Sheikh's Pregnant Cinderella

by Maya Blake

  So she shouldn’t have been surprised when a team of physicians trailed into their living room suite moments after their arrival in Paris the next day.

  She was sure that had it not been after midnight when she’d voiced the possibility that she might be pregnant, he would have summoned them to the palazzo in Venice.

  The sensation that her world was spinning out of control wouldn’t abate. Heart racing, she pulled the lapels of her elegant silk lounging wrap more firmly around her as a suited Zufar approached where she stood on the terrace, trying in vain to distract herself with the view of the Eiffel Tower.

  ‘The doctors are here,’ he said.

  ‘Do we need to do this now?’ she hedged, unable to stop the scenarios that reeled through her head, all ending with the unassailable fact that if she was confirmed pregnant, her honeymoon would be over.

  True, her supposed honeymoon had been filled with accompanying Zufar to endless engagements and smiling through luncheons and state dinners when she would rather be curled up with a book in one of the quieter rooms of their royal suite.

  But during those events, she had a front-row seat to the daily life and work of the man she’d married. No longer did she have to watch him on a TV screen or gaze at glossy, still pictures in a magazine.

  She’d watched in real life as he’d negotiated a trade deal over pre-dinner cocktails with little more than a handful of sentences. She’d listened, stunned, as he’d given his frank opinion on a decades-long border dispute between bitter enemies, only to see it implemented days later. Last night she’d looked on, her heart melting, as he’d charmed the eight-year-old daughter of his ambassador.

  Who cared that he barely said more than a handful of words to her throughout their engagements? Fine, she cared. No one liked being ignored.

  But still, those times she spent with him, secretly hoping she would absorb even a little of his effortless ability to govern and charm? Niesha...liked it, she admitted reluctantly. Watching him navigate the sometimes choppy waters of diplomacy was a sight she wasn’t ready to be rid of despite the dangerous waters her heart waded into.

  She didn’t need to be a genius to know that the moment her pregnancy was confirmed she would be whisked back to Khalia. If he wasn’t touching her on their honeymoon she could guarantee they would resort to separate beds, like his parents, on their return. On the other hand, if her pregnancy wasn’t confirmed then...

  The idea that she was hoping she wasn’t pregnant just for a chance to stay in Zufar’s bed for a little longer struck her in equal parts with shame—for being so weak—and with a hunger she couldn’t dismiss.

  ‘It needs to be done, according to royal protocol,’ he pronounced, in answer to her question. There was no gentleness to his tone, only a firm recital of purpose and duty. ‘I’m assured it won’t take long.’ At her continued hesitation, he beckoned with a commanding hand. ‘Come.’

  Little one.

  He hadn’t used the endearment since their wedding night and even as she mocked herself for the absurdity of missing it, she couldn’t deny that its absence left a small hollow inside her.

  Firmly, she pushed that sensation away, then forced herself not to dwell on the fact that his hand dropped to his side when she approached him, instead of reaching for hers as he did when they were out in public.

  Those moments were for show, she reminded herself. Zufar and Niesha al Khalia had been hailed as the world’s most photogenic and romantic royal couple. She barely managed to stop her lips from twisting.

  If only they knew.

  So, as she’d trained herself to do, she went to his side, making sure to keep a small distance between them as they re-entered the living room.

  There were three physicians in total, two male and one female, all of middle age, and a younger male intern who bowed as they approached.

  ‘I’m Dr Wadya. We will not keep you very long, Your Highness,’ the female doctor promised with a smile.

  A little more at ease, Niesha acknowledged other introductions and took a seat on the sofa. Zufar took his place behind her, one hand resting lightly on the seat a hair’s breadth from her shoulder. When she was instructed to, she removed her wrap, handed it to an attendant hovering nearby, then resisted the urge to run her sweaty palms down the thighs of her silk slip dress.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her racing heart. Not when she, and everyone in the room, were holding their collective breaths at the possibility that she could be carrying Zufar’s heir.

  The drumming in her ears precluded her from hearing what was being discussed. In a way it was a blessing because she could temporarily forget that her life was being planned and plotted around her.

  Still, she heard the sharp inhalation from the older male doctor, Dr Basim.

  ‘What is it?’ Zufar enquired sharply.

  The man’s pale-faced gaze was fixed on the birthmark on her forearm. He gave a slight shake of his head, but remained silent, his focus on the pink starfish mark that resided on the inside of her arm just below her inner elbow.

  She frowned, her heart lurching as she looked at the faces of the doctors.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

  As if dragged from a stupor, Dr Basim’s rose gaze from her arm. ‘I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,’ he said.

  ‘What is a coincidence?’ Zufar bit out. ‘Explain yourself, if you please.’ The statement was less request, more directive.

  ‘I don’t wish to jump to conclusions, Your Highness,’ the doctor said. ‘I merely thought I recognised the mark on Her Highness’s arm.’

  Tense silence descended on the room. Niesha’s breath strangled in her throat as everyone remained frozen in place.

  Zufar moved, his elegant hand flicking in a subtle command that got everyone moving. The young intern approached with the equipment and swiftly set it up.

  Niesha barely acknowledged the process, her heart racing now for a completely different reason. The moment they were done, Zufar dismissed everyone save for Dr Basim.

  ‘How do you recognise it?’ she blurted, unable to keep the question inside.

  Dr Basim shook his head. ‘It’s nothing. I don’t wish to alarm you, Your Highness. My apologies.’

  She wanted to protest that it wasn’t nothing, not when his reaction had been so strong. But one look at Zufar’s closed expression and she held her tongue. Numbly, she watched Dr Basim prepare to leave.

  She wasn’t sure why she jumped up and trailed him as he left the living room. But as they approached the door, she knew she couldn’t let it go. Something was wrong. ‘So, what now?’ she asked, watching the doctor.

  Dr Basim paused and turned around. ‘Your Highness?’

  ‘How long before we know whether my wife is pregnant or not?’ Zufar slid in.

  It wasn’t what she had meant to ask, but she held her breath all the same. ‘The blood tests will reveal if there’s a pregnancy within a matter of hours, Your Highness.’

  Zufar nodded.

  She watched the doctor reach for the doorknob. ‘Wait.’

  Beside her Zufar stiffened. ‘Niesha? What is it?’ he enquired softly, even though the set of his jaw showed that he was as puzzled by her reaction as she was herself.

  ‘I have some questions,’ she addressed Dr Basim. ‘Can you please stay for a few more minutes?’

  As the royal doctor, he couldn’t very well refuse, and she was selfishly counting on that.

  Acutely aware that Zufar followed closely behind, she returned to the living room. Then before she could lose her courage, she faced the two men. ‘What do you know about me?’ she asked Dr Basim boldly.

  The doctor’s eyes widened, and he slid a quick glance at Zufar. But Zufar’s narrow-eyed glance was on her face. It remained there for a long time before he turned to the doctor. ‘Answer my wife’s question.’
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  Dr Basim hesitated. ‘Your Highness...’

  Niesha shook her head. ‘You have my word that you won’t be in any trouble. I only wish to know what you thought when you saw the mark on my arm. You recognised something about it. Am I right?’

  Zufar tensed even harder, then he redirected his gaze to the doctor. ‘Did you?’ he demanded.

  Dr Basim’s unease grew.

  ‘Please... I need to know.’

  She stared down at the starfish mark on her arm, which had started to throb and burn as if yearning for its secret to be set free. Something inside her told her to push the doctor. Something unstoppable.

  Zufar turned to the older man. ‘Is she right? Do you know something?’

  Dr Basim took a deep steadying breath and then slowly nodded. ‘Perhaps I do.’

  She lunged forwards before she could stop myself. ‘What?’

  ‘Before I emigrated to Khalia, I was a citizen of Rumadah.’ He named the small country nestled in the most southerly point between the Middle East and Africa, known to many as a desert paradise, rich in oil. The only other facts she knew about the small kingdom were those she’d read in glossy magazines.

  ‘Go on,’ she urged with a voice that croaked a little.

  ‘I had the honour of being the royal physician, right up until...’ He paused, a wave of anguish unfurling over his face.

  ‘Yes?’ Zufar prodded impatiently.

  Dr Basim cleared his throat. ‘The royal family were on a private family holiday when tragedy struck.’

  Zufar stilled, his whole body assuming the appearance of a granite statue. His eyes darted to Niesha before returning to the doctor. ‘You were the royal family’s personal doctor?’ he pressed.

  ‘What were their names? What happened to them?’ she cried, unable to keep her emotions bottled.

  Eyes reflecting pain met hers. ‘As far as I am aware, Your Highness, a tyre exploded and their vehicle veered off a bridge while they were visiting a resort in Zyria. It burst into flames on impact and the whole family perished.’

  She staggered backwards, swaying on her feet. The next moment Zufar was in front of her, taking her by the elbows and placing her in the seat. ‘Stay there,’ he instructed firmly under his breath.

  Turning around, he faced the doctor again. ‘I vaguely recall the incident but what has it got to do with my wife?’

  The older man’s gaze dropped to where she was still absently rubbing at the birthmark. ‘The King’s five-year-old daughter had the exact same birthmark as Her Highness. It was what made me think that there could be a connection...’ He stopped, realising the enormity of his words. ‘Or it could just be a coincidence.’

  ‘You don’t think so, otherwise you wouldn’t have reacted so strongly,’ Zufar countered.

  Dr Basim spread his hands in apology.

  The rock that lodged itself in Niesha’s chest threatened to choke her, cutting off the air to her lungs and any possibility that she’d, at last, found some answers.

  The hope she’d wildly entertained turned to ash in her mouth.

  She dropped her head and fought the tears that stung her eyes. Words had lost meaning the moment he’d mentioned the bridge. The accident he spoke of had happened in Zyria. According to the matrons, she’d been found wandering in a ravine in Khalia.

  Nowhere near a bridge or a resort.

  Besides, the thought that she could be associated with royalty was absurd. Because surely if that was the case, other members of her family or someone would’ve come looking for her?

  ‘When exactly did the accident happen?’ Zufar probed.

  Dr Basim’s gaze grew thoughtful. ‘Twenty years ago.’

  Her heart lurched again, but she shook her head. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. The truth was, she would never know her real family. She needed to accept it, especially now that she was possibly pregnant with her own child. She needed to look ahead, forge a future for her children without clinging to the past.

  She summoned a smile at Dr Basim. ‘Thank you for your time. That’s all I wanted to know.’

  She caught Zufar’s frown, but he dismissed the doctor with a casual wave of his hand. She remained frozen in the seat as they walked away. Once again her hopes had been dashed. She would never really know who she was, where she came from or if she belonged to anyone.

  Even now, despite her title and the ring on her finger, she didn’t belong. She was just a vessel to carry al Khalia heirs.

  It should be enough.

  It is enough, she affirmed to herself. But the reassurance rang hollow, the pain in her heart not letting it take root. The anguish of knowing she would never find answers wrapped itself around her heart, squeezing every last bit of her hope out of her.

  She attempted to straighten her face as Zufar returned, and swallowed when he placed himself directly in front of her. The look in his eyes was intently speculative, drawing a small shiver across her skin. ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘You may be carrying my child. The need to discover your past burns strongly but it would please me greatly if you didn’t distress yourself unduly over it.’

  A laugh scraped its way out of her throat. ‘You heard what the doctor said. These...people perished in Zyria. I was found in Khalia. There’s no connection.’

  His eyes darkened a touch and his mouth pulled in a firm line. His whole body thrummed with tension. ‘Nevertheless you are disappointed. And emotional. I may not have experienced what you’re going through but that doesn’t mean I don’t empathise.’

  Her eyes began to prickle all over again. ‘Thank you.’

  He nodded. ‘And while you may not believe there’s a connection, I will instruct my investigators to dig a little deeper with the new information we have. When Dr Basim returns, he’ll provide the additional information we need.’

  She inhaled sharply, astonishment bursting through her. ‘You want to help me?’

  ‘Why does that surprise you when my investigators already attempted once?’

  Her shrug didn’t quite hit the mark. ‘I don’t know,’ she floundered, ‘maybe because you said you preferred me to be a blank slate?’

  His face closed, and then he nodded. ‘I don’t want any surprises, but I also don’t want you to distress yourself over the question of your past.’ His eyes dropped to where she was rubbing her birthmark. ‘It’s a matter that needs to be resolved one way or the other. I wish it to be sooner.’

  Because of the baby.

  Her heart thudded dully inside her. Everything needed to be smooth so nothing disturbed any pregnancy, now or in the future. She wasn’t sure why the offer bruised her. She should be glad he was putting his considerable resources and authority behind the quest to find her past.

  Still she shook her head. ‘There’s nothing to find,’ she said flatly, unable to rouse any enthusiasm for the task. ‘I asked the matrons at the orphanage for years and they had no clue what happened to me before I was found near that ravine. I was miles away from civilisation and no one came forwards then or afterwards. It’s a waste of time.’

  His lips compressed. ‘With respect, I have a little more clout than your matrons.’

  She nodded. ‘I know, but I still don’t want you to waste your time.’

  ‘Because you are afraid of further disappointment?’

  A burst of anger propelled her to her feet. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Calm yourself, Niesha,’ he warned silkily.

  ‘You’re doing it again,’ she snapped.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘And you’re getting agitated. It’s not good for your condition.’

  She laughed. ‘What condition? We haven’t even verified that I’m pregnant yet,’ she exclaimed wildly.

  ‘But you know. Don’t you, Niesha?’ His voice was like the softest, most potent magic, weaving its wa
y through her as he caught her by the shoulders. ‘You know you’re carrying my child.’

  Helplessly, she swayed against him. ‘Our child. It’s ours.’ She had no past to claim, but this...this she would claim.

  He captured her chin, propelled her gaze to his. The stark possessiveness that gleamed in his eyes stopped her breath. A heartbeat later, his hand dropped to splay over her flat belly, and his chest expanded in a long inhalation. ‘Indeed, it is ours. And we will both make its well-being our priority.’

  There was something so final in those words that she shifted on her feet.

  ‘Enough fretting,’ he commanded thickly without raising his voice. ‘Stay.’

  Perhaps it was the electrifying effect of this touch, or the deep timbre of his voice. But she stilled, unable to look away from the gold depths as he gazed down at her.

  His eyes raked her face a moment before he swung her up in his arms. With quick, sure strides he went down the wide hallway into the master suite. She thought he would leave her there, and her pulse rocketed wildly as he drew back the sheets and joined her in bed.

  But all Zufar did was press a kiss to her forehead before drawing her into his arms. ‘I’ve cancelled our appointments for the day. You will rest until Dr Basim returns.’

  A part of her wanted to protest at his high-handedness. But really what was the use? He was the King. And she...she was cocooned in warm, powerful arms, her thoughts already beginning to drift away, as if reacting to his directive. With a sigh, she snuck her arm around his waist, rested her head on his shoulder and let her senses succumb to nothingness.

  She would need her strength for when Dr Basim returned with further disappointment and heartache. Until then...

  * * *

  She was pregnant. Of course she was.

  Zufar’s seed had most likely taken root on their wedding night. Her heart sang wildly with a mixture of joy and apprehension as she listened to the doctors’ instructions on how to take care of the royal baby in her womb.

  She glanced at Zufar as the doctors rattled on about vitamins and healthy eating. Besides the initial gleam that lit his eyes, his face was an inscrutable mask. As for her, she couldn’t stop her gaze from darting to the briefcase Dr Basim had brought with him.