‘An assistant?’ Cressida gasped.
‘The Sheikha always has a personal assistant once royal duties commence,’ he replied easily, as though it should have been obvious to her. ‘You have three weeks until you officially enter into public life. The calendar of a Sheikha can be quite demanding.’
They were interrupted by two palace officials, seeking the Sheikh’s urgent attendance in his office. Cressida motioned for him to go, thanking him once more before he disappeared through the door and closed it behind him with a gentle click.
She wandered over to the desk and sat slowly into the buttery soft leather swivel chair behind it. He had thought of her. He had put thought into her comfort beyond what was necessary. It was a strange feeling, having someone else looking out for her.
Placing both hands on the wood, she glanced down and smiled as she noticed the slim mobile handset that had been placed on top of a sheaf of papers. She lifted it, finding it had already been pre-programmed for her ease of use. She sighed with pleasure, hardly knowing where she would begin with all these wonderful gifts. She wondered if he even considered them gifts.
A wind blew gently through the open window, shuffling some of the papers across the desk. She gathered them back, noticing for the first time that they were stamped with the royal Zayyari crest on top in their signature wine and gold leaf design. But when she noticed the signature underneath, her breath caught completely. A feeling strangely like pride filled her chest as she ran her fingers over the ornate lettering, feeling the weight of the words press much further than just her fingertips.
From the desk of Her Royal Highness,
Sheikha Cressida Al Rhas of Zayyar
CHAPTER SEVEN
KHAL MADE A point of eating with Cressida each morning, inwardly congratulating himself as he noticed her mood lightening with each passing day. He told himself that it was simply in his best interests to ensure that she was comfortable at the palace, but truthfully he looked forward to their morning conversations. Soon, he began to forget to take his usual notes from the political broadsheets, abandoning the task to one of his secretaries in favour of occupying his time hearing about Cressida’s progress in her studies. She showed a remarkable aptitude for retaining information, relaying some of her difficulties with the Zayyari language with humour and a total lack of self-consciousness.
On the rare evenings that he did not have meetings or functions to attend, they dined together in the apartment. It was far from an effort to keep his mind focused on the conversations that flowed with surprising ease between them; he enjoyed the new perspective of seeing his beloved kingdom and all of its traditions through her eyes. But still, beneath the iron of his control he fought the urge to let his gaze wander over her tempting curves or to linger when he bid her goodnight at the door to her room.
It seemed that married life made the time pass quickly and he found himself thinking less of his investigations into the fire at the encampment or his suspicions about who might have started it. Exactly two weeks had passed since their wedding when Khal found his good mood completely thrown off course by a single piece of information let slip by one of his secretaries. He called for his Chief of Security immediately, sitting behind his desk with clenched fists as he waited for Sayyid to arrive.
‘You wished to see me, Your Highness?’ Sayyid entered, a heavy look in his eyes.
‘Close the door.’ Khal spoke slowly, taking every ounce of his effort to control the temper that threatened to spill over at any moment. He gestured for the other man to take a seat before he stood and paced to the other side of his desk.
‘Is there a problem, Sire?’
‘One might say that, yes,’ Khal gritted. ‘If you would describe finding out that there has been yet another incident a problem.’
‘If you mean the small situation that was contained last week...’
‘I will decide what situation is considered small,’ Khal growled. ‘What makes you believe that your King should not be informed of any kind of threat in his own kingdom? That I should find out a week after the fact that there was an intruder apprehended in the middle of the night, scaling the palace walls?’
‘With the utmost respect, Sire, there have been instances of people trying to climb the palace walls in the past. The man did not breach the security fences and did not carry any weaponry; therefore it was classed as a non-dangerous incident.’
‘Was he questioned? Did he have ties to any rebellious factions?’ Khal felt pressure build in his temples as he noticed Sayyid’s mouth tighten.
‘We questioned him and ascertained that he was a youth on a foolish dare. Even Lazarov agreed that it was best not to make an incident of something so mundane.’
‘Roman was informed of this incident, was he?’ Khal fought the annoyance that rose in his chest at the mention of his friend’s name. Roman’s security firm had trained the entire palace guard; of course they would go to him if there had been an attempted breach. No one dealt with high profile risk assessment and security better than The Lazarus Group. Khal had called upon Roman himself within hours of the fire in the encampment. It had been Roman who had informed him that the private investigation had been classed as one hundred per cent accidental, with no sinister or deliberate intention.
In that same phone call his friend’s tone had become concerned as he had reminded Khal of instances in the past where his need for heightened security had been extreme. Of how he needed to trust his team to do their job and stop looking for threats where none existed.
Khal felt anger rise within him once more as he heard that same tone of concern in Sayyid’s voice.
‘Sire, I can assure you that the Sheikha is safe—’
‘I have not mentioned the Sheikha once,’ Khal fumed. ‘This is about your complete insubordination in not reporting a potentially dangerous matter to your King.’
Sayyid stood suddenly, open defiance on his face. ‘There was no danger; that is what I am trying to make you see. What many have tried to make you see.’
Khal turned and took a few steps away, feeling the anger within him reach its peak. Truthfully, perhaps he’d been thinking of Cressida’s safety when he’d imagined the unknown intruder scaling the walls in the dead of night. But this was not just about possible danger to his wife. This was about Zayyar.
His father had always made a point of reminding him how quickly rebellion could resurge when one rested in a state of peace. It was his duty to ensure his staff did not take that peace for granted and make mistakes. He inhaled deeply, his jaw pulsing with the effort of keeping his tone measured. Of keeping his control. ‘You will take a leave of absence from your duties to account for this error in judgement. One week, effective immediately.’
Sayyid’s eyes narrowed. For a moment Khal wondered if the line was about to be crossed. If the other man would openly defy his King’s orders.
‘As you wish, Your Highness. I’ll make the arrangements,’ Sayyid finally said. He bowed low before turning and exiting the room without another word.
Khal paced the floor of his study for what felt like hours in the aftermath of the confrontation with his trusted employee, feeling the pressure in his head pulse and thrum with every step. He sat down in a high-backed armchair, resisting the urge to fling the nearby coffee table across the room. He would not allow his staff to decide what he could and would not be told. He had the right to know everything that happened within his own palace. Roman’s calm voice popped into his head once more. Was this one of those situations he’d referred to? Was he seeing danger where it did not exist? Should he simply trust his security team to do their job and stop trying to control every single thing in his orbit? He did kick out in frustration then, his foot making hard contact with the heavy marble leg of the coffee table in front of him.
‘Having a tantrum?’
A quiet voice shook him from his brooding; he silentl
y hoped it was not Cressida but at the same time knew that it was. She stood a few feet away, wrapped in a pale pink silk robe. He leaned his head back, allowing himself a moment to take her in before he spoke. ‘Sheikhs do not have tantrums. We have momentary losses of composure.’
‘Ah.’ She hovered nervously in the doorway. ‘I came back down to get a book and I saw your light still on. Am I interrupting?’
‘Come in. Though I might not be the best company.’
He stood up, taking a long languorous stretch and covertly watching as her gaze rose to follow his movements before darting away. Khal felt the beginning of a smile tease his lips. It dawned on him that this was the first time she had set foot inside his office.
Her eyes wandered to his desk, where a handful of professional photographs of their wedding ceremony were scattered. Khal had just received them that morning and hadn’t quite decided what to do with them yet. She moved closer, her fingertips trailing over the images delicately.
‘I look...completely different,’ she said in that same quiet voice. Her brow was furrowed as she picked up a shot of them both with their foreheads touching.
‘You don’t like them?’ he asked, genuinely eager to know the answer.
‘They are very well done.’ She smiled.
‘That is not what I asked.’
‘I suppose they’re quite convincing. Romantic and dreamy. But when one knows the truth, the illusion is spoiled a little.’ She placed the photo back down and arranged the others in a square formation, avoiding his gaze. ‘It’s a strange feeling, being married but not actually being married, isn’t it?’
‘We are married,’ he said with a hint of irony. ‘I have photographic evidence.’
‘You know what I mean—we have this arrangement.’ Cressida sighed, moving over to inspect the collection of tiny ships in bottles that adorned the shelves of his study. ‘I never understood how they got such detailed works inside these things without breaking it,’ she said absentmindedly, running a fingertip along the glass that encased a large rare Marlin.
‘It’s a hobby of mine,’ he said idly, wondering why her comment about not actually being married stuck in his mind.
‘You made all these?’ Her eyes widened as she took in the wall of shelves. ‘How on earth do you find the time?’
‘It calms my mind.’ He shrugged, not quite sure why he’d shared something so personal. A king did not struggle with an overactive mind. A king had complete control over his thoughts at all times.
‘It looks incredibly complicated.’ She was still peering at various models, genuine appreciation on her features.
‘It’s simple enough once you approach it from a point of logic. My father introduced me to it at a young age.’ A smile teased the corner of his lips as he remembered some of the tantrums he had thrown when he’d continued to fail at lifting the mast of the tiny ship. His father had always remained seated, never raising a hand or losing his temper. ‘Go over your plan and begin again,’ he would say calmly. Now, as a grown man, he could see that his father had given him the tools to harness the anger and uncontrolled nature that he had shown even as a young boy. There was no place in Zayyar’s future for another king without self-control. For another king ruled by his own selfish desires.
‘I was just about to order some tea,’ he said brusquely, walking away from her to gather his thoughts for a moment. ‘You are welcome to join me.’ He kept his tone light, telling himself he was inviting her to stay because he was simply not in the mood to be alone with his own thoughts. She was a good conversationalist. He had no ulterior motives for wanting to be alone with his wife in his study at night...
Clearly, she was having a similar thought process, considering she took a full two minutes to come to a decision before lowering herself into the armchair opposite his own. He had not been lying; he had been about to order tea. It was the only thing that calmed him in a mood such as this one.
His staff were efficient, laying out the perfectly polished pots and utensils between them, hot steam rising from the ornate copper teapot.
To his surprise, Cressida began the service, performing the Zayyari ritual with seemingly effortless movements. It was only because he studied her so closely that he noticed the slight tremble of her fingers, or the way her brow creased momentarily as she focused on her performance. He reached out to accept his cup from her fingers, deliberately brushing his thumb across her skin.
‘And you say that you do not feel like you are truly married?’ He sat back, savouring the taste of the sweet traditional brew on his tongue. ‘This seems like very wifely behaviour to me.’
‘Well, you would know more about that than I do.’ She focused on stirring her tea, taking a moment to realise what she had said. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so thoughtless...’
‘Don’t apologise.’ Khal shook off the comment, but still he found himself fighting the sudden sharp jab of discomfort with the reference to his first marriage. Perhaps because, since they’d sat down, he had been acutely distracted by the woman who sat across from him. Or maybe it was because his ring now lay upon her finger and so to think of another time seemed inappropriate somehow. Truthfully, he’d thought of his first wife less and less as the years passed. And, even then, only to ponder a new lead in his investigations into her accident. It had been five years, after all. He knew he could not feel the same intense emotions for ever, but still it brought guilt to realise he had truly accepted her death and moved on.
‘It seems morbid to ask if you sat like this in the past.’ Cressida spoke softly. ‘You have never spoken of your first marriage. I’ll admit that I am curious.’
‘My first marriage was very different for many reasons,’ Khal said simply, taking another sip of his tea. ‘I was very different.’
‘Your sister told me that you grieved for a long time. I got the impression that you were both very much in love.’ She met his eyes, a strangely guarded expression on her usually open features.
‘We were.’ He flexed the tightness from his fingers, laying his palm down flat on the arm of the chair. ‘In the beginning, at least.’
‘Oh.’
One syllable was all she needed to portray that she understood. She did not push the subject further and for that he was grateful. It was only the beginning of the myriad secrets of his seemingly perfect marriage to Priya. He had never spoken to anyone of the fact that all was not as it seemed. But now he felt strangely lighter having spoken of it, never having considered that there might be weight to carrying secrets.
‘My parents’ marriage was arranged,’ Cressida said after a while. ‘My grandmother always said they were lucky to have fallen madly in love as a result.’ She pursed her lips, meeting his eyes for a moment before looking away. ‘Seeing what falling out of love has done to them, I have always been of the opinion that it was better to have a marriage free of emotions.’
Khal frowned at her admission, picturing King Fabian and his cold, uninterested wife. He had been in their company on a number of occasions, and each time he had become more aware of the deep well of problems in the royal marriage. He was of the opinion that the issues ran far deeper than simply falling out of love, but he kept that thought to himself.
‘Is that why you agreed to marry me?’ he asked. ‘Other than your extreme devotion to your kingdom, of course.’
Cressida seemed to shift in her seat slightly, one hand adjusting the material of her nightgown. ‘I had many reasons for accepting this...arrangement.’
‘This is a marriage, habibti. Make no mistake.’ He did not mean for the hardness to creep into his voice but all of a sudden the idea that she saw their union as some kind of cold business arrangement was not palatable to him, for reasons unknown. After all, political marriages such as theirs were essentially built on business, were they not?
‘I’m not saying that we each aren’t bound by the same rul
es as usual marriages,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I just mean that, behind closed doors, we both know different.’
‘Do you feel bound by the rules, Cressida?’ he said silkily, feeling a pang of irritation at the feelings her words evoked. The memory of a similar conversation in the past came to the surface, another woman’s voice.
‘I have never been good at playing by the rules, Khal. I’m sorry.’
‘I have no desire to enter into a verbal sparring match at midnight,’ Cressida said, standing up and shaking out the fabric of her nightgown. ‘You were clearly aggravated by something before I came in here and I think it’s best that I say goodnight.’
‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ Khal stood, moving so that he blocked her way. ‘You see, I like to finish conversations, not walk away from them if they get a little uncomfortable.’
‘I don’t feel like this is a conversation any longer. I feel like you are putting words into my mouth.’
She’d mentioned her mouth and, sure enough, that was where his eyes wandered, the perfect pink flesh teasing him. ‘Do you feel bound by the rules of this marriage?’ he asked again, softer this time. The air between them thrummed with awareness.
‘Sometimes.’ She half whispered the word, her breath seeming slightly laboured all of a sudden. ‘But perhaps not quite in the way that you think.’
‘Do you feel unhappy here with me, Cressida?’ he asked, feeling the sizzle of something dangerous in the air between them. He wanted to know the answer to his question, the honest answer. To allow him to see beneath the facade she always wore around him.
He wanted something real.
Cressida shook her head once, her eyes meeting his. ‘I don’t feel unhappy when I’m with you. I feel...frustrated.’
He wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but suddenly their mouths were locked and it was like the first drink after weeks in the desert. He feasted on her, taking every ounce of the longing that he could feel in her kiss and giving back in equal measure. He felt the weight of her arms around his neck, her chest pressed tightly against his, and yet it still wasn’t enough. He pressed her back against the bookcase, ignoring her sharp intake of breath as he raised her arms above her head and began a slow trail down her neck.
Claiming His Replacement Queen Page 9
