The Secret Kept From The King (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Clare Connelly

  Sariq spoke in his own language, a short command. Each bowed low and then the guard on the left pulled a ring of brass keys from his pocket, inserted one into the door. Both guards worked in unison to open them.

  Inside, there was a marble staircase, but it wasn’t possible to see more than the first two steps. One of the guards moved ahead, and when Daisy and Sariq followed, she saw that the guard was lighting heavy lamps attached to the walls. The staircase smelled of kerosene and damp.

  On they went, each tread worn down in the centre by the thousands of steps that had come before theirs, until finally the air grew clear, the stars shone overhead, and they emerged into an open room right at the top of the tower.

  The guard was lighting the lamps, giving the space a warm glow, but Daisy barely noticed. She was too busy taking in the details of this spectacular tower. The walls were open, just spindly supports every few metres, to create the impression of windows where there were none. Those same spindles rose like the branches of a tree towards the sky, curving inwards at great height, stopping well before they reached the centre so the roof was open, showcasing the night sky in a way that was breathtaking. The moon was full and it caught the pale marble in such a way that it seemed to shine against the inky black of the heavens.

  ‘Wow.’

  The guard was leaving. They were alone.

  ‘These pillars are incredible.’ She moved to one, running her hands over the carefully carved shapes. ‘They must have been made by talented craftsmen.’

  His expression was rueful. ‘They were carved by prisoners. I used to come here a lot, as a child.’ His features grew serious and, without any elaboration, she understood what he was alluding to.

  ‘After your mother died?’

  Surprise flashed in the depths of his dark eyes. ‘Yes.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Losing a parent at seven must have been incredibly difficult. Were you and she close?’

  His jaw clenched, and he stared out from the tower, his body rigid, as though he weren’t going to speak.

  ‘She was my mother.’

  Daisy considered this. ‘That’s not an answer.’

  His gaze pivoted to hers. ‘Isn’t it?’

  She traced her finger over a line in the marble, following the swirling texture contemplatively. ‘I loved my mother, but we weren’t close. That didn’t stop it from hurting like anything when she died. I think a relationship with your parents can be complex.’

  ‘Why were you not close?’

  She was conscious that he was moving their conversation to her, and perhaps it was a technique for deflection, a way of moving the spotlight off him. She allowed that, with every intention of returning to her question in a moment.

  ‘My mother was bipolar.’ It was amazing how easy she found that coming from her lips, when for years she’d grappled with discussing the truth of her home life. ‘When she was in a manic phase, she was the most incredible fun.’ Daisy shook her head, her brow furrowed as she looked up at the stars across the night sky. The view from here showcased the incredible silver of the desert sands, filling her with a desire to lift her wings and fly across its wide expanse.

  ‘But there were times when that wasn’t the case?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Many times. As a child, I didn’t understand it. I mean, one day she’d be pulling me out of school so we could go to the movies, or feeding me ice cream for breakfast, and then the next she wouldn’t get out of bed.’ She shook her head. ‘Our house was either scrubbed to within an inch of its life, the smell of bleach on every surface, or completely abandoned. Milk cartons left out, dishes not washed, floors filthy.’

  Sariq didn’t say anything, but she felt the purpose for his silence. He was drawing her out, letting her keep talking, and despite the fact she generally kept her past to herself, she found the words tumbling from her now.

  ‘There were times—when she stayed on her medication—when things were okay. But not really, because the medication just seemed to hollow her out. I don’t think she really persisted in finding a good doctor and getting the right prescription. She hated the feeling of being “stable”. Without the lows, she couldn’t have the highs.’

  ‘And your father?’ Sariq prompted after a moment.

  Daisy felt her throat thickening, as it often did when she thought of that time in her life. ‘Dad couldn’t deal with it. He tried to get Mom help but she was beyond that. He left home when I was ten.’

  ‘Without you?’

  ‘He wanted to take me. I refused. I knew my mom wouldn’t cope.’ She frowned. ‘I was so angry with him, Sariq. To leave her just because she was sick? He failed her, and he failed me.’

  ‘He did.’ The words held a scathing indictment that was somehow buoying.

  ‘Towards the end, Mom’s manic phases grew fewer, her depression deeper. She began to self-medicate. Marijuana at first, then alcohol. Lots of alcohol.’ Daisy closed her eyes, trying to blot out the pain. ‘She was drunk when she crashed her car. Thankfully without hurting anyone else.’

  He was quiet beside her but she felt his closeness and his strength and both were the balms to a soul that would always carry heavy wounds of her past. Silence sat between them, but it was a pleasant silence, wrapping around her, filling her with warmth. She blinked up at him and even though their eyes locked, she didn’t look away.

  He was staring at her and she felt something pass from him to her. There was magic in this tower, a great, appreciable force that weaved between them.

  ‘When my mother died...’ he spoke, finally ‘...my father sent me away. Partly for my own protection, but mainly, because I reminded him of her. He couldn’t bear to spend time with me.’

  She frowned. ‘I thought...’

  ‘Yes?’ He prompted, when her voice trailed off into nothing.

  ‘I just, the way you speak about him, I presumed you thought the world of your father.’

  ‘He was an exceptional ruler. I admired him greatly. I feel his absence every day.’ Sariq’s gaze moved, returning to the desert beyond them. ‘He loved only one person, his whole life. My mother. When she died, he lost a part of himself with her and he learned a valuable lesson.’

  ‘What lesson?’

  ‘That love leads to hurt.’

  ‘Not always.’

  ‘Really?’ He lifted one brow, his scepticism obvious. ‘You can say this after your own experience? Your father? Your husband?’

  She bit down on her lip, wondering at his perspective.

  ‘Dance with me?’

  She blinked, looking around them. ‘Here?’

  ‘Why not?’

  She was about to point out the absence of music, but she didn’t. Because her heart was creating a beat in her ears, and it was all she needed. Wordlessly, she nodded, so he brought his arms around her waist, shaping her body to his.

  They moved without speaking for several moments, but his revelations were playing through her mind. ‘I think,’ she murmured softly, ‘that you don’t know your own heart.’

  He didn’t respond, but that didn’t matter. Deep in her own thoughts, she continued. ‘Losing someone you love hurts. Betrayal hurts. But I don’t think knowing there’s a risk of that inures you to caring for another person. You think your father didn’t love you? That you didn’t love him? I think that’s biologically impossible.’

  ‘Your father didn’t love you,’ he pointed out after a beat had passed.

  ‘Well, my dad’s a somewhat deficient human. And anyway, he did love me. He just loved himself more.’ She shook her head. ‘Your father pushed you away because he was scared of being hurt again—because he knew that he loved you so much hurt was inevitable, if anything were to happen to you.’

  He stroked her back in such a way that made it hard to hold onto a single ribbon of thought.

  ‘Being afraid doesn’t mea
n an absence of affection.’

  ‘You’re a romantic.’ His words were murmured across her hair, teasing and light, pulling at her.

  Was she? Daisy had never considered this to be the case. ‘I think I’m more realist than romantic.’

  ‘Not going by what you’ve just said.’

  ‘Love is a reality of the human condition. You can’t deny it’s within you. You can’t close yourself off to it. You loved your father and he died. The night we met, you weren’t simply mourning a leader. You were grieving for the loss of your dad—something that goes beyond position and title. He was your father—the man who gave you life.’

  Sariq stilled for a moment and then began to move, his steps drawing her towards the middle of the marble floor. ‘It’s different.’

  ‘How? Why?’

  He expelled a sigh. ‘A royal child isn’t... I was his heir. Not only his son. My purpose was always the continuation of the family.’

  ‘You make it sound as though you were property rather than a person.’

  ‘I was required.’

  Daisy considered that a moment. ‘Just like our child is “required”?’

  A slight pause. ‘Yes.’

  The confirmation knotted her stomach in a way that was unpleasant. ‘And so you won’t love our child?’

  ‘You are fixated on the notion of love.’ The words were said lightly but they did nothing to ease the seriousness of her thoughts.

  ‘I didn’t have a father in my life for very long. I don’t want my child to know the pain of an absent parent.’

  ‘I was the one who insisted we raise our child together, wasn’t I?’

  ‘No.’ She stopped dancing and looked up at him, her eyes sparking with emotions she couldn’t contain. ‘You insisted that I move here so your child would be in the RKH. Your heir. There’s a difference.’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  She bit down on her lip, unable to put that into words. ‘I don’t want you to keep our child at an emotional distance,’ she said, after several moments had passed. But it wasn’t all-encompassing. She felt so much more.

  I don’t want you to keep me at an emotional distance.

  ‘I won’t.’ The assurance was swiftly given, but it did little to assuage her concerns.

  ‘Because I’d rather take my chances in America, regardless of what you say, than expose our child to the kind of upbringing you’ve described.’

  He froze, his body completely still, his arms locked around her waist. There was such contrast—the strength and warmth of him juxtaposed to the rigid cool of his stance. ‘America is not an option.’

  Something flashed inside her. Anger! And it was so welcome. In the swirling, raging emotions she felt, anger was one she could grasp. It made sense. She liked it.

  ‘You don’t get to command me.’

  His nostrils flared as he stared down at her, his attempt to control his temper obvious. ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘No, I’m not. You told me I was coming to the RKH as your equal. Well—’ she pushed her hands onto her hips, glaring right back at him ‘—if I want to go to America then there’s nothing you can do about it.’

  His laugh lacked humour.

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘As am I. Deadly serious.’ He brought his body closer to hers, but it seemed accidental, as though he were simply moving without conscious thought. ‘Do you know why I was late this evening?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I was in the catacombs that run beneath the city. They were converted to prison cells a few decades ago. Two men are detained there, right now, who were planning on hurting you, Daisy.’

  She froze, his words slamming into her like bricks. Out of nowhere, she began to tremble. Her ears rang with a high-pitched squealing sound. ‘You’re making that up.’ She wanted to reject it. It couldn’t be true.

  ‘I wish I were.’

  The shaking wouldn’t stop.

  Sariq swore under his breath, then his big, masculine hands were cupping her face, holding her steady for his inspection. ‘Here, I can protect you. My guards can protect you. And believe me, Daisy, nothing matters more to me than your safety.’ Neither of them moved. ‘You and our child will have the full force of my army at your disposal. You must remain in the RKH. Can you see that?’

  She nodded quickly. Fear—not for herself so much as for the life of her unborn child—was instinctive and swift. ‘But why?’

  His lips were a grim slash in his face. ‘Because of what you represent. Because of the stability our child will bring.’

  ‘I... Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I just did.’

  ‘I mean sooner.’

  ‘I dealt with it.’

  A shiver ran down her spine. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘These men will not harm you.’

  Her eyes flashed with fear. ‘What did you do?’

  His laugh was gruff. ‘Not what I wished, believe me. They will spend a long time in prison for this though.’

  ‘So if the threat is gone...’

  ‘There are always madmen, Daisy, with political agendas.’

  ‘You can’t protect me from everything for ever.’

  ‘No.’ A muscle jerked in his jaw. ‘But I can try.’

  She thought of his mother then, who was murdered by madmen such as those apprehended this evening. His mother who had been pregnant with another child, and whose death had caused the beginning of the end for Sariq’s relationship with his father. And a part of Daisy wanted, more than anything, to console Sariq. It was a selfish need though, because she also needed consoling. She needed distracting. She wanted to feel alive and safe, and present in the moment.

  Reaching to her face, she pulled his hands away, stepping back from him to give them a little space. Then, slowly, deliberately, she reached for the straps of the dress, guiding them down her arms slowly, her eyes on his the whole time.

  ‘What are you doing?’ There was an expression of panic on his features, as though he knew that if she started this, he wouldn’t be able to stop it.

  ‘What does it look like?’

  His eyes closed for a moment, then pierced her with their intensity. ‘Daisy...’

  She shook her head then, and the desert breeze lifted some of her fair blonde hair, blowing it across her cheeks.

  ‘I don’t want to think right now. I don’t want to think about plots to kill me, threats, nothing. I don’t want to think about dangers and politics.’ The dress dropped to the floor at her feet. She stepped out of it, mindful of the beautiful silk lingerie she wore, grateful Zahrah had presented her with the set that evening.

  ‘I just want to feel.’ She stood where she was, her eyes fixed to his, her lips parted a little. ‘Will you make me feel, Your Highness?’

  Invoking that formal title made his eyes flare wider. He released a low, growling sound, then shook his head, but it was obvious he was holding on by a thread. ‘You’ll regret this.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it to happen right now.’

  He took a step towards her and her breath hissed from between her teeth, sharp and intense. ‘You don’t know what you’re asking of me.’

  She lifted a brow. ‘Really? Do you need me to spell it out?’

  He didn’t react to her attempt at humour.

  ‘Make love to me, Sariq. Please.’

  He cursed every word he knew in all the languages he spoke, but nothing helped. His wife—his beautiful, pregnant, desirable wife—was asking him to sleep with her and, despite the promise he’d made on the plane, he felt his resolve weakening.

  He wanted her every bit as much as always. There was no absolving himself of this desire even when he knew it was fraught with potential dangers. They we
re married, true, but not for any reason other than this child. Becoming lovers could complicate that.

  He needed to be clear.

  He was a man of honour, and he had no intention of misleading his wife. ‘Just sex.’ He lifted a finger to her lips, pressing there gently. ‘And just tonight.’

  Her eyes flared wide and he held his breath, needing her to agree to his terms. He couldn’t confuse what they were with physical desire. It had no part in this.

  ‘If you say so.’ Her eyelids fluttered and then she was pushing towards him, so he caught her in his hands, holding her to his body as he dropped his mouth and did what he’d been craving since the moment she’d walked into his embassy.

  He kissed her, hard, hungrily, and it was like coming home.

  Her eyes were heavy, her body too. She was warm, safe. Cradled against Sariq’s chest, his heart beating beneath her ear. Steps, marble, kerosene. A door. She nuzzled closer. Something warm was wrapped around her, a robe? His robe? She inhaled. Yes, it smelled of him. Another door, footsteps. She closed her eyes. His heartbeat was steady, loud.

  Another door. Something soft was beneath her. She forced her eyes open and looked around. Her room. Sariq, beside her bed.

  ‘Don’t go.’ She lifted a hand, holding it towards him. ‘Please.’

  If he were a man of honour, he would leave her now. For hours they’d pleasured one another, his body answering the call of hers, instincts driving them together, making it impossible to remember anything except the sense of what they each craved from the other. But in a few short hours the sun would crest over the desert dunes and reality would intrude.

  She didn’t want this, and nor did he. It was an illusion. A snatch out of time.

  Danger lay before him. If he joined her in bed, he’d fall asleep. They’d wake up together, facing a new day as lovers.

  His eyes dropped to her belly, rounded with his child, and a paternalistic pride fired in his belly. He owed it to their child not to mess this up. Sleeping with Daisy tonight had been, undeniably, perfect but it was also problematic. He wanted her.

  He wanted her in a way that was addictive, that could threaten his legendary self-control if he didn’t take care.