusing some of the books she had found on board about her new home, the desert kingdom of Zayyar. It had been a smooth trip from the private airstrip and she had presumed that they would arrive directly at the palace in the centre of Zayyar’s capital city of the same name. Her Internet research had provided her with some basic facts of what to expect from her new home, but nothing could have prepared her for the heat. Her blouse already felt damp on her back as Khal helped her out of the SUV and into the direct glare of the burning hot sun.
She had covered her hair with a pale pink scarf before they exited the jet, provided by one of his many assistants. In general, Zayyar was rather cosmopolitan for the Middle East; they did not enforce modesty among the women of its population. But apparently where they were going for their wedding ceremony was a sacred place. It was all very mysterious.
‘We continue on horseback from here.’ Khal’s voice was gruff and sleep-worn as he gestured to where his guards had already begun to mount impressively large dark steeds. ‘You will ride with me.’
She gulped, taking in the sheer size of the animal before her. She had never been one for horseback riding as a girl. But, before she could object, strong arms gripped her hips tight and she felt herself being swung up onto the saddle as though she weighed nothing at all. The hard warmth of the Sheikh’s chest pressed tight to her back as he settled behind her and she felt her body tense. The effort of keeping her eyes on the horizon was a welcome distraction as they began a swift gallop across the sand. There was no sound around them other than the beating of hooves on the dry desert plain. Gone was the hustle and bustle of city life she had grown used to, the noise she had used to distract her just as much as the books she lived inside. The air she breathed in was warm and fragrant, reaching deep within her and calming her raging heartbeat.
The thought that she had spent the past five years in one city was suddenly ludicrous. There had been a whole world outside her self-imposed cage, waiting to be explored. They crossed the endless expanse of sand for almost an hour; her thighs ached from stopping herself from relaxing back into the warmth of the hard male chest behind her. She still thought of him as the Sheikh, she realised. Surely one should be on first name terms with the man you were about to marry? He shifted his body behind her in the saddle, keeping the horse in pace. She felt gravity press her backwards until every inch of her back was plastered to his hard torso. All at once she felt the heat of him seep into her skin, sending goosebumps down her arms. It took all her strength not to dart away from the sensation, away from the overwhelming urge to sink further into it.
Clearing her throat, she turned her head to dart a quick look up at him. Her throat dried at the vision of his hard jaw in profile as he focused on guiding the powerful stallion up the dunes. Clearly he was not as affected by the ride as she.
All thoughts of him were momentarily curbed as their small party crested the last dune and a vision of beauty spread out in the valley below them. Golden sands gave way to the lush green paradise of a small oasis. Nestled in the middle of trees and ancient stone pillars were colourful Bedouin-style tents and temporary structures.
‘Welcome to the sacred ground of Old Zayyar,’ the Sheikh announced beside her ear. One strong arm snaked around her waist to hold her in place as they began their descent down the steep rocky hillside. They were greeted by a crowd of men and women in traditional robes and clothing, the men in elaborate headdresses and the women adorned in beautiful paints and jewels.
Men banged drums as the Sheikh dismounted and lifted her down to the ground in one powerful movement. She felt entirely out of place in her T-shirt and jeans combo.
‘This is your bridal party,’ the Sheikh said softly in her ear over the sound of the music and babbling. ‘My young cousins speak a little English. You will be taken care of.’
A young woman stepped forward as if on cue, bowing low. Cressida shook her head and raised her hand, preparing to tell the woman not to make such a fuss.
‘You are to be my Queen, Cressida.’ He spoke once more. ‘Be prepared to be treated as such.’
She nodded, straightening her shoulders as the rest of the women in the crowd bowed low in the same fashion. Her chest tightened with anxiety, feeling so many eyes on her, but she forced herself to take a step forward and then another, following the young woman into a large tent and leaving the rest of the crowd, and the Sheikh, behind.
* * *
Evidently it was customary for her to meet and join hands with every single woman in the tribe, each one offering what she hoped were kind words in their native t
ongue as they inked delicate patterns of henna on her skin. The women seemed warm and welcoming, despite the language barrier between them. She was acutely aware of her own plain Western clothing amongst their colourful draped fabrics. She caught more than one woman staring or whispering behind her hand when they thought she was not looking.
Her self-appointed assistant, Aisha, was a young woman of around twenty who had begun studying English only the year before. In between the courses of their evening meal, Aisha told her how she had sourced books and studied alone for a time before applying for a scholarship to university.
‘The Sheikh’s first wife was a great patron of female education. I thank her in my prayers each morning and night,’ Aisha gushed before biting her lip suddenly. ‘Oh, how thoughtless of me to mention such a delicate matter on the eve of your wedding!’
Far from being offended, Cressida’s curiosity was piqued. She had already seen from her online research that the Sheikh had been married once before. That his wife had died in a tragic car accident four years previously. He had not mentioned her in any of their conversations so far and she did not see the point in bringing up what was likely to still be a delicate subject. ‘I confess that I don’t know very much about the late Sheikha. I have read that she was much beloved?’
‘Sheikha Priya.’ The young girl nodded, a wistful smile crossing her lips. ‘She was...truly beautiful. She helped many people...’ Tears filled the young woman’s eyes and she wiped them away, apologising profusely.
‘Please, don’t apologise. Her death must have come as quite a shock to everyone.’ Cressida felt her chest tighten as she offered a napkin to the young woman.
‘It was a terrible time for Zayyar. Her Highness was so young. And of course His Highness was the victim of such scrutiny afterwards...because of the rumours.’
Cressida nodded, not wanting to admit that she had no idea what these rumours entailed. She felt the urge to press further, to find out exactly how many secrets lay buried under the facade of her simple marriage of convenience. She allowed the temptation to pass, exhaling as the conversation flowed amongst the women around her and the meal was served.
Claiming His Replacement Queen Page 4
